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feralrunaway · 3 years

Text

Yrsa

Summary: A supernatural AU from this prompt: “Berserker Captain Syverson, and ‘I want to hear you beg for it’.” from @mrsaugustwalker’s Great Writing Challenge.

Pairing: Berserker!Sy x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k+

Warnings: Blood, gore, violence, wild historical inaccuracies, mentions of slavery, SMUT, soulmates, primal sex, rough sex, oral sex, claiming/mating (consensual), dominant male, virgin reader, unprotected sex, bodily fluids, there’s probably more, just like…this fic is 18+, okay?

A/N: Okay so this prompt was originally meant to be just a quick, smutty “Hell yeah, Viking warrior Sy!” thing but noooo, I went completely off the rails with this so I’m just going to apologize in advance. I started writing this intending an inclusive second person perspective, but I did end up including some things that will not resonate with all. This is nothing like what I usually write, PLEASE heed the warnings. So, without further ado…let’s get weird.

———————

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

The man leered at you, the stench of his rotten teeth reaching you even through the bars of the makeshift prison fitted to the back of the slaver’s wagon. He cackled at your deep glare, holding the small tray of hard bread and day-old vegetables just out of reach.

“Got us another stubborn one. Don’t worry, pretty girl. You’ll come around soon enough, yeah? They always get hungry eventually.” He pawed at your ankle through the bars and you growled, kicking out at him but narrowly missing, and he cackled again. “Give it time, little bear. You’ll be begging for me to come back soon enough.”

You bared your teeth at him as he left, stubbornly refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you beg. You would rather starve to death than bend to the will of your captors.

“So feisty still. Don’t worry, yrsa. They will tire of the taunting when you give them less sport.”

You looked to the woman on your left. Likely a great beauty under normal circumstances, her long thick braids were slightly disheveled, her fine blue shift covered in smears of dirt indicating she had put up a fair few struggles herself before adopting the bored expression she now held. She gave off an air of strength, even in the cramped, miserable quarters of the cage. Fierce features and a regal air made you desire to lean into her strength, however feigned, but you resisted.

You huffed and threw yourself back against the bars before drawing your arms around yourself. The late autumn chill was seeping in now that the sun had gone down and you spared a brief glance at the fire the slavers were huddled around. You would not be jealous.

“And how is it you ended up in this mess? You look as if you could walk away whenever you choose,” you grouse.

She spared you half of a sardonic smile and lifted the hem of her dress enough to reveal heavy manacles latched to both her ankles and secured to a bolt below her feet.

“They learned quickly. Stuck here for the time. Besides, if…when I get out of here, my brother will have my head for letting my axe out of my sight long enough for these brutes and brigands to get their hands on me.”

You sniffed, feeling a bit chastised for your annoyance toward the woman.

“What about you, Little Bear?” she prompted with a smirk, looking over your attire, “You’re obviously not from here. Did your father owe someone too much money?”

You huffed again. “My father died when I was a baby. My mother too. I was taken quite far away and raised by my aunt. I was venturing into your lovely lands to find out if I had more family or any history here. Much to my current despair,” you finished, rolling your eyes.

The two of you sat in tense silence for moments, soaking in your venomous wrath toward the men who had taken you by surprise at the last village you had stopped at for the night. Brigands, both local and foreign to these cold Northern lands. The bottom of the barrel, operating solely out of greed for what they could profit on when pulling lone humans from their beds at each place they passed by. Violence and chaos left in their wake.

“Do you have any idea where they are taking us?” you prompted when the silence grew too heavy.

“South most likely, toward Hedeby. There is a trading settlement there. We won’t make it that far,” she expressed with a surety you envied.

---------------

Asbjørn Syversson stood before the forest’s edge, observing the small caravan. For the last seven days the Berserkir warriors had tracked the thieves, the last three of which they had kept them in their sights. Three days of concealment among the trees, observing their soon-to-be prey. Three days to delve into the rituals so vital to communion with the bear spirit within. To prepare for battle.

The brigands had stolen the king’s sister from the village she had been visiting. The idiots had no idea who they had among them, the danger they had placed themselves in. The king had called upon his Berserkirs to retrieve her and punish the men. They had no idea the hell that was about to rain down upon them.

Syversson shifted on his feet, suppressing the straining beast within. Something was different about this hunt. Something that scratched at his skin, woke his senses. A…scent in the air, one that got stronger as they narrowed the gap to the traveling party.

His men, sensing his tension, rose to their feet behind him, readying themselves to allow the bear spirit free reign of their bodies.

“It is time.”

------------------

“There, now you look like a proper Northwoman,” your companion laughed as she finished braiding your hair. You had learned her name was Bodil. She had quickly found that maintaining conversation was a fine way to distract you from your anger long enough to convince you to eat.

“Mm. Just in time to be sold like livestock. We seem to be getting closer to our destination,” you remarked glumly. “I’m sorry your hope of a rescue did not come true.”

Bodil chuckled. “Oh hardly, my sweet friend. They’ve been tracking us for days. I’m surprised you had not noticed them yourself.”

“I am no tracker. How was I to have noticed?” you replied, a sudden bloom of hope erupting in your chest.

She hummed in reply, avoiding answering.

Your eyes skimmed the perimeter of the camp as the brigands prepared their evening fires. You saw nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps Bodil was just being hopeful, imagining a rescue that would never come. Or perhaps she was telling you such things to ease the worry in your heart until you reached the trading settlement.

“Rest now,” she said, obviously sensing your doubt, “They will come soon.”

---------------

You jolted awake to the sound of a deafening roar.

Disoriented, you cowered to the corner of the pen, trembling.

“Do not hide girl,” Bodil said. She turned to you, grinning like a madwoman, her eyes alight and fierce. “You will not want to miss this.”

You crept forward slowly and looked out between the bars. The camp was in disarray, men tearing themselves from their sleeping rolls to gather weapons, their countenances dripping with fear.

Another fierce roar vibrated across the land, and this time through your chest, down your spine, and down even to your toes. Your heart pounded. Your hands gripped the bars and you pressed forward to see. When your eyes fell upon the source of the brigands’ fear, your mouth went dry.

Perhaps ten men (if you could call them that, for they were the largest men you had ever seen) approached the camp at a swift pace. They wore no shirts, not a stitch of armor amongst them. They were bare from the waist up save for the skin of a bear draped across their shoulders, some with the pelt covering their own scalp and the face of a bear hanging over their foreheads. Every one of them thick with muscle and their eyes completely feral. These were more animal than man.

“What are they?” You asked, hating the tremble in your voice.

“Berserkirs. My brother’s prized warriors. Our most fearsome defenders. The spirit of a bear resides inside each of them. Part man, part beast. And very entertaining, if you understand me,” Bodil’s eyes were alight with both humor and fervor. This woman must be insane, you thought.

Their leader charging in the front of the group let out one more deafening roar, his almost-fangs on full display, the corded muscle in his neck pulsing beneath a thick tangle of beard. The sound rang through you again, causing every nerve of your body to leap to awareness. Then they descended upon the camp.

Axes and swords swung high, arcs of blood following in their wake. Some did not even bother with weapons, tearing into their foes with their bare hands. Men…well, parts of what used to be men…were thrown to and fro in their battle fury. An errant arm smacked against the bars of the cage that separated you and Bodil from the fray, before landing in the mud with a thump. You yipped in surprise, falling back onto your rump. The sound drew the attention of the man nearest you, their leader. His inhuman eyes locked onto your face momentarily, sending a jolt of lightening through your senses, before he tore his gaze away and back to the slaughter.

You turned toward Bodil to see she was still smiling, battle-lust strong in her eyes. Her fingers moving of their own accord as though she wished she was participating as well. Not that she would have had much to do, as the battle was quite brief, and soon you found yourself staring over a campsite of slain men. The Berserkirs stood breathing heavily amongst the bodies, each one of them covered in a spray of blood.

Their leader locked eyes with you again before moving closer. You felt rooted in place, your chest heaving.

“Asbjørn, son of Syver. Leader of my brother’s warriors,” Bodil identified as he placed his hands on the bars. He seemed not to notice the introduction, eyes roaming over you. He sniffed the air slowly. He may have been the most beautiful, most terrifying man you had ever laid eyes upon. His bare chest was covered in thick curls of hair that trailed down his stomach and below the waist of his pants. Your view felt locked upon him, drawn to his handsome features. As your eyes trailed back up to his face, he cocked his head to the side slightly as though in question. Suddenly the muscles in his chest and arms bunched, and the bars were torn away with a resounding crack that jolted you to your core.

“Yrsa,” his deep, gravelly voice caused an involuntary shiver to run down your spine.

“What does that mean?” You asked, unable to take your eyes off the formidable creature devouring you with his gaze. You felt a heat blooming in your lower belly the longer he stood there, drinking you in.

“She-bear. His spirit recognizes yours, I gather. Have fun with that one, my little friend,” Bodil grinned wickedly as another of the men came over and hacked open the chain of her manacles with an axe and she leapt from the makeshift cage.

“B-but Bodil! Wait!” you tried, but she was already walking off, pausing only to pull an abandoned axe from the chest of a slain man and jauntily following the men who were now stripping the camp of any valuables and making their way back to the woods.

You had no option but to turn your attention back to the very intense, very intimidating stare of the warrior blocking your own exit from the carriage. Had this been a rescue only meant for one? It only occurred to you in that moment that you were still a stranger here. One who had been meant to be sold as property. Would these men have a similar intention? Perhaps you were quite stupid in that moment, but the thought made you angry, so you returned the intensity of his stare with a low growl in his direction.

To your complete and utter bemusement, it drew a slight smile from the man. He reached out toward you and you flinched back, earning a sharp look from him. But instead of his hand harming you, he simply ran one of your braids over his open palm in a seemingly reverent gesture. He then leaned in closer, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathed in your scent. He hummed low in his throat, causing you to clench involuntarily.

It was then you lost all your senses. You dove under his arm out of the carriage and rolled through the mud to your feet, taking off at a sprint. To where, you had no idea. You likely had no hope of outrunning the man or his party, no idea why you even were. It’s not like he had harmed you, quite the opposite in fact. But the loss of control over your own reactions in combination with the brutality of the battle you had just seen take place had your primal instincts running high, so your only thought was to flee.

----------------

Syversson watched you scamper away like a frightened rabbit. He tamped down his instinctual urge to give chase. You wouldn’t get far in these unfamiliar woods.

He walked back to the woods to the camp where Bodil and his men waited, using the time to wrestle his own bear-spirit back into submission. He’d never felt anything remotely similar to the feeling that had clawed through his body when he laid eyes on you. Raw, fierce, visceral desire. Not just of the flesh, but an impassioned, soul-deep hunger had overtaken him. He needed to know you. Taste you. Feel your aromatic, soft skin under his fingers. But more than anything, he desired to mark you. In every way possible. To dominate and make you unquestionably his.

Tense, he crossed the final distance into the woods to where his men would camp for the night. Several pairs of half-golden eyes trained themselves to him as he approached, fading back into their normal hues as the men’s own spirits returned to the forefront of their consciousness.

“Return the shield-maiden to her brother. I will join you in the great hall in one week’s time,” was all he managed to grit out, before turning to gather his own sparse belongings and setting off in the direction you had run, Bodil’s knowing laughter fading into the forest at his back.

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So stupid. Absolutely idiotic. You had made a mistake.

You had always had a fondness for the forest back home. You spent inordinate amounts of time trekking and exploring the trees near your aunt’s village. You had thought you would be fine on your own. How wrong you were.

These Northern woods were thick, unfamiliar, and disorienting. And so cold. You had wandered for nearly a day and a half and not found your way out. Completely lost and frightened, you sat down on the trunk of an overturned tree to soak in your own despair for a while. Fuck. You shivered, your kirtle was half soaked with frozen mud. You needed to find shelter or build a fire before the sun set or you would freeze in your sleep. You needed food. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching you. Giving yourself a mental shake, you stood and made to trek on.

An hour later you found yourself standing at the mouth of a cave, the darkness inside both intimidating and inviting. You wanted desperately to shelter inside and begin building a fire with the wood you had gathered. You crept inside the mouth of the cave, moving slowly. Once inside, you placed down the wood and set to work stacking it and preparing the fire, your unease drifting away as you worked. Relief hit you as the first small flames began licking up the stack of wood and you held your hands toward it to warm them as you knelt on the stone ground.

Within minutes your frozen fingers had thawed and you began wondering whether it was worth the effort to find food to gather as darkness began to fall outside. Perhaps you should sleep and worry about finding food in the morning light. You raised your head to assess the best place to lay yourself near the fire, and found yourself staring right into a reflective pair of eyes.

You gasped and fell back, scrambling away from the large grey wolf staring at you from across the fire. It began moving closer to you, its lips pulling away from its teeth as it paced slowly in your direction. You racked your mind, desperate to think of a way out of this situation as the animal drew nearer. Was this it? Rescued from slavers only to be eaten alive by an angry denizen of the forest? Your fear of the Berserkirs seemed ridiculous to you now. What you wouldn’t give to have that feral strength present in this moment.

You tried to slowly scoot yourself closer to the fire. If you could just grab hold of one of the flaming logs, perhaps you could scare the wolf away. At a snail’s pace, you crept your arm along the stone ground, reaching, leaning. Your fingers finally closed around the base of one of the torches and you tugged it lightly toward yourself. Weapon in hand now, you pulled yourself back just as slowly, desperate not to attract the wrath of the creature in front of you with any sudden movements.

But just as you brought it near, your plan was foiled as the stacked wood from the fire collapsed, popping and crackling as it sent a plume of embers flying toward both yourself and your adversary. The wolf, agitated and emboldened by the sudden commotion, launched itself at you. Its jaws agape, the mass of fur and claws signaled your bitter, sad end. There was nothing left for you to do but scream your last rebellious cry at the world as you swung the torch toward your own doom.

But you never made contact.

A roar reverberated through the stone walls of the cave, and something much larger and more furious made impact with the creature, throwing both itself and the wolf past the burning mess that was your fire. Two bodies made impact against the stone, growling, tumbling. Yips and roars of pain could be heard as your eyes made out the color of a man’s flesh tangled against the grey fur of the wolf and the deep, sanguine rivulets of fresh blood.

Syversson.

You watched, frozen, as the absolute beast of a man tore into his adversary. A battle between two animals took place before your eyes, fear and pity warring in your heart for both combatants. Another pained yip tore through the air and the wolf was thrown from the man. Clearly taking it as a signal to its defeat, the animal began a limping run toward the mouth of the cave. The man shot to his feet, clearly intending to give chase, but you had seen too much. You shot up to intercept him, and pressed both hands against his chest.

“No! Please, no. It’s gone. Please.”

You were sure that he could easily knock you aside, but not much could be said in favor of your sense of self-preservation lately anyway. But to your surprise, he halted. His near-golden eyes slowly swiveled to your face, then down to where your palms lay firmly against his sculpted chest. His massive ribcage expanded with a deep breath, which he expelled as a firm chuff in your direction, clearly intending to signal his displeasure. Your knees weakened considerably at the action, but you stood as firm as you could, setting your jaw and glaring into his eyes.

His eyebrows drew together as he observed your actions, his muscles dancing tense underneath your hands. It was obvious he was fighting for control over the beast inside himself. A low growl rumbled from deep within his chest, making your toes curl against the rough stone floor. Your now trembling fingers pressed more firmly against him in an attempt to guide him back.

“You’re hurt, please. Let me help you.”

His eyes traveled to where yours indicated, a deep gash across his shoulder that now sluggishly leaked blood. Your tone was clearly soothing enough for the large man, because he relented, allowing you to push him back toward the rough walls. Guiding him to sit, you quickly tore and gathered what clean cloth you could from your underdress, the over being still covered in now-dried but only slightly less frozen mud from your journey. You carefully wrapped the cloth around the wound and up under the pit of his arm before tying it off. You prayed to the gods you would be able to find clean water soon to wash it, but this would do for now. He never once winced with your ministrations, just monitored your face continuously with those eyes that were slowly fading from gold to a striking blue.

“Are you…are you human again now?”

He chuckled at that. “Yrsa, I will never be fully human. But my bear spirit has settled for the time, if that is what you mean.”

“Why did you follow me?” you asked, “Do you mean to sell me like those men did?”

A fierce anger overtook his features at that.

“Sell you?! Never! I followed you because you are mine. Your spirit calls to mine, do you not feel it?”

You felt something, sure. But what was he talking about? Whatever you felt was surely just part of all the fear and exhaustion and bafflement at the entire situation you had found yourself in. “Y-yours? I don’t understand.”

“My mate.”

“Your…what? I don’t know what you mean,” you found yourself intrigued, but instincts had you moving back from him. You wouldn’t run this time, no. He had proven to be no harm to you, but you also weren’t sure what this mate business was all about and you weren’t sure what his intentions toward you were because of it.

“Perhaps it would be better if I showed you,” he said with a smirk, unfurling his legs and leaning forward toward you. He was an imposing man, all muscle and fur and gleaming teeth. Your breath quickened as he towered over your sitting form, moving closer until he hovered right above you. He sniffed at your hair, your neck, causing shivers to run the length of your body. You found yourself overwhelmed and unable to concentrate on anything but his own musky scent; earth, salt, and the coppery tang of blood lingered around him. Something primal within you reacted to it, causing you to inhale another deep lungful as your core clenched and you pressed your thighs together. His arm reached out, and you unconsciously braced for whatever he was about to do to you.

He grasped one of the logs from the fire and smirked at you again, then set himself to rebuilding the mess that had become of your makeshift camp. You watched, confused.

“You’re mine. Your soul was meant for mine. And mine for yours. I do intend to show you that, in many, many pleasurable ways. But most importantly, I will take care of you.” He gathered the furs you had seen him don previously and arranged them by the fire. “Come.”

You stared, unmoving.

“It is cold. You are shivering. Come.”

Your mouth gaped slightly.

“I-“

“Come.”

Your body drew you to him, unbidden by your own will. As though some soul-deep part of you begged to obey his command. You lay yourself down, stiffly at first, though you relaxed as you drew closer to the warmth of the fire and furs. Feeling nearly delirious as your own body and desire betrayed your stubbornness. Perhaps this is how it ends, a small part of your psyche whispered. Perhaps this is how it begins, whispered another.

“Yes, yrsa. You are safe now. Lay with me,” he whispered in your ear as he enveloped you in his large frame and drew the furs around you both.

And oh if his skin wasn’t deliciously heated against your own, which up until that point you had subconsciously feared would never be fully warm again. Fine tremors wracked their way up your spine as you allowed yourself to relax into the feeling of him pressed up against you. His massive, muscled arm came around you, the pressure just enough to make you feel tender and encapsulated without feeling trapped.

The sound that rumbled from his chest as he felt you relax against him was both delicious and foreign at once. The deep, guttural hum seeped into your muscles and bones like the drum of a war march and the tranquility of a summer rain simultaneously. Could you reach euphoria from a single sound?

Your eyelids sunk heavily as your pupils reached a zenith. A final shudder listed lazily through your being as you were drawn deeply into unconsciousness, feeling wholly, irrationally, for the first time since you were a child, that you were well and truly cared for.

_____________

It wasn’t until the dead of the night, when the fire had burnt itself down to embers, that you awoke.

You weren’t sure of the cause at first, until that blissful hum penetrated into your half-lucid mind. The son of Syver remained stationed in a protective cocoon around your frame, though he stirred now, the movements of his deep breaths pressing him against you. As if he sensed your return to the world of the living, he nuzzled against your hair. No words needed spoken as you cued into the change in him.

Heat,

weight,

…need.

Any slight movements of your body caused you to press against that ardent need. The errant desire that pulsed through you at the realization caused your head to lull back against the firm wall of his chest, a low moan escaping your lips. That was all the encouragement he needed.

His large hands began to roam your body, causing all concerns to flutter away like petals of spring flowers blown in a heavy wind. You were suddenly devoid of all but a certain theme of awareness, drugged by the touch and vocalizations of a near-stranger. One who was no stranger at all, you knew deep down, for you were aware of who he was, regardless of any stubborn desire to rationalize.

You sensed the tension in him. The rapturous fury held leashed. The strength with which he held himself at bay did nothing but add to the heated desire building within you. This was part of you, you realized. A deeply dormant, visceral need contained in your soul which you had only just realized.

“Please.”

A needy whisper.

He groaned, muscles tremoring.

“Are you sure, yrsa? For I will not hold back once I have started.”

His proclamation was emphasized by a firm grip of your fleshy thigh, the painful pressure causing you to gasp.

“I have no desire to be gentle with you.”

You moaned again. “Please!” came your desperate, breathless consent.

He growled his approval against the skin of your neck as you were roughly rolled to your back.

His tongue darted out from between his thick, plush lips as it traced your collarbone. You arched upward toward his hungry form, pressing your chest against his as his body drew over yours.

“Your scent…your taste. It’s intoxicating,” he rumbled as his mouth further explored your skin. He moved up, capturing your mouth with his. He was not a gentle man. It was an almost furious kiss, stealing the breath from your lungs as his tongue pressed between your lips and began to battle your own for dominance. His heavy frame pressed into you with the most delicious weight, settled between your legs as he rendered you nearly thoughtless with his mouth upon yours. He pulled back, his chest heaving, and you nearly followed his mouth in desperation for more. “I must taste more of you,” he rasped harshly.

Rough fingers tore asunder the top of your shift, your small noise of protest only seeming to encourage him further as he greedily palmed your breasts. Each of your nipples was laved in turn, sucked into the warmth of his mouth, causing your body to undulate against his as a torrent of sensations flowed through your form and straight to your core. The urgency emanating from him did not allow him to stop there though.

His tongue and lips danced down your body, his beard tracing a burning trail along your skin, setting alight parts of you that you hadn’t even been aware could burn. You were desperately near begging when he finally pushed your skirts up, his eyes drinking in the sight before him.

“So. Beautiful.”

His words alone were enough to send a river of arousal dripping from you, but the awe present on his rough, handsome features nearly threw you over the edge before he had even touched you. Never had you thought your body was capable of such desire and need. A small whine escaped from you, causing his attention to finally snap to its target. As he lowered his face to your apex, you instinctually pressed up toward him. The hum of approval that fell from his lips as they met your wet heat vibrated through you and nearly made you delirious. His hands gripped at your thighs, the painful pressure only adding to your euphoria as his tongue pressed against you, lapping at your sweet folds rhythmically, firmly. It felt as though he were sending waves of pleasure through you, building to larger and larger cascades until they crested over an unyielding shore. You had never felt anything of the sort, and were nearly blinded as the pressure building within you snapped and you cried out in bliss, shuddering against him, though his hands held your hips firmly in place.

He rose back over you, one arm holding his weight from crushing you, the other reaching a hand to wipe his beard.

“You are…the most delicious, most amazing woman I have ever tasted.”

You had no words to offer in return as you fought to catch your breath. You stared up into his eyes as they devoured your countenance. The beautiful azure was slowly being tinged by gold. You watched in absolute awe as the stain wandered across his vision, not fully, but enough to tell you he was being consumed by instinct. The sight shook you to your very essence, and your legs spread unconsciously as your desire built again. His low growl signaled to you that his desire was just as strong, reverberating through your bones, sinews, and to your very core. His lack of movement told you that he was still containing himself. Waiting for your permission.

He had it. He had that and more. Whatever this was between you, you wanted to let him in, to let him own every inch of you. You reached up and began unlacing his breeches, his impressive length pressing taut against the leather. As you pushed the fabric open and down, over his hips, he shuddered, muscles bunching in his arms and chest as he fought his own instincts long enough to let you lead this small part of your impending union.

His revealed anatomy astounded you, your lips parting slightly in awe. It was somehow the most beautiful and frightening thing you had ever laid eyes upon. His heartbeat thundered visibly, apparent in the pulsing veins that wove thick and proud around his girth. You reached out and lightly, hesitantly traced a finger along one. His growl deepened significantly, pleasure and frustration spilling out of him in the waves of sound. You looked to his eyes, pupils lust-blown and dark amongst the blue and gold of his irises. One moment suspended in time as your eyes met. There it was. That mystery that linked your two souls. Your mutual desire, care, and need hung like a tether between the two of you, stretched taut. He saw the change in you as you recognized it, and with that, he moved.

Lining himself up with your entrance, he pushed his hips forward slowly. The intrusion was vast against your untrained walls. The stretch, despite his preparation, was both painful and pleasurable and you keened as he pressed into you, inch by deliciously torturous inch, tearing asunder your resistance. Your fingers clawed for purchase against his chest as he bottomed out within you, his moan of pleasure furthering your descent into a near-feral woman. He allowed you a mere moment to adjust before the dam of his control finally broke, and he drew back and began to thrust into you in earnest.

You cried out as his pelvis rocked against yours, his length jutting into your core, his ridges burning friction against your soft walls. The painful pleasure of his rigid lust consumed you, ate up your thoughts until you were nothing but a being of pure, animalistic sensation. His face pressed against your neck, lips giving way to teeth as he marked your body as his. His rutting form enveloped you, skin pressing against skin, the coarse hairs of his chest creating further friction against your exposed breasts and nipples. As you cried out again, he pulled out completely.

His strong, calloused hands moved to your hips, flipping your body with ease onto all fours, and he slammed back into you without hesitation. You barely held yourself up as your body tremored all over. One of his arms snaked around your middle, holding you in position, as his other hand drew a possessive line down your back. This was it. This beast of a man would own you completely. Mesh his own soul with yours. And you wanted it so badly you ached.

His hips hit hard against you as his thrusts became impossibly stronger. The punishing rhythm he set made you feel as though you were being torn apart and put back together anew. His hand tangled in your hair, dragging you by a fistful up against his chest. He pressed his lips to your ear, his ragged breaths skimming pure bliss across your skin, causing your eyes to roll back behind closed lids.

“You are mine.”

His grunted proclamation built the burning intensity in your womb to a blazing inferno. Set fire to your soul. You doubted any other words could ever cause such passion to flame within you. But as his next words left his lips, you learned otherwise.

“I.”

His thrusts grew erratic. You felt him swell within you.

“Am.”

Your walls clutched him. The head of his cock slammed against your cervix.

“Yours.”

You fell apart. Fell to pieces. Your vision went white with ecstasy as you shuddered around him and screamed out your bliss.

His accompanying roar tore you asunder. He set his teeth into your neck as he came with a final slam of his cock into your abused hole. You could feel his hot seed spilling against your battered walls, soothing the delicious ache. Your trembling legs gave out below you and he eased you down to the fur-covered ground, collapsing beside you after he softened and pulled from you. You could feel his warm fluids dripping out of you and you shivered.

Syversson pulled you to him, turning you to rest your head against his heaving chest. His hand dipped down between your tremoring thighs and he ran his fingers through your gathered essence. A sigh escaped you as he touched you. Pulling his hand back up, he pressed his fingers against your lips, nudging them open. You laved your tongue around and between them, gathering every drop you could, sucking them clean. His softening manhood twitched at your actions and he groaned, pulling you up to kiss you. Your tongues danced around the taste of each other’s pleasure.

When he pulled away, you lay your head back down on him.

“Rest again now, yrsa. Tomorrow we begin the journey back to the great hall.”

His deep breaths had almost instantly soothed you into a near-slumber, but you had at least the energy to ask.

“And what will become of me when we get there?”

He closed his own eyes and smiled.

“We will go before the king, and I will make you my wife.”

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@beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks @tinylittlebluebird @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @littlefreya @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @summersong69 @faithiee @viking-raider @madbaddic7ed @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hope-to-hell @crimsonrae

*If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!*

A million hugs and smooches to @thelastsock for betaing this for me.

(Dec 11, 2020)

#captain syverson #au #berserker

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

A Decent Workout (NSFW Pierre Gasly)

Masterlist

Completely and utterly self indulgent fic inspired by how damn GOOD Pierre looked over preseason testing. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit

The buzzing of an alarm woke you not long after the sun had risen over the deserts of Bahrain. You groan, rolling over and smacking the solid shoulder of your boyfriend, startling him awake as well. “Turn it off, Pierre.”

He does as he’s told, then clumsily tucks an arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Voice rough with sleep, he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” You echo, nuzzling into his warmth. You curl your frigid hands against his chest, utilizing your personal space heater to the fullest extent. “How long until testing?”

Pierre rests his cheek on your head. His hand traces lazy circles on your shoulder blade like you have all the time in the world. Your eyes slide shut again, sleep beaconing on the horizon. “About an hour.”

You sigh, suddenly awake. “Not much time for lounging around then."

Eagerness mingled with disappointment in his reply. “First day of the new season.”

Pierre's excitement had been palpable the entire week. Buzzing about like a honeybee on the first day of spring, he had prattled on about the specs of the AT02, what changes he was most excited to see, and his predictions on how the car would compare to others in the paddock. You offered your thoughts when prompted, but were just as happy to listen to his happy ramblings and share his enthusiasm.

It had been his idea to arrive in Bahrain early, allowing the two of you a few precious, uninterrupted days with each other. From now on, his weekends would be packed. No more last minute trips to ski resorts or visits to Charles in Monaco. Starting today, his primary focus became Formula 1. He would travel around the world to compete in a total of 23 grand prix this year, and you would follow faithfully to cheer him on.

You lay tangled in each other for a few minutes, trading sweet kisses. “I have to go,” Pierre murmurs against your lips. You tighten your grip around his bare middle, determined to make him stay a little longer.

“You’ll be gone for so long though,” You whine, pouting. The last few days had spoiled you. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Eleven whole hours without a beautiful Frenchman to keep me company.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, you can watch the entire session from the comfort of our suite.”

“It’s not the same as being in the garage.” Damn the personnel restrictions the FIA had imposed for the upcoming season. You wouldn’t be allowed in the paddock for a single race. You understood and respected the decision, but it bothered you that you couldn't be there when he inevitably made it on the podium this year.

“I know.” Pierre tapped your arm in silent request. Reluctantly, you release your death grip and allow him to slide out of bed. He turns his back to you and stretches, granting you a moment to drink him in. He had packed on a significant amount of muscle during the offseason, filling out in all the right places.

Deciding there was no use trying to go back to sleep, you rise and join him at the dresser. He rummages through it, finally settling on a plain tshirt. As usual, you can’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly slides the fabric over his head. How did he make an everyday act so inherently sexy?

Catching your stare, he fights the smile playing on his soft lips. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” You say simply. Going up on your tiptoes, you press a meaningful kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He holds out his pinkie to you. You smile, wrapping your own tightly around it. “Promise.” He allows you one more passionate kiss before he slips out the door to make his way to the track.

At least one perk of staying in a suite was the fully stocked kitchenette. You grabbed an apple before brewing a cup of strong coffee, taking in the view off the balcony while it percolated. You could just see the track from here, something you knew Pierre had specifically requested. Although it was early, heat already rippled from the pavement. Hopefully his Alpha Tauri would stay cool and not throw a tantrum in the intense temperatures.

After a quick shower, you threw on one of Pierre’s extra shirts and let the comforting scent envelop you. Settling into bed with your coffee in hand and a laptop humming on your legs, you wait for the testing livestream to begin. In the meantime you scroll through your phone, reading the comments on the pictures of Pierre arriving at the circuit.

His carefully selected outfit had caused quite a stir and honestly, you understood why. A loose blue shirt, white skinny jeans and sunglasses. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been impressive in any way, but on him… He somehow always managed to deliver exactly what his fans - and most importantly you - craved.

And when the livestream started and he stepped out on the track with his white and navy Alpha Tauri suit half undone, the moisture-wicking underlayer practically painted on… You damn near lost it.

In the months since last season, you’d forgotten how mouthwateringly attractive he was in a race suit. The underlayer left nothing to the imagination, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. The famous Bahrain heat didn't help your sanity either, the sweat soaked fabric turning slightly translucent in places. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as it flips between cameras, desperately praying for another glimpse of your frenchman.

How were you supposed to wait nine more agonizing hours for him to return?

As if picking up on your neediness, you didn't see another shot of Pierre for twenty minutes. The camera cut to the Alpha Tauri garage, where Pierre’s car waited in the pit lane. The closeup of him geared up sitting in his Alpha waiting patiently made you slap a hand over your mouth. Those eyes. You knew the little quirk of his brow he threw at the camera was meant solely for you; a way to unravel you when he wasn’t physically there.

You silently cursed him for how well it worked.

Moments later, the tire blankets are peeled off and his car is lowered to the ground. Gasly was one of the first drivers to head out onto the track, giving him plenty of clean air to lay down fast laps. He completes seventeen laps in the first hour, and by lap twenty he holds the second fastest time, less than a second behind Verstappen.

You try to focus on the precision and skill Pierre is displaying, but your mind keeps wandering back to the image of him standing on the track in his race suit. The consuming need to strip him out of it is incredibly distracting. It doesn’t help that your social media feeds are flooded with images of it either, offering you no reprieve.

By the end of the second hour, Pierre edges past Verstappen to take the fastest lap and go purple. He nearly holds onto it at the end of the session, just a few tenths slower than Ricciardo and Verstappen. It doesn’t matter; pride and love swell in your chest when he finally pulls back into the garage, his excitement evident before he even pulls his helmet off. The Alpha mechanics share his excitement, the camera showing them congratulating him before cutting to post session interviews.

As much as you tried, nothing could make you focus on Max or Daniel’s interviews. You spun the ring on your pinkie impatiently, waiting for Pierre to make an appearance. Ages later, he finally took a seat at the press conference. He took no mercy on you. Again dressed in crisp white and navy that accented his sun kissed skin, the ring twin to yours back on his finger…

“Fuck me,” You groaned, throwing your head back. Even with half his face covered, he was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He carried himself with an easy confidence that no one else on the grid could match, on top of the world and determined to make it everyone else’s problem.

The entire time he spoke, you dreamed of running your tongue up the column of his neck, right over his Adam’s apple. You could taste the salt settled in the hollow of his collarbone, hear his breath catching as you worshipped him.

Only half an hour until he came home to you.

The interview finally ended and you snapped your laptop shut, tossing it to the chair at the bedside. The second he came through that door, you’d pounce on him. Ten hours of straight torture, being forced to endure watching other women on social media drool over him and being unable to congratulate him on his amazing morning session at the garage.

And fuck, would you congratulate him.

Minutes dragged by as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, the endless pictures of Pierre not helping your desperation. You started at the sound of a key fitting in a lock. Throwing your phone aside, you scrambled from the bed, launching yourself at the door as it opened.

“Hey baby-”

You cut him off with a feral kiss, your lust boiling over. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his bag and kicking the door shut behind him. He caught you when you jumped, broad hands cupping your ass as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I love whoever designed Alpha’s suit,” You mumble between the open-mouthed kisses you pepper along his stubbled jaw. “You look fucking amazing in white.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull, exposing the thick column of his neck. Your tongue darts across his skin, savoring the softness. He groans, his grip shifting to dig his fingers into your thighs.

You don’t pause when he lays you on the bed, mouth continuing its needy exploration down to his shoulder. He settles over you, his solid body a familiar and welcome weight against you.

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything once you stepped out onto the track,” You tell him, hands slipping under his polo. “Do you know how many women were talking about you today?”

“There’s only one that I care about,” He murmurs, pulling back to strip off his shirt. You take advantage of the power shift to wriggle out from under him. “Where are you-”

“Lay down,” You say, quiet but firm. The corner of his mouth quirks up but he obeys, taking his sweet time. You don’t mind; watching his shoulders ripple as he settles back against the downy pillows.

“Miss me much?” He taunts, the deep baritone resonating with some primal part within you and sending a shiver down your spine. “Usually our roles are flipped.”

You bracket a bare leg on either side of his with a wicked grin. “Do you really think I’d let you set the pace when you tortured me all day?” You bite your lip and let your gaze wander over the hard planes of his pecs, down his sculpted abdomen, finally coming to rest at the line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You don’t miss the way his attention dips to your thighs, your center barely covered by the hem of his band tee you wore.

Pierre grins, folding an arm behind his head. “Do your worst.”

Your shirt joined his on the floor, piercing blue eyes eating up your newly exposed skin. You sink forward, eye to eye with him. You tip your head to the side, letting your hair slide forward to tickle his shoulder as you lean in to whisper, “I will.”

Lips, teeth and tongue float over his skin, leaving small, easily hidden marks in your wake. You let your hands slide across his abdomen as your mouth makes its way down his sternum, pausing to delight in his rapidly beating heart.

Fingers brushing the waistband of his riot-inducing white jeans, you press a tender kiss just below his belly button. "Why do you always insist on wearing white?"

"D-drives you wild," He gasps out, stumbling over the simple words. You hum against his skin in response, cock twitching against your shoulder. One of his hands flies back to grip the headboard, veins in his forearm bulging.

Only when his eyes slide shut in anticipation do you finally undo the button, unzipping his fly agonizingly slow. Your name is a breathless plea tumbling from him as you ghost your fingers over his length. He lifts his hips just enough to allow you to slide his jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. The tip of your finger runs along the underside of his shaft, causing him to groan. The headboard creaks under his crushing grip as he tries to stop himself from shattering at your barest touch.

Flicking your tongue over the tip, you spread the bead of precum that had gathered there. Slipping into French, Pierre swears viciously, his free hand tangling in your hair. He may know how to make you squirm from across the city, but you knew how to return the favor tenfold.

"You gonna win for me in two weeks, my love?" You purr, curling your fingers around his cock.

"I'll w-win every race if it means you'll fuck me," He replies immediately, wholly submitted to the promise of your touch.

You hum noncommittally before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the head. His hips buck, but you're already reacting in anticipation of that very movement. He groans in frustration when your mouth leaves him. A welcome change from your normal games, when it was his head between your thighs, his teasing tongue flicking across your center, your hips rocking in frustration. You enjoy his frustration for a few breaths, lazily drawing circles on his hip like he had done to you that morning.

"I think that could be arranged."

Bracing your hands on his chest, you position yourself so your slick folds brush against his cock. Arching your back, you grind your hips against him, your own chest heaving in time with his. The hours of anticipation had left you dripping wet, evidence of the effect he had on you. You silently praised yourself for your restraint; you wanted to drag out his need and tease him like he had done to you all damn day.

"Mon amour," he murmurs, and you damn near lose your mind. Two words in his native tongue, dripping with honeyed softness but spoken with such rawness, it sets your soul on fire.

You reach a hand back, guiding him into as you sink down. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the thickness of him, and you have to give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness.

Sweat beads on his golden brow as you begin to ride him in earnest, his hips rolling to meet yours. Panting, you dig your nails into his forearm, leaving angry red crescents behind. No matter how many times you fucked, it always felt like the first. The perfect fit never ceased to amaze you, the angle of your hips putting delicious pressure on that magic spot inside you with every thrust.

"Pierre," You breathe, head falling back. His own thrusts become more frenzied, the wet sound of skin on skin sending a bolt of ecstasy through you.

His breathy moan of your name guides you over the edge into oblivion, your orgasm slamming white hot over you. Your desperate movements begin to slow, Pierre stilling beneath you as you struggle to regain your senses. Limbs shaking, you roll over, allowing yourself a moment to steady your breathing before turning back to him.

Pierre jerks when you take him in your mouth once more, tasting yourself on his cock. Hollowing your cheeks while taking as much of him as you can, you wrap your hand around the rest of him.

"Fuck," He mumbles, over and over as he thrusts his hips into your mouth a handful of times before his release finds him. His hips jerk as he cums, your tongue coaxing every last drop from him. You let him finish before swallowing the salty liquid, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Sighing blissfully, you collapse onto the pillow next to your beloved. His arm hooks around you, still sticky with sweat but you don't care.

“I would say that counts as my workout for today,” He jokes, voice shaking in the aftermath. You laugh, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Tomorrow, I choose your outfit."

Pierre’s laugh rumbles through you, setting your toes curling. "As long as it makes you attack me when I get home, I'll wear anything you ask me to."

#my writing #pierre gasly #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly fanfiction #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 rpf #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #formula 1 imagine #f1 rpf

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elliestormfound · 3 years

Note

Ellie, my darling, I'm here to request some soft, cute shit.

In honor of the landing of Mars Perseverance rover landing, I would love to see Jaskier getting emotional over it!

That little rover, up there all alone, doing its scientific duty!

I imagine he'd be especially emotional thinking about how the Curiosity rover sang itself happy birthday out there, all alone.

(I'm thinking Geralt is confused but loving and supportive - but very confused by his friend/boyfriend/husband/whatever)

Thank you darling. ILU

Thank you for the prompt! ilu2 <3 and thank you for proofreading this :D

thank you @stinastar for the idea for this <3

In which Jaskier and Geralt watch the landing of the mars rover Perseverance. Jaskier gets emotional and Geralt is there for him. Modern AU with an established relationship, 900 words

This is a silly little fluffy fic and I did absolutely zero research for it, so I'm sorry if you find any incorrect stuff

CW: sex is mentioned without detail, Jaskier get's emotional about the Rover being all alone on a foreign planet (but this is fluff with a happy ending!)

read on ao3

---

Perseverance

“What are you watching?” Jaskier asked as he walked into the living room. Geralt was sitting on the couch with a beer in hand.

“NASA live stream,” Geralt said - as always his taciturn self.

Jaskier rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.

“Anything interesting?”

Geralt huffed. He knew that his boyfriend found most of these things boring. The only thing that could mysteriously hold his attention were nature documentaries and (not so mysteriously) dating shows.

“The landing of Perseverance,” he said and turned his head to look at Jaskier. As the younger man lifted his eyebrows in question, Geralt continued, “the rover they send to mars.”

“Oh, that is in fact interesting,” Jaskier said, “move over.” He waved his hand at Geralt to make room on the couch and plopped down next to him. He drew up his legs to sit cross- legged, pressing his knee into Geralt’s thigh.

“Is the rover still in space?” Jaskier asked.

When Geralt nodded, he asked, “when will it land?”

“Probably in half an hour.”

“And what do all those people do?” Jaskier asked after a while. The stream showed the control room full of people on computers.

“Do you actually want to know?” Geralt asked, one eyebrow raised.

Jaskier hummed non-committedly, reached for Geralt’s beer and emptied it one go.

Geralt sighed but didn’t complain and put his arm around his boyfriend.

A moment later Jaskier burped loudly.

“You’re disgusting,” Geralt said but hugged him closer.

“But you love me anyway,” Jaskier replied with a smile.

Geralt grunted but stroked his thumb over Jaskier’s arm.

“Say it,” Jaskier said, jabbing his index finger on Geralt’s knee.

Geralt grunted but said, “I love you anyway.”

Jaskier smiled and snuggled closer to Geralt, so he could lean his head on his shoulder.

As the moderator of the live stream gave updates about the velocity of the spacecraft and the distance to the surface of mars, the tension grew not only in the control room on the tv but also in Jaskier.

“Will there be a countdown?” Jaskier asked.

“Don’t know,” Geralt said, “it’s not like at the launch where they can time it precisely, so probably not.”

Jaskier reached over, grabbed Geralt’s hand and squeezed it.

“Do you think everything will go according to plan?” Jaskier asked with worry in his voice.

Geralt shrugged and said, “probably not, there is always something they couldn’t plan for.”

Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand harder as the updates about the distance to the mars surface grew smaller and smaller.

“I hope he will be alright,” Jaskier whispered.

And suddenly everyone in the stream cheered!

The moderator announced that the rover had landed. Safely!

The worry on Jaskier’s face was washed away by a wide smile and he threw his arms around Geralt. Geralt hugged him back and drew him in his lap.

Jaskier gasped but smiled softly at his boyfriend. Slowly he leaned forward and brushed his nose against Geralt’s. All of a sudden the cheering and the landing of the mars rover were forgotten. Jaskier weaved his fingers through Geralt’s white hair and tucked at it just a bit.

Geralt hummed deep in his chest, which sounded almost like a growl and leaned forward to kiss him. Jaskier’s soft lips tasted like beer and the strawberry chapstick he used. They had been together for a few weeks now but it was still thrilling for Geralt that he could just kiss Jaskier - something he had been thinking about for way longer.

Without breaking the kiss he got up with Jaskier in his arms bridal style and made his way to the bedroom.

Jaskier giggled, “if I’d known that space and mars rovers turned you on…” But he was silenced by another kiss from Geralt.

----

After some mind-blowing sex (where not only minds were blown), they lay lazily in bed. Geralt was dozing and Jaskier was scrolling through his phone.

And suddenly his mood changed.

Someone had posted the first photo the rover took of mars, with the caption: “this is now my forever home.”

Something in Jaskier’s chest felt tight and he inhaled sharply.

Geralt opened his eyes to look at him closely and frowned as he saw tears glitter in Jaskier’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked as he reached over to tuck a soft brown curl behind Jaskier’s ear.

“Everything okay?”

“No,” Jaskier said, his voice oddly thick.

“Geralt, do you think the rover is lonely?”

Geralt tilted his head and drew his brows together in confusion. “What?”

“The mars rover. He is all alone up there.” Jaskier looked in Geralt’s hazel eyes with utter despair.

“Jaskier, that is a rover, a machine, it doesn’t feel.”

“How do you know that he doesn’t feel?” Jaskier whispered.

“It,” Geralt interrupted him, “not he.”

This was utterly ridiculous, but as a single tear started to roll down Jaskier’s cheek.

He knew that Jaskier was prone to sudden mood swings.

Then he remembered something.

“Jaskier,” he said softly, “there are other rovers on mars.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, “Sojourner, Opportunity…” he counted on his fingers, “Curiosity, probably one or two more…”

A smile broke over Jaskier’s face.

“And if I remember correctly, they send some kind of small helicopter or drone with the rover this time.”

“So he has a friend with him?” Jaskier said and Geralt nodded.

“They can visit his brothers!”

Geralt smiled at his wonderful and silly boyfriend and nodded once more.

“Yes, they can visit his brothers.”

Tag list: @jaskierswolf @dani-dandelino @hailhailsatan @panerato @marvagon @x-anxious @moonysourenza @kaktusbambus @wildonewrites @dapandapod @honeysuckletook @thecomfortofoldstorries @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @broken-verses @vampire--dad @whenrainbowsend @geralt-of-riviass @sleepy-thief @artistsfuneral @hriive @stinastar @innocentbi-stander @darkangel91939 @in-love-with-writing002 @fandommagpie @fontegagrilledcheese @kozkaboi @nonegenderleftpain @veritasrose @havenoffandoms @feral-jaskier @llamasdumpsterfire @dhwty-writes @trickstermoose67 @rockysstupidity @the-bones-friend @peanitbear @your-lordsherlockholmes-posts @berlin-buttercup @pomegranatebitch @ninfatommo @mayastormborn (please let me know if you want to be added on or removed from my tag list)

#witcher #geraskier #geralt #jaskier #modern au #the witcher #witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #EllieStormfound #geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde

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yamigooops · 3 years

Text

~lingerie hcs~

this is just me doing crackhead stuff because I can, y'know?

warnings: a smattering of nsfw, but heavy on nsfw themes

includes: akaashi keiji, osamu miya, kuroo tetsurou, tendou satori, ushijima wakatoshi, oikawa torū, kenma kozume, suna rintarō, bokuto kōtarō, and daichi sawamura

Akaashi

This mans likes things plain and simple, a direct message, so you decide to give it to him straight: you want him home now

He sees a new image message from you and expects some picture of a dish you cooked or a quick shot of you snuggling with the cat on the couch

He never in a million years would have guessed it would be a picture of you nearly naked

He rushes to hide his phone screen from his co-workers, not only because of the graphic content, but because no one else was worthy of seeing your immaculate body

He takes another peek at the image, taking in the lighting and soft curves and every little detail, feeling his pants tighten as he grows hard under the desk

Thankfully you sent it just a bit before he got off, because he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to wait to get home

The door to the apartment shuts and you grin, moving from the bathroom to perch yourself on the bed. You can hear the dull thumps of his shoes falling to the ground before the sound of his socked feet moving toward where you sat. The bedroom door opened and Akaashi paused, drinking in the sight of you on top of the duvet, chest bare with just a black thong on. His mouth watered at the sight as he tugged on his tie while moving slowly toward you.

“No, no,” you murmured. “Let me take care of that.” You motioned for his tie as he came to a stop before you. You shifted so your legs framed his hips, tugging him closer so your chest pressed against his stomach. You made quick work of his tie and shirt before he lost his patience and stripped off his pants. Guiding you gently onto your back he kissed down your chest between the mounds of your breasts, his hand coming up to knead the soft flesh of one of them. His other hand made its way up from your ankle to rest on your hip just as his lips reached the border of your panties.

“That picture really didn’t leave much to the imagination, darling,” he growled, lips brushing your skin as he slipped his fingers under the edge of the fabric. You sighed as his hot breath found your core, feeling that oh so familiar twinge in your stomach. “Now let’s see what these were hiding.”

Osamu

Listen I have this headcanon that this mans is such a kinky bitch

Like BDSM is totally something I think he would be into

So imagine his s/o wearing this (BUT NO BRA AND UNDIES) while they go at it

You can’t tell me that’s not hot (I mean I guess you could but I’m drooling over the idea)

“Everything feel alright bunny?” he prompted as he pulled the last strap closed. He yanked it just a bit too tight, the leather biting into the flesh of your thigh, but you didn’t complain. It kind of made you even wetter.

“Everything feels perfect, ‘Samu,” you replied in a hushed tone. He ran the tips of his fingers over the straps on your thighs, up your hips and ribs to rest on your breasts, pinching your nipples gently as his grin grew across his face.

“You’re always so good for me bunny,” he cooed, pressing his lips to your forehead. His hands came up to your throat, securing the thick band of leather around the column of your neck as you squirmed against him ever so slightly. “But don’t forget your place, got it? It’s master, and I don’t want you slipping up again.” He gave the back of the collar a tug so the leather tightened against your windpipe and you squeaked out a “Yes master,” knowing this was going to be a long, sleepless night.

Kuroo

I just feel like this man would appreciate something edgy like this

Like shit he’d be salivating over this

The way it shows off your hips AND tits?!

He’d be putty in your hands, try to tell me otherwise

“Baby come on, I just wanna see you,” he called as you finished getting everything in place. His breath hitched as you stepped out of the closet, the heels on your feet clacking against the hardwood floor. His eyes widened as you stopped at the foot of the bed, his throat bobbing as he gulped.

“What’s wrong baby, cat got your tongue?” you purred, climbing onto the bed. You came to straddle his hips, pushing his chest back down to the bed as he tried to rise onto his elbows. “I’m gonna take care of you tonight,” you leaned down to whisper into his ear. You felt his skin prickle beneath your touch as you caught his earlobe in your mouth, nipping at it playfully.

“I must have either been very bad, or very good, and I can’t tell which one would be better,” he chuckled apprehensively as you raised back up on your knees. You ran your hands over his chest, enjoying the feel of the muscles beneath your fingers. “Either way, you better take good care of me tonight,” he smirked, fingers wrapping around the center strap on your chest to pull you down, so you were nose-to-nose with him. “Otherwise I’m gonna be real sad.”

Tendou

You’re just his pillow princess oh my god

This man would do anything for you, and you’d do anything for him

He got you this set as a gift and you’re finally putting it on

It literally takes his breath away

Like he stops in his tracks before he goes absolutely feral

“Do I look pretty?” you ask, socked feet coming to a stop on the cool hardwood by the door as your boyfriend places down his things. All he can do is stare, mouth agape in wonder at the sight of you. You shift from foot to foot, unnecessarily nervous about what he was thinking as he stared at you.

“Pretty girl, you look-” he trailed off, looking for the right words to describe your appearance. “You look like an angel,” he decides, sliding his shoes off before joining you on the hardwood. His long fingers find a home on your frill-clad hips as he pulls you against his chest gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “How did you know I was missing you today?”

“I just had a feeling you’d like this,” you giggled, closing your eyes and leaning your forehead against his collarbone.

“Well I really do,” he chuckled, before sweeping you off your feet and carrying you to the bedroom to show you exactly how much he enjoyed it.

Ushijima

Ok this man likes it classy and you can’t tell me otherwise

Like he doesn’t need you to show every scrap of skin to be turned on

If something fits you beautifully or you show off in something, he’ll get flustered

So when he sees you walk out in this his mouth opens a bit in shock

You just look so…gorgeous

“D-Darling…” he murmured, jersey in hand and mouth agape. He had just gotten home from a game, and you beat him back to the house as he had to meet with the team afterward. You’d gotten this piece to celebrate his next big win, and that just happened to be today.

“Congratulations on the win today honey,” you smiled, coming to place a hand on his chest. He looked down at you with quiet love in his eyes. “I thought I’d surprise you.” There was a seductive tone to your voice that made blood rush to his groin as the hand you had placed on his chest slowly made its way down over his abdomen.

“While this is unnecessary,” he began, lips quirking up at the corners. He placed a hand on your hip, gently fisting his fingers in the slick fabric of your skirt. “I won’t say I’m upset with you, not in the slightest.” Leaning down, he placed his lips against the skin beneath your ear. “But color me surprised,” he growls, the bass of his voice rumbling against your skin just before he sweeps you up to show you just how much he appreciates you.

Oikawa

We all know this mans is EXTRA

So only the best will do for him

You walk out in this and he’s instantly drooling

Like you’re his diamond, but seeing you decked out in bling like this just goes right to his dick

“Baby you-“ he gulps, feeling his pants tighten. You’d just gotten back from a nice dinner and you let your dress fall to the floor to reveal this. “You had that on all night?”

“It’s comfier than you’d expect,” you smirked, stepping out of the pool of fabric. You came to run a hand down his chest, undoing buttons as you went. His hands came to rest on your hips to fiddle with the chains there, and you couldn’t help the swell in your chest at the fact that you’d made him go silent.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think to get you something like this sooner,” he purred into your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. He let one hand stray up over your breast to play with the chains there, fingers brushing your skin and raising goosebumps. “You always look like a million bucks, but now you’re sparkly. What am I gonna do with you darling?”

Kenma

You come into the gaming room just as he is finishing up a stream and sit down on the giant Totoro plush he got you last year.

You’re out of sight of the camera, which is a wonderful thing because you’re not decent at all

He greets you with a hello and a sideways glance, returning his eyes to the monitor for just a moment before doing a quick double take

You grin as he tells the stream he has to wrap it up because you’re calling him for dinner

You never even say a word >:)

He turns off the stream and yanks off his headphones, not bothering to turn off the ring light at his desk or log out of anything he has open

“Kitten, what’s this,” he purrs, sitting on the edge of his seat as you settle in. You just smile over at him, twirling the chain connected to your choker around your finger.

“I need help with something,” you tease, bringing one knee up so he could see just a peek of your panties beneath your skirt. You watched as he swallowed thickly, wiping his palms on his joggers and letting his eyes roam over your delicious form. He stood slowly, lips turning up in a sly grin as you nestled further into the plush.

“Anything you need, princess, you know that,” he cooed, stopping before you and holding out his hand for the leash. You hand it to him gently, drawing in a breath as he yanks on it playfully.

Suna

I just feel like this absolutely fits his vibe

Dark and seductive but also frilly like?? Come on

And he would think you look so cute sitting there like a pretty little doll

All ready to be fucked senseless

“Oh baby doll, look at you,” he cooed, slowly approaching you on the bed. “You got all dressed up just for me?”

“Course, Rin,” you giggled, pressing your thighs together as he came to a stop at the foot of the bed. He pulled out his phone, turning on the flash as he took photos of you all dolled up for him. “Pose for me baby,” he crooned, moving to get better angles of you. “You look too pretty to not have pictures taken of you.” You moved, posing for him on the bed as the flash went off every few seconds. He chuckled as you worked the camera before he tossed it to the corner of the bed, tugging off his shirt and crawling onto the bed.

“Did you get some good pictures?” You smirked, twining your fingers into his hair as he came to straddle your waist.

“Oh of course, you’re the prettiest model I could ask for,” he hummed, placing his lips gently against your forehead. “’Specially in this, you look stunning right now babe. Can’t wait to see it on the ground though.”

Bokuto

You decided to go shopping for new lingerie, and couldn’t decide between two different sets

Since you wanted this to be a surprise for Bo, you decided to send pics of both to your best friend

HOWEVER

You accidentally sent them to Bokuto

Meanwhile, this mans is at the gym, pumping iron with the rest of the MSBY team, and he’s just bopping out to his work out playlist when he gets a text notification from his sweetiepie

He opens it in earnest, eager to see what you had to say, and almost has a nosebleed

He texts you back saying which one he likes better, and you realize your mistake, but get the one he picked out

Homeboy has a tent in his gym shorts for the rest of the workout, and by the time he comes home you’re already back and waiting for him

“Are you home baby?” he calls as he walks in the door, just needing to know how long he’d have to wait before being able to take care of the problem in his shorts.

“I’m getting changed,” you call from the closet, sliding the final straps into place. There was the sound of hurried footsteps outside, then the door opened, and your boyfriend stepped into the room. He caught sight of you in the closet and stared for a moment, eyes drinking in every curve and line of your body. He moved to stand behind you, one hand grasping your hip and the other brushing your hair back to as he leaned down to press his lips to the junction of your neck and collarbone.

“Mmmmm you look so sexy in this, babe,” he groaned against your neck. He tugged your hips back as he ground his length against your ass. His free hand trailed up your tummy to gently knead your breast. His calloused fingers were soft on your skin, but you could feel the need behind the action as you let out a soft moan.

“They were supposed to be a s-surprise,” you huffed, leaning your head back against his shoulder as his lips moved up the column of your throat.

A shiver shot up your spine as those lips came to a rest next to your ear and whispered, “Well I’m glad you didn’t make me wait.”

Daichi

SOFT! DOM! DADDY! DAICHI!

This man would make you feel so pretty and would buy you all the pretty frilly things you could ever want and just omg

He totally bought this for you and thought you would look so pretty in it

So you decided that after a long day on patrol, he deserved to come home to something soft and sweet

His hat dropped from his hand as he opened the door, finding you perched lightly on the bed looking like an angel and ready for him. “Hi daddy,” you smiled gently, fidgeting with the frills on the garters atop your thighs. “How was your day at work?”

He looked like he could fall apart, like all the stress suddenly left his body and left him bare and weak. So, you stood and made your way over to him, wrapping your arms around his muscular chest and burying your face in his uniform. He slowly wrapped an arm around your waist, while the other came up to cradle your head. “Baby girl, you must be psychic because this is exactly what I needed,” he murmured into your hair.

Looking up at him with worry in your eyes, you pouted slightly. “Did you have a bad day at work?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. He usually tried to keep work out of the bedroom, so if he was willing to admit that, you knew it must have been really bad. “It was pretty stressful, I won’t lie.”

Placing one hand against his cheek you smiled softly up at him. “Then let me make you feel better, okay daddy?”

~~~~~

@exquisuna @banana-grammar @kalesugar @bokutowifelol

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maeve-writes · 3 years

Text

Closer

Pairing: Demon!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You brought him closer to God

Rating: 18+; Minors DNI

Warnings: PWP, light bondage, dirty talk,

a/n: This was a submission for another SPN challenge. This is for the prompt: “I’m going to make you scream my name.”

Originally posted on @plaided-ani

Inspired by Closer by Nine Inch Nails.

You were dead.

At least you hoped you were because there would be no other explanation of how you were in absolute, blissful heaven.

“You still with me, sweetheart,” a rough resonant murmur scratched at your ear.

The gag pinched against the corners of your mouth when you moaned and arched towards the sound of Dean’s laughter. Your skin burned against the pull of the rope which held you tight to the metal frame and pulled at your joints, giving you no quarter.

Heavy booted footsteps circled the bed, you did your best to track the sound with a tilt of your head. To your right came a slide of a drawer, a shuffle of contents and the eventual pop of a cap. “Mmm, strawberry,” Dean crooned.

The bed dip between your legs and the slow crawl of his large, broad body spread your legs wider to test the give on the ropes around your ankles. You could imagine what he looked like, tongue pinched between his teeth, lips drawn up in a sensual smirk as his eyes sparkled in sinful delight. You’d give anything to see him, just one brief look at the hungry expression on his face.

Instead you felt a cold drip onto your heated core that drew a full bodied shiver from you. One cool, sticky drop after another slid over your folds mixing with your own sweetened slick. “You don’t need this, do you, baby,” Dean chuckled and sat back to admire his work. “Already soaked and practically dripping onto the mattress. I haven’t even touched you yet.” You whined against the gag and you pulled on your restraints. Dean was a tease at the worst of times, but this was torturous.

He shifted his weight once again and you knew what the brush of soft cotton against your thighs and the puff of hot breath against your aching center meant. Two thick fingers parted your folds and Dean hummed in delight. “Fucking perfect.” A third finger slowly trailed from your entrance to your clit, mixing the flavored lube with your own natural tang before it disappeared, but a groan and a crystal clear pop meant Dean had a sampling taste.

Wet and thick, his tongue followed the same path, deliberate in its agonizingly slow pace that left your body vibrating with need. “Sweetest fucking thing on this planet, darlin’,” he praised. The flat of his tongue once again danced through your folds before his mouth locked around your clit and sucked on it leisurely.

You writhed on the bed, your thighs twisted and clenched around his wide form. Muffled pleas tore from your throat, but Dean paid them no mind. He moaned into your quivering sex before he released your clit only to drag his tongue slowly towards your hole and fucked it open.

The metal creaked as you pulled against the frame, all four limbs flailing uselessly. His nose nuzzled at your clit but was soon was replaced with his mouth as it enclosed around you once more, flicking and swirling that made your thighs trembled against his head.

You were close, so very close with every swipe of the thick, warm muscle and his scruff tickling your most sensitive parts. He knew you were almost there if his breathy laughter huffing against you told you anything and he rewarded you with long, hard pulls of your folds. Without preamble, he shoved two meaty fingers inside of you and sucked hard on your clit.

You lifted off the bed as you came, convulsing around his stilled fingers and weeping around your gag. He continued his assault on your oversensitive bud until you were practically kneeing in the head to get him away from you.

The bed shifted beneath you once again and over the ringing in your ears you could hear the jingling of Dean’s belt and the slow drop of his zipper. Then two warm, calloused hands ran up your thighs, blunt nails dug deep enough to hit bone when they came to rest on your hips. “So goddamn beautiful, baby,” he whispered in his gruff baritone. “So sweet and innocent, too perfect to be in a bullshit world like this.” For the first time since he pushed his way into your house, Dean sounded somber. “But there's gotta be people like you so there can be people like me.”

Like a vice, his fingers pinched your nipples, twisting and tugging until you sobbed against your gag. “People like me gotta corrupt people like you.” He drew in closer to you, voice like velvet on his tongue, “Heaven or hell, doesn’t really matter, don’t really need ‘em. I can tear you apart and put you back together and have you beg me to do it again.”

Your chest heaved as you tried to comprehend his words. “Would you like that, sweetheart?” His hands left your chest and closed around your neck, no pressure was applied, just completely enclosed around you, a silent promise of what he could do. “Want me to show you just how fucked up this world can be and make you feel so good while I do it?”

You panted against the cloth in your mouth, eyes wide, but hidden behind silk. Dean had never been rough with you, not on like this. Passionate, yes; slow, deep thrusts that melted your brain and turned you into jelly, not the bone shattering severity he threatened.

One nod was all it took. An inhuman growl ripped throat his throat and he captured your lips around the gag as he undid the knot at the back of your head. “I’m going to make you scream my name,” he hissed into your open mouth and tore off your blindfold.

“Dean,” you rasped when you regained your sight, eyes wide as you stared up at his darkened leer.

“Not loud enough,” he snorted and shoved your thighs further apart to carefully line himself up at your fluttering entrance. “C’mon, baby, let the whole world know who you belong to.” With a practiced snap of his hips, he shoved into you until his hips hit yours forcing a choked sob from your lips. “I know you can do better than that, Y/N.”

He pulled back to hook an arm under your knee to hold you open before he slammed back in and knocked the wind out of you. You knew what he wanted from you, but the brutal, punishing pace started, every snap of his hips rocked your bound body, the harsh shock waves taking your breath away. “Let me hear you,” he growled and lifted your other leg to drill deeper into you.

“Dean,” you whimpered, head tossed back unimaginable pleasure with your eyes squeezed shut.

“That.” Thrust. “Is.” Thrust. “Not.” Thrust. “A.” Thrust. “Scream.” He dropped your legs and draped over your body to snatch your hair. He pulled until your scalp burned to force your gaze onto him once more, never once stopping his savage pounding. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head with as much leave as he gave you. “Then I suggest you start using that pretty voice of yours and sing for me, baby,” he whispered with his black eyes boring into you. His teeth flashed in a bright smile before they sank into your bottom lip and pulled.

Cooper pooled into both of your mouths to turn your teeth pink. “Dean,” you cried out, your entire body sore from their hold and the ruthless snaps of his hips.

“That’s my girl,” he praised with a deep guffaw. “Always so eager to please, aren’t you?”

You managed to nod once, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close. “Want to make you happy, Dean.”

“Oh, I’m always happy with you, sweetheart,” he rumbled and licked a bloody stripe up your cheek. “Happy to use this tight, perfect little pussy of yours. Does that make you happy, Y/N?” You nodded feebly, your body tired and aching from his onslaught. He grabbed onto your chin, fingers digging deep enough to hit bone and drawled out, “Say it.”

“I’m happy,” you replied weakly. From the snarl you received, that wasn’t the answer he wanted. His fingers twisted your hair until you could feel the strands being plucked from your scalp and you cried, tears ran down your face and you sobbed, “I love it when you use me, Dean. Fuck me, please! Whenever you want.”

He released you from your hold completely and sat back far enough to keep himself buried inside of you. “You better get yours because I’m going to get mine,” he warned you. The force of his hips was enough to rock the bed on its frame, each thrust swayed you in your ropes and every grunt he gave was followed by a mewling pule from you.

That unearthly growl filled the room as he spilled inside of you with one final feral push as deep as you could take him, leaving you unsated.

He wiped the sweat from his brow when he pulled out of you and grabbed the blade that laid next to you on the bed. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he huffed and cut you free from your hold. “Maybe something to eat, too. Gonna need you ready for round two.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #originally posted on @plaided-ani #demon dean x reader #demon dean x you #demon dean x y/n

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megan-is-mia · 4 years

Note

I really like your naga jamil fic. Can you do an nsfw sequel with #4 monster prompt?

(hell the fuck yes)

4. “Live in this world, you’ll forever be my queen”

(Yandere! Naga! Jamil Viper x Fem! S/o) (WARNING NSFW AND NON-CON AHEAD)

One day, legends would be told of the fleet-footed maiden and the ravenous naga of the forest. The villagers would speak the girl’s name with the highest respect for the sacrifice she made and how she tamed the beast that had once terrorized the villagers when the moon rode high in the sky. Oh how wrong those humans were, how ignorant of the truth they were. (Y/n) had not tamed the beast, oh no she had instead awakened his most feral instinct with her dance under the night sky. While the girl had slumbered in his den still weary from the previous night’s performance, Jamil was busy with building a nest for them. Everything about the girl made his instincts scream to fill her with his spawn. And why should he deny himself? The villagers would never believe (Y/n) if he did allow her to go. It was better this way, much better this way if he made her his wife. These thoughts ran around his mind as he placed the finishing touches on the nest before he moved his darling into it and stripped her of what clothes she was wearing. Jamil hissed approvingly at how smooth his love’s skin was as he ran his fingers over her soft flesh, giving her breasts additional attention before darting between her legs and into her waiting cunt. Even so, (Y/n) slumbered on with the only indication of her still being in the living world being how her legs tried to squeeze shut around the naga’s hand. The naga’s tongue slipped from his mouth as he bent down between his sweetheart’s thighs to taste her nectar drawing a pleased growl from the male’s lips at the taste. At this moment, the girl’s eyes finally popped open but before she could even think to fight she was under the beast’s hypnotic thrall. Jamil continued slurping up the juice that dripped from (Y/n)’s cunt until her body tensed and she came with a soft gasp, splattering the naga’s face with her fluids. Jamil licked her pussy and thighs clean before sitting up and pressing himself against her entrance. He let out a snicker at how the girl’s face scrunched up as she realized he had two cocks eager to be inside her warm cunt. “You look so beautiful like this ya amar, I can only imagine beautiful you’ll look round with our spawn” he cooed pressing the heads of his cocks into (Y/n)’s hole and watching how her face scrunched up even more. “Be good for me ya amar and I swear I will spoil you as you deserve” Jamil said, beginning to sink into the girl’s depths. “Live in this world, and you’ll forever be my queen” he went on his hands moving to squeeze her breasts and toy with her clit to distract her from the pain of his cock opening her up. “It hurts, please. Please stop. Just. Just eat me” (Y/n) said weakly fighting through the hypnosis over her. She only got a pitying look from the naga as he continued to tease her body into accepting him. Jamil tutted his tongue and pressed his lips against the girl’s own as his hips finally came to a stop against his love’s rump. He pulled back a little before slamming back in, making the girl’s body lurch with unexpected pleasure. “Why would I eat you when I can have you like this? When i can have you carry my spawn in this fertile womb of yours?” Jamil replied pulling his mouth away for a moment speak before attacking (Y/n)’s lips again and fucking her greedily. The girl’s body went stiff as she came for a second time and went limp. The naga took advantage of the sudden relaxation of his lover to speed up and fill her with his eggs and the sperm necessary to fertilize them with a low hiss. When he was finished, Jamil did not immediately pull out. No instead he took his time coming down from the sexual high by licking up (Y/n)’s tears and kissing her face with his hands petting her hair affectionately. The girl sobbed weakly as control of her body was gradually returned to her. The naga gently coaxed his darling’s head into resting in the crook of his neck while his tail wrapped around her lower body like a vise as she continued to cry, eventually tiring herself out enough to fall asleep. Jamil’s hand darted down to feel (Y/n)’s stomach, the eggs in her womb making a subtle bump on her lower abdomen and bringing a grin to the naga��s face as he ran his fingers up and down the protrusion with possessive delight. He was looking forward to seeing how his darling’s form would continue to swell with child and how she would fall deeper still for him and his desire for her...

THE END

#Yandere Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland #Yandere Jamil Viper #Jamil Viper

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imaginesbymonika · 4 years

Text

Happy | Diego x Reader

Prompt: you and Diego had a fight and he comes up to your doorway at three am because he realizes it’s not living if it’s not with you.

Warnings: angst, mentioning of childhood abuse and its aftermath (I used my own feelings in this one), fluff

Inspired by : (I know it’s a song about drugs, let’s imagine it’s not)

Diego always characterized himself as a lone wolf, someone who rather lives his life independently than share it with somebody else. Because sharing does mean caring, even if that sentence is used as a silly analogy. It was true.

It is no secret, that Diego’s childhood was abusive and his demeanor definitely indicates that his father’s ‘parenting’ left their wounds on his soul.

He was like a feral creature, you appear too close you’ll scare him away. Y/N knew that too, but she couldn’t care less.

She actually managed to tear down most of his wall, and right now Diego was despising himself- for letting her see so much of his damaged nature.

“Where is Y/N?”,Klaus asks while he pours himself another glass of wine. The man with the scar on the side of his forehead sighs softly:” What do you mean?”.

“The young woman, the one that came for brunch the other day- where is she?”, his brother sits down on the barstool and crosses his legs:” She seemed nice.”.

Diego doesn’t reply, instead, he begins again to clean his knives. For a few minutes, Klaus watches him before he gasps:” Is she-?”.

“Dead?”,Diego completes his sentence and raises his eyebrow:” For someone who is surrounded by dead people, pretty much every day- you truly have a problem with it.”.

Klaus takes a sip before he puts it on the bar. “But no, she isn’t dead.”, he says and Klaus takes a deep breath.

“Would have been a shame, you looked so happy with her.”.

Happy. Diego rolls his eyes. He’s the happiest when he is alone, it has always been that way. “Yeah, right.”, he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. But loud enough for Klaus to hear, who furrows his forehead:” What do you mean?”.

“Nothing.”,Diego retorts and stands up, he puts his knife into his pockets and walks out of the living area into the kitchen. He puts a toast and into the toaster and leans against the counter.

“I can’t believe you would go out and not tell me about it.”,Y/N’s voice was irritated. Her nostrils were flaring, while the vein on her throat was very apparent. Diego had never seen her like that before. “It is no big deal.”, he answered, throwing his dirty and bloody suit onto the ground, next to the washing machine. He heard how Y/N let out a shaky breath:” That isn’t fair, D. And you know that!”.

Diego turned his head to face his girlfriend:” You’re not my mother, what I do during the night is none of your business, to begin with.”. If Diego would have looked at her for a few moments longer, he would have seen the exact moment in which Y/N’s heart shattered into pieces. Without saying anything, she grabbed her purse and coat and left.

Ping.

The sound of the toaster draws Number two back into reality. “You want to tell me, what happened?”,Klau asks, his voice gentle as he walks over to him. But Diego shakes his head, he cannot let more people in. He can’t do that.

He eats his food in silence while eyeing the white wall. He feels his brother's eyes on him, but he doesn’t care. Something inside of him feels unusual, like liquid that spilled on paper and now everything was unreadable. He swallows the last piece of toast before he puts the plate into the sink.

Without saying anything he flees the mansion and proceeds to walk down the street.

“And you are-?”,Diego asked and leans against the door frame. “Lost.”, the young woman confessed and gave him an embarrassing smile:” I was looking for the exit- and I must have stumbled into your apartment.”.

He chuckled:” I am Diego, by the way.”. “Y/N.”.

It is already past midnight when out of nowhere the doorbell starts ringing. Y/N moans as she tosses the sheet to the side. A yawn leaves her lips as she walks towards her front door. The young woman runs a hand through her hair before she peeks through the door hole. She furrows her forehead before she unlocks the door.

„Diego?“, she takes a step to the side to let him inside:” It’s three am-.”. The man with the black jacket steps into the living room and for a few moments, he walks in loops before he halts and faces Y/N. She crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Okay.”, he takes a deep breath:” Growing up, my father constantly told me “don’t ever get attached to anything that has a heartbeat, because sooner or later- sooner or later whatever it is, it will abandon you” and that has become my mentality for a long time.“.

Y/N sighs:” Is this because of our fight? I just did that because I care about you.”.

Diego nods:” I figured that out today, you just did that because you care. No one ever did that for me before.”. The young woman bits her lips and sadness is noticeable in her eyes. “And it’s just that sadness is so engraved in who I am, that it’s difficult to avoid. I will snap, I will be angry easily- but I want you to understand it’s simple b-b-because...”.

Y/N walks up to him and takes his trembling hand in hers:” Yes? Take your time.”.

“Because I love you. And I never loved anyone like this before.”.

Y/N stares at him for a second before she pulls him into her arms, she runs a hand gently through his hair:” I love you too.”.

Maybe vulnerability wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. They know it’s a long way until he will be fully comfortable - but he will get there, and he knows she’s by his side. Through is all.

#diego hargreeves fluff #diego hargreeves imagine #diego x reader #diego hargreeves #umbrella academy #umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #ben hargreeves #Spotify

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soundwavefucker69 · 3 years

Note

Baby Tal'ika: Mace takes one look at this kid and kisses any peace goodbye

ohohohohoho let’s have some fun with this. I think it’s gonna be long, so I’m putting in a break

-----------

It took a grand total of three seconds for Mace to come to the conclusion that this was his future padawan, and another three seconds for him to come to the conclusion that he was never going to know another moment’s peace in his entire life. Really, it wasn’t hard. The tiny initiate was somewhere between adorable, achingly sad, angry, lonely, scared, and something else Mace had rarely, if ever, seen on a child their age: resigned.

They were resigned, and he could see it in their eyes.

They were also like a dying star in the Force, and already knew how to trick the perceptions of sentients to pass unnoticed and unseen, which brought him to the question of why someone had taught them that at an age when that was the last thing you wanted a youngling who was not supposed to go missing to know.

Mace felt a lot of things when he looked down at one Tal’ika Fox-Kenobi, and not all of them were positive, but they were all very, very sure. Confident. Aching, in their own way.

And the child just looked at him, set their stubborn jaw, and flopped down on the grass of the Room of One Thousand Fountains before reaching up with one tan hand to grasp his own.

“I want to meditate,” they announced, and Mace felt something in his heart ache, because what child their age wanted to meditate?

“Alright,” he agreed, and sat down with them. “But can we speak first?”

They were old, but they had also been raised by a Jedi. And apparently a whole cluster of clones, but that was neither here nor there. So, realistically, they were a youngling, and didn’t need to be initiated into the Jedi, but they also needed to be verified. For a lot of reasons. The way Qui-Gon had brought Anakin into the temple had been a hot mess, ignoring a variety of regulations that were in place to protect a prospective initiate, spouting off about prophecies and things that a child shouldn’t have to worry about, but Anakin had been a lot of things. And Tal’ika had been a lot of things, too. He wasn’t going to do this in the council chambers, which were big and terrifying for someone so young. No, the fountains were a far safer place, far more secure and less scary.

“Yes,” Tal’ika replied, but they hadn’t let go of his hand. Raised by clones, indeed. They were probably used to contact, and constant contact, at that.

“Alright,” he said slowly, and let his big hand lay out on his knee so they could trace over the lines in his palm and pick at his calluses. “You can’t answer wrong, so just be honest with me, and I will be honest with you. Is that fair?”

Tal’ika paused, tilting their head in consideration as they looked for loopholes in that statement, before they nodded, firm and sure.

“Yes. That’s fair,” they decided, firmly, with confidence that made his heart sing. This was a child that was young, and well adjusted, and well loved, for all the turmoil he sensed in them.

“Thank you,” he said seriously, because he always made a habit to thank young ones. “Can I ask you about where you’re from?”

“A ship,” they replied. “The last one blew up, so Cody called help, so we’ve been on the Havoc Marauder.”

Okay, that was concerning. Mace knew that name. No wonder Tal’ika already bit three people. He couldn’t even blame them.

“Not on a star destroyer?” He hedged out, and they scrunched up their nose as they turned his hand over to trace the curves of his fingers.

“Why would I be on a star destroyer? Plo saved me from the Empire, why would I be back with them?”

The what now?

“Why did he save you?” He asked, and they looked up at him like he was stupid.

“Because they killed people like me,” they replied, like it was obvious. “They killed you.”

“I see,” he said seriously, as something uncomfortable settled in his gut. “How did they manage that?”

“You tried to arrest the Emperor, and then he killed the whole council and the Order and threw you out a window,” they replied and frowned. “You don’t take care of your cuticles, Master Windu. That’s not healthy. Plo makes a good cream for cuticles.”

“I’ll be sure to ask him for it,” Mace promised, because Plo did make good cuticle cream, and was constantly harassing Mace in that polite way about how he kept leaving his cuticles cracked and bleeding, and that was a bit easier to focus on than the whole Order being killed. “How long ago was that?”

“Uh... thirteen years? I think? I wasn’t born yet. There’s chips in my bavodu’e’s heads, and they had to kill you. Plo likes to kidnap them so he can take them out. He even taught me how! It’s fun. Better than staying on the ship, anyways,” they responded and rubbed at his cuticles with a little furrow in their brow. “Your cuticles are a mess.”

“My apologies. I’ve been too busy to take care of my cuticles,” Mace said, because they were really liking to circle back to the cuticles. Chips? What on earth? “Tell me about how you’ve been living.”

“We have to travel around a lot, on account of me and the bavodu’e being Impir-icle property that stole ourselves,” Tal’ika responded and shifted their little fingers to start pushing back the offending cuticles. “And Plo is supposed to be dead, so they’re pretty mad about that. He’s very proud that he keeps making them mad. He won’t say it, of course, but he’s very proud.”

“Who do you live with?” Mace prompted, and Tal’ika sneezed. He didn’t even flinch at the flying bits of snot that splattered his hand. They had at least tried to do it into their arm, and they wiped his skin off with their sleeve before going right back to getting his cuticles presentable.

“Uh... Right now, we have Plo, Wolffe, Sinker, Cody, Rex, and we just kidnapped Gregor. Oh! And the Bad Batch. Echo is teaching me how to slice, and Hunter gave me a knife, and Crosshair taught me how to make a headshot. Cody was upset about that. Actually, Cody is upset about everything everyone is doing, because the Bad Batch are ‘gremlins’ and are making me ‘too feral and competentent’. Neyo just left, to join the Rebellion, and he took Thire with him, because Thire keeps getting sad about me, and Neyo didn’t want him to be alone. I think I made him sad, too. But they might be sad because Bly just marched on. He didn’t do well when we took the chip out and got sick. I mean, not sick like when I get a tummy ache, but sick like he didn’t want to get out of bed and just stared at the wall all day. He wasn’t doing well, and then he was gone, and Neyo was trying to take care of him, but Rex said sometimes other people aren’t enough to make you better.”

Mace knew Commander Bly, and the casual hints being dropped that Tal’ika didn’t fully understand was making his stomach sink in his gut. Empire, Order dead, chips that made the clones kill their Jedi, Plo kidnapping clones to take the chips out... It painted a morbid picture for Bly, and a morbid one for Aayla, and he wasn’t certain he wanted to confront the picture in the presence of a child.

“Sometimes people aren’t enough,” he agreed, as careful as he could manage, and Tal’ika looked at him with the big amber eyes he’d seen a million times.

“Is that why Plo is sad?”

“... Yes. That’s why Plo is sad,” because even now Plo was sad, and Mace hated to see it. He couldn’t imagine how Plo would be in the aftermath of a very morbid future Tal’ika was painting. “Can you tell me how Plo is teaching you?”

“Everyone teaches me,” Tal’ika replied dismissively, and went back to pushing back his cuticles. “But Plo and I do meditation in the morning. And before bed. It’s a little hard, with how everyone is sleeping on top of each other right now. Not much room. Lots of people. I have to share a bed with Echo and Tech, cause we’re the smallest. We do a lot of exercises, and he teaches me things.”

“Like how you hide,” Mace supplied, and they nodded firmly.

“Yeah. And the Code, but they also teach me the Resol’nare. Plo lets them, though, so long as I understand how to follow the Code.”

It would seem that in the aftermath of devastation, what few clones left were clinging to the Mandalorian diaspora. He didn’t know how to feel about that. Did that make Tal’ika the second Mandalorian Jedi in history? Force, that was going to be a headache when they got older.

“And your regular studies?”

“Uh...” Color rose in their cheeks. “Leia says they are ‘un-or-tho-dox, but Tech says they’re re-le-vant.”

In hindsight, he shouldn’t have expected much from a half feral Jedi youngling raised by some of the most unorthodox clones he had ever heard of. Cody was wonderful, but he had met Captain Rex, and he knew for a fact their educational modules had to be a hot mess. And then Plo had gone and tossed them in with the damned Bad Batch. Granted, it sounded like he was desperate, given the previous ship blowing up, but the very thought of Tech getting his hands on a hyper intelligent Force sensitive child’s educational requirements was headache inducing.

Yes, the Temple was going to be better for them. Much better for them.

“Can we meditate now?” Tal’ika asked, their voice barely pitching into a whine, and Mace decided he’d grilled them enough. The picture they painted was a bleak future, where the survivors fought for what little happiness a hard galaxy could afford them. And, well, he still had to accept them into the temple, and he had to actually examine their Force core in order to do that.

He knew they would pass, of course, just as sure as he knew they would be his. It was a quiet, uncomfortable confidence in his gut that he hadn’t felt since he first laid eyes on Depa, but this was going to be his padawan, Obi-Wan and Plo be damned.

“Yes. Of course. May I--- Oh.”

Tal’ika had simply climbed to their feet and plopped right between his crossed legs. Right. Raised by clones. Of course Plo would indulge their tactile nature in meditation, and of course they were still young enough to get away with it.

Tal’ika’s spine straightened, and then they breathed out, their eyes slipping shut as they crossed their legs to balance on his calves. Mace just came to the conclusion that this child was forceful, possibly a little too forceful, but there was little harm in it. They evidently had a good head on their shoulders, and far be it from Mace to ever tell a little one no. So, he just balanced his hands on his knees and relaxed into a meditation with their warm back pressed up against his chest.

“Do you need me to walk you through it?” He asked, and they firmly shook their head no.

“No. Plo says it’s time for me to start doing it on my own,” they replied firmly, and Mace’s lips twitched in a smile. Of course they were going to be advanced. This was a Kenobi child.

“Alright. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

They were so firm, so sure of themselves. He didn’t think they’d ever heard a disparaging word from someone in their life, and he was quietly glad for it. There was nothing that gave him greater hope than a young child who knew exactly who they were and what they wanted, a child who had never once been given room to doubt themselves and their needs, who expressed things firmly and aggressively without a hint of shame. It was a good thing.

Slipping into meditation was as easy as breathing. Their little back pressed against his chest, and he followed each breath as they sunk into the Force together, their Force signatures tangling together as they steadily dropped their shields to share with him. Mace let them drift, cataloguing and categorizing the conflicting emotions that had risen up within himself and setting them aside. Anger was there, and pain, and confusion, and fear. How could he not be afraid? They had essentially spoken of genocides, of the clones and the Jedi, and this was his home. His family. He was the Grand Master of the Order, and he had evidently failed it in their time.

He would have to do better.

Tal’ika was still at an age where they needed a little help, and Mace set to the task with an age-old comfort as he helped them identify the emotions in their body that was too damn small for the burning Force presence that engulfed them. They were angry, and they were terrified, despite the cool exterior. They had communicated as much as they could, but someone, namely Plo, had evidently taught them extensively about when words weren’t enough, the Force would suffice. No wonder they had been so demanding about meditation. The fear of all the changes and confusion was a roiling core, and Mace nudged along at their shields, coaxing them into letting them down so he could help.

They did, easily, with only the trust of a child, and Mace hummed as he reached out to touch that fear and press forward with comfort and reassurance. Letting go wasn’t enough, sometimes. It took awhile to learn, and they were far too young to have it mastered. Being validated was important, too, and he made sure to acknowledge the fear and uncertainty overtaking them. It was only natural.

Inch by inch, they let go of the fear, and he buffeted them with warmth and acceptance as they did. The trust of a child was always an overwhelming sort of thing, and he couldn’t help but wish he could spend more time with younglings. It was a lot easier, even with time-traveling post-apocalypse younglings. Adults got wrapped up in their emotions and consumed by them. Younglings, though, did a lot better with letting comfort be comfort and fear be fear and anger be anger. They didn’t mix things up, took anger for safety and fear for a shield.

After helping them detach from their fear and pain and loneliness, which they let go with surprising swiftness, he spent a little time nudging along their shields and examining who the Force was telling him they were. Tal’ika Fox, the child of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard, was a lot more than their lineage. Sifting around, he could see that they were kind, at their core, not at all like their father, who Mace knew never hesitated to cut someone down if they stood in the way of justice. No, this was someone who would hesitate, and at any given opportunity. However, interspersed with that kindness and desire to help was an unsteady nature. No, even unstable, which could be attributed to the cloning techniques used to make them. Or perhaps they had been engineered to be more aggressive and unbalanced. He wouldn’t put it past the Kaminoans. Plo had been apparently doing his damned best to prove the difference in nature versus nurture, though, given how Tal’ika had just demanded meditation when they felt like they couldn’t keep it together for much longer. As they got older, they might need real medication to help balance them out, but for now they could do their best to balance them out in the temple and their upbringing.

Compassion was there, too. Boundless compassion, and forgiveness, which was going to be a given, given their Plo’s apparent proclivities for kidnapping and yanking control chips out of clones’ heads. They’d probably been shot at a fair number of the clones they’d saved, and probably had been scared by a good amount of them, but here they were. All of the tenants of the Order so entrenched in their being.

Yes. They would be fine for the Jedi.

It was almost nice, sitting in the grass with them on his lap, taking this meditation so seriously, serious as a heart attack. He could feel their single minded focus, and it brought a sense of fondness to the whole ordeal. He needed to do this more often, probably after he solved the problems presented by their little time traveling initiate. He almost lost track of time, just letting the Force flow around them as he let his mind drift, emotions rising up and being set to the side, correcting nudges given whenever their attention began to focus. In fact, he did lose track of time, right up until the moment someone cleared their throat behind him. He hadn’t even felt Ponds come up, more focused on fixing Tal’ika’s posture.

“Commander,” he said as he opened his eyes. Tal’ika let out a quiet noise of frustration at the interruption, and he patted them on their shoulder.

“You told me to collect you for the briefing, sir,” Ponds said, and Mace ignored the mild amusement radiating off the man at the sight of his general with a mini Obi-Wan in his lap.

“Well, we’ll have to drop Initiate Tal’ika off at their creche, first,” he replied as Tal’ika climbed to their feet and straightened their robes, which they seemed to be deeply displeased to be wearing.

“I can take myself,” Tal’ika declared, and Mace cringed at the thought.

“The last time you ‘took yourself’ to the creche, you ended up in the restricted section of the Archives with a lightsaber that did not belong to you,” he replied, and Tal’ika paused.

“Well, if you don’t want your weapons to go missing, you shouldn’t leave them laying around just anywhere,” they sniffed. “Cody told me Obi-Wan was always leaving his saber everywhere, so I was really doing a good deed. For Cody.”

Ponds was physically restraining himself from laughing, and Mace was just infinitely glad he had no bad habits, because he wasn’t sure he’d survive the humiliation of Tal’ika helpfully correcting his.

“I’m not sure Obi-Wan would agree with you, Tal’ika,” he said gravely, and Tal’ika crinkled up their nose.

“That’s because he doesn’t know what’s good for him, Master Windu.”

“Sir, you are going to miss the briefing,” Ponds cautioned, and Mace leaned over to pick Tal’ika up and set them on his hip.

“I’m the Grand Master of the Jedi Order. They can wait,” he replied, and Tal’ika snorted.

“That’s abuse of power,” they said, very seriously, like they had heard it many, many times before.

“We all have our vices, Initiate Tal’ika,” Mace replied, just as seriously, and Tal’ika took his face in two very small hands to turn it to them so they could look him directly in the eye.

“I don’t.”

Ah, yes. Their apprenticeship was going to be a nightmare. Mace couldn’t wait.

#realityhoudini #shrooms is writing #rex fox comes running #mace windu #listen Tal'ika would objectively be the PERFECT apprentice for him #especially temple raised Tal #this is turning into its own fic and I don't regret anything #tiny!tal'ika

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skrltwtch · 3 years

Text

Muse

Prompt 1: Just like some people sleep-walk, you tend to paint or draw while in your transformed state because it calms you down. And apparently, people really like your art.

Prompt 2: A is a popular artist, and B messages them without thinking one day. They didn’t expect to become friends, and they definitely didn’t expect to become more. Person B just felt that connection between the two of them.

Prompt 3: A/Werewolf has a tendency to curl like a dog in front of the fireplace a lot (usually in their werewolf form, but it’s not uncommon for them to do it as a human). (Sources in master list)

Word count: 3,721 words

Genre: Fluff, romance, supernatural

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

I put up with the long commute to and fro between home and work for two reasons, and two reasons alone: the decent rent for a place with a picturesque view and that catered to my monthly needs, and the glut of time to catch up on my reading. And by ‘reading’, I meant ‘scrolling through the handful of social media feeds that survived my latest cull of shit that was taking up my time and storage space unnecessarily, and occasionally attempting (and failing) to pay attention to my Kindle’. Hey, at least I was aware I had a problem …?

Instagram was my first hit of the day. I flicked past images of makeup, friends in situations I wouldn’t be finding myself in anytime soon, and cute animals. The occasional meme and comic draw out an exhalation of air from my nostrils. I marvelled at artwork and photography, half wishing I were half as good as the people I followed and admired, half chiding myself for not practising either enough and losing interest quicker than I’d dropped money on new equipment in the name of my new endeavours. You could say one of my hobbies, the ones I’d been consistent about, was amassing gadgets obtained to indulge my whims and fancies.

My heart skipped a beat — or was it the pothole the bus went over? — when I came across a new post by George. I didn’t know him personally to refer to him by his first name like that, but hadn’t social media broken down boundaries between people, making them seem closer to each other than they really were? He was an illustrator whose work I chanced upon on Reddit a while back. His portfolio was a patchwork of subjects, often portraits, rendered mostly in traditional media like watercolour and oil paint. He sometimes shook things up with abstract, contemplative pieces. He had something for almost everyone. For me, it was his attractive, angular yet distinctive faces and statuesque figures, use of watercolour, and versatility: one piece could be superhero fanart, followed by a collection of moody, atmospheric paintings of the English landscape with some fantastical additions.

It also helped that he seemed to be a nice, chill person, and a handsome one at that, too, based on the smattering of pictures he had of himself on his feed. Please, let me imagine a world in which someone as ideal as him — or what I knew about him — wasn’t beholden to anyone for a moment.

His latest post was a drippy bust of a snarling wolf with full moons for eyes. The caption simply read: ‘Mood.’ I smirked as I hit the like button. Did I mention that he drew wolves a lot as well? Sometimes his wolves were feral; sometimes they were humanoid, but still wild. The latter featured heavily in his conceptual works, albeit as hazy, indistinct forms, like blurry photographs. In any case, I liked that he had a fondness for wolves and werewolves, as the constant presence of the full moon in art of the latter would suggest. Anyone who liked wolves was a-okay in my book. Anyone who liked werewolves was even more so. Because.

An interrupted connection between my brain and my reflexes led me to visit his profile. Instead of returning to my feed, my thumb gravitated toward the message button at the top of the screen. Not a single cell in my body resisted this turn of events despite the restored connection. Oh, what the hell. Why not? Like, what were the chances he’d read my message? He had tens of thousands of followers, a likely considerable chunk of them being bots aside. He must receive DMs every other minute. I’d be another sycophant in his sea of fans. Or he’d see my homely mug and locked profile, and he’d think I was driven to add to his never-ending count of unread messages simply out of misguided thirst.

The beauty of the Internet was that it made ‘out of sight, out of mind’ fairly easy to put into practice.

I got the following out of my system and into his inbox: ’Hi! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been following your Instagram for a while, and your latest post just made me want to say your art is amazing. (I can totally identify with the sentiment behind it.) I especially love your more abstract pieces. There’s something so … raw about them. And I like that you seem to like wolves a lot, too. They’re beautiful animals, and your art really captures that about them. Anyway, keep up the great work! Take care.’

I exited Instagram, not caring about the rest of my feed anymore and not wanting to feel like I was stalking my notifications for something that’d never come. My phone buzzed with several notifications as I went down my Reddit homepage. I swiped away the banners with green icons that pelted the top of my screen. Those could wait. What couldn’t were the banners stating that I had a new message and a new follower request from —

‘Oh, my God!’ I said, loudly enough for me to hear my own voice above my music (the chorus of Walk the Moon’s ‘Shut Up and Dance’ at half of maximum volume, so … loud). Not one soul on this lightly populated bus acknowledged my exclamation — not even the woman sitting next to me. (Come on, lady, the front was mostly empty.) Thank God for technology making hermits of us all. Or my sudden outburst paled in comparison to the shit that could happen and had happened on public transport. When you took long journeys as I did every day, you’d see some real shit in due time, too.

I launched Instagram for the second time this morning (stop judging, Screen Time) and the first time ever with trembling hands. The notifications were real. I approved his request first. My mind raced to recollect anything on my profile that might make him regret his decision to let my piddling photos of food, myself, my cat, and random junk take up precious space on his feed. Nope, couldn’t think about that now, because I was now staring at an actual, honest-to-God message from George:

’Hey! Thanks for reaching out, and thank you for your kind comments. They mean a lot to me, especially what you said about my experimental stuff and wolves. They are stunning creatures, aren’t they? And yeah, I drew that last picture after a particularly rough night. You could call it a self-portrait of sorts, I suppose.’

I snorted. Change the fur colour and make the eyes normal, and it was a portrait of myself every full moon. Okay, not something I could tell someone I just met, let alone a popular artist on the Internet …

Before I could recover from the shock that my inbox held an actual, honest-to-God message from George Holden (that was his last name — the oxygen made it to my brain for me to remember that he had his last name on his profile), he sent another one: ’Anyway, how are you? I took a look at your profile, and it looks like we have quite a number of things in common.’

What, really? No way. Was it the lashings of sweet treats I subjected my stomach to every weekend? The horror and science fiction titles, celebrity memoirs, and comics, sometimes paired with an iced coffee at either a café I put down roots for the afternoon or the one-bedroom house in Waltham Forest I called home, I showcased to put forth some form of air of intellectualism? The cross-stitch projects featuring memes and popular culture icons? His profile was quite barren of anything that could provide insight into what else he enjoyed doing besides his art. Which, hey, was perfectly fine: no one was obligated to share their personal life online.

I replied, ’I’m fine, thank you. I’m on my way to work. Favourite part of my day, really. And really? Like what?’

Most of my notifications that day were from him.

✦✧✦✧

I was a bustling hub of activity in my seat: A sip of my drink. A shake of my knee. A lift of my phone. A turn of my neck. A shift of my weight from one butt cheek to the other. I was certain I was generating enough electricity to power a lightbulb in five-second intervals. I couldn’t help it. I was so, so excited — and so, so nervous. This was my and George’s first time meeting each other in person. There’d be no screen between us. Actually, what difference would that make? We’d been talking to each other for months, either through text or video calls, the latter more common in the weeks leading up to today. We’d seen each other even on our ‘I’ll put on a clean shirt, brush my hair, and hope for the best’ days. What could either one of us do in person that would irrevocably alter our friendship for the worse? Well …

The sound of someone entering the café stopped me from starting on a list of things that I could do to fuck things up. I looked up, probably the seventh time I did so in the last ten minutes. This was on me. I grossly overestimated the amount of time it’d take me to get somewhere as usual; a natural by-product of living far from the city. Seventh — probably — time was the charm: it was George — and right on the dot, too. His punctuality added to his attractiveness, which had already gone through the roof and was heading straight into the stratosphere. I bit my lip to suppress any unfortunate exclamations. He was a friend, Evelyn … just a friend, and I had no illusions otherwise.

I called out to him. He waved at me and joined me at the table I picked out for us. And the second our eyes met, devoid of any barrier between us, everything about him — and everything about us — clicked.

He was just like me.

And I was just like him.

And he was as astonished about it as I was, going by the long silence that passed between us, a first since we got to know each other.

‘Hi! Oh, my God, it’s so good to finally meet you!’ I said with a grin to break the tension. He broke out into a smile, his posture relaxing. Success. Should I go in for a handshake? No, that’d be too stuffy for a months-old friendship. A hug? No, that’d be too intimate for a months-old friendship, and an online one, too, no less. Was it obvious this was my first time meeting someone I met online?

‘It’s good to meet you, too,’ he said, his expression of cheer unabating. ‘I’m going to get myself a drink first, and then we can shoot the shit.’ His smile turned into a grin. ‘Do you want anything? My treat,’ he added as he spotted me reaching for my wallet.

‘I was thinking a red velvet muffin, please.’ I didn’t know why I didn’t get one earlier. ‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’

As he left, my nerves turned into happiness that I met another werewolf. It was rare to meet other werewolves just about anywhere. What were the odds that two werewolves, one of whom was Internet-famous, would become friends because the other one had a brain fart one morning to send a message to the Internet-famous one? You couldn’t make this shit up. In all the years I’d been a werewolf, George was the first one I knew. I didn’t even know the one that turned me. I got bitten one night, and that was my life changed forever. I figured everything out on my own — I had to. And my puny social network of werewolves made sense: this wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would advertise about themselves.

Once George settled down and courtesies were out of the way, the first thing out of his mouth was ‘I never thought I’d meet another one like me’.

I moved my chair closer to him so that we could speak at length about what we were without the fear of being overheard. ‘Me neither.’ Then it hit me, and I quickly said, ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, though.’ Personally, I was okay with what I was. No existential dread here, contrary to what one might expect of a werewolf. It happened. I learnt to manage it in a way that made it not have any kind of significant impact on my life. I refused to let it define me. And honestly, I lived for particularly bad days that coincided with full moons.

‘Are you kidding me?’ His face lit up with boyish glee. ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for so long! As in, us meeting up in person for the first time and me getting to know another werewolf. Two birds, one stone: the only kind of killing I endorse. And I’m so fucking chuffed it’s you. I always felt like I could talk to you about anything, and now that really, really means anything.’ It was his turn to be able to power a light bulb, but in twenty-second intervals this time.

‘Same. How were you turned?’

‘I was bitten during a camping trip with friends a couple of years back. You?’

‘Secondary school. I was walking home from the library.’

‘Shit, that was some time ago, huh?’

‘Almost half my life a werewolf.’

‘Do you know the werewolf that did it?’

‘Nope. How about you?’

He shook his head. ‘Nah. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it, that you’ll never get to know the person who’s changed your life so … deeply? They won’t remember either that they turned someone. If only having kids was like that, yeah? Absolutely no sense of responsibility whatsoever.’ He gave his teaspoon a lazy twirl, causing a faint plume of milk to rise and sink into the dark, bittersweet depths from whence it came. ‘I struggled with what I’d become the first couple of months. The transformations were one thing.’ Oh, yeah. ‘I felt … grotesque. God, the amount of self-pity, like, why was I the only one who had to go through this every month when there were four other guys ripe for the picking? So, I decided to start incorporating wolves in my art to get to know and reclaim that part of me. I didn’t want to see it as something ugly. I mean, you get to experience a kind of rebirth every month. That’s extraordinary if you think about it. And I told myself that like myself, the wolf didn’t ask to be born. Ha, ha. Millennial humour. Anyway. Then the most miraculous thing happened one full moon: I woke up next to a coherent painting that wasn’t there the night before.’

‘Oh, my God.’

‘Right? My more artsy stuff? The ones I hate coming up with captions for? Almost all done while I was transformed. I’d started some of my art — bet you can’t guess which one — on full moons, too, and I finished them after I changed back. It’s as if the wolf knew we were now cool with each other.’ He took a big chunk out of his apple crumble and jammed it into his mouth. ‘Sorry if that sounded like spiritual woo-woo. I’ve been wanting to tell someone about this forever.’ Crumbs fell out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Shit, I’m such an’ — he shot me an impish look as he swallowed — ‘animal, aren’t I? Fuck, I can make stupid references like that now, and someone would get it!’

I laughed. He was such a dork. ‘It’s not “spiritual woo-woo”. It’s amazing. How is that even possible?’

‘I have no idea.’ He held out his hands in front of him. ‘So thankful we get to keep our hands and not have them turn into paws.’ He waggled his thumbs. ‘Fuck, yeah, opposable thumbs. And I want to say it’s like when artists get high and make stuff. I do know artists who do that, and hey, no judgment. To them, I do the same thing, too.’

‘And here I am, feeling accomplished whenever I make it through another full moon without waking up in a trashed place. Seriously, that’s amazing.’

‘I think that’s what’s keeping me from losing it while transformed. I was surprised people liked those pieces when I started posting them, considering they’re such far departures from what I usually post.’

‘That explains why they’re so … visceral.’

‘Yeah? I figure you’d appreciate them even more now.’ He smirked. ‘And you know, no one really talks about my wolf art, and especially my werewolf pieces. Maybe if I didn’t make them blurry and made them more explicit …’ Oh, he’d get a different breed of followers altogether. ‘But that’s fine. I don’t want my lycanthropy to define me and my work. It’s just a part of who I am.’

‘My turn to say something possibly corny: I like your wolf art because … they make me feel seen, because they’re drawn by you.’

He put a hand on his chest. ‘That’s not corny. I’m happy my art makes you feel that way. You know I don’t care about the likes or comments. It just so happens I like drawing things that make me get likes and comments.’ He pushed his plate toward me and motioned at me with his fork to try some of his apple crumble. I obliged him. ‘Did you ever suspect anything? Not that, you know, I purposely drew wolves and werewolves as a kind of signal for other werewolves to pick up on. That’d be giving me way too much credit.’

‘No, I just thought you like wolves a lot.’

‘Same here. What you said about wolves being beautiful creatures when you messaged me the first time … that made me feel something, too.’

‘Then I’m very glad we got to be friends,’ I said. Born from the same blip in brain activity that set us on this path, my hand found itself on top of his. His touch had a pleasant, almost familiar heat to it.

‘Me too.’ He turned his hand over and clasped mine.

‘I have an idea,’ I said, mostly to distract myself from how right this felt. ‘Do you want to meet on the next full moon?’

‘Sure. I can’t wait to see what kind of inspiration will strike with another werewolf around.’

‘Your place, then?’

He nodded. ‘Unless you’re cool with me possibly trashing your place with paint and stuff. That hasn’t happened before, but who knows? What if wolf-me doesn’t like change?’

I stared at him in disbelief.

‘I can’t help it. You have no idea what kind of beast this has unleashed. Oops.’

We sat and talked in the café the entire afternoon; we took turns treating each other to food and drinks to justify our occupancy. Our conversation moved on to other topics besides the one special, biggest thing we had in common. Just like we didn’t want it to define who we were as people, we made a promise to each other, and we did so over a strawberry custard tart, that we wouldn’t let it become the foundation of our friendship from this point on. It’d be unfair to the moments we shared before this. We were friends because we cared about each other, we brought out the best in each other, we could truly be ourselves around each other, and, honestly, I didn’t think anyone else would have the patience for his goofy in-jokes.

✦✧✦✧

I lay in front of the fireplace, rejoicing in the warmth it offered on this cool night, while George was working on his newest painting. Since getting to know each other in these forms, we’d been able to exercise better control. For me, that meant greater peace of mind; for him, that meant a more refined grasp of his artistic sensibilities. As with much about our condition, we didn’t question this. What could possibly be a drawback of us spending more time in each other’s company? I now understood why animals curled up by a fire was a common sight in media and real life, too. Wait, what if this, and not George’s presence, was what I’d been missing all my life?

My tail wagging like a fiend when I felt his breath on my skin begged to differ. I licked his face. He gently parted my lips and slid his tongue onto mine. Our tongues engaged each other in a playful scuffle; the fire crackling in the background could only dream of coming close to causing the rise in temperature in the pit of my stomach. The tussle between our tongues didn’t get to turn into something more: he’d had a long night. I nuzzled him to convey reassurance. He lay down beside me and wrapped his arms around me, his hold firm yet tender. We fell asleep like this, keeping each other warm long even after the fire had died out.

We wished each other a good morning with a kiss — no, two kisses, and we got ourselves ready for the day. As we were having breakfast, George piped up, ‘Do you want to see what I painted last night, love? I’m really proud of it, and I think you’d love it, too.’

I nodded excitedly, my mouth too full of scrambled egg to speak.

He returned as quickly as he’d left the table. His hands held on to a painting … of me curled up by the fire last night. The figure was the clearest, most detailed he’d ever done; the lighting was phenomenal. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said, tearing up a little, frankly. ‘I love it. It’s going to look so good in our new place’, along with the recent paintings he’d made of a similar nature. He’d come so far from the gauzy forms that once populated his attempts at capturing his — our — condition on canvas.

‘Of course, when I have the most stunning model.’ He gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘I love you, my muse, my mate.’

#exophilia #terato #werewolf #monster love #monster romance #mine #fun fact #I wrote this story in early october last year #and it's kind of truth in television for me now

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writtenonreceipts · 3 years

Note

A prompt for feysand maybe - a good old "please pretend to be my boyfriend because this guy is creeping me out" hehe if you ever feel like it<3

Oh trust me, writing is my distraction from the real world and I need the distraction.

Thanks for the prompt! I love them

With the way that the night was going, Rhysand was certain he’d made a mistake in joining his brothers for a drink that night after work. It was the final game of the NBA championships and the teams competing for the title were the best in the league. Meaning the bar was utterly packed.

“Hell,” Cassian muttered as he sat back down at the table with a couple of beers in hand. He passed one to Rhys and left one for Azriel who was currently dancing with a girl named Emerie from his work. “We need a new bar.”

“I told you we should’ve gone to Rita’s,” Rhys said, taking his beer. Not only was Rita’s closer to their apartment but they actually knew Rita who always treated them well.

“Wanted to try something new,” Cassian grumbled.

Rhysand could read his brother’s posture, the way he kept glancing around the busy bar. He was looking for someone. Rolling his eyes, Rhys sipped his drink. Cassian had probably flirted with some girl who had mentioned this place in passing and now was hoping to find the same girl here.

He would tease Cassian for it later he decided.

Instead, he watched as another foul was called on screen. What was most amusing about the entire scenario was that the player who’d committed the foul was trying to argue the call even though it had been an obvious violation. The opposing player sunk the penalty shots with ease.

When a commercial came up, Rhys glanced toward the door hoping by some miracle Mor or Amren would be able to show up. But both had dates.

Amid the chaos of the game and customers, Rhysand almost missed the young woman who entered. Her light brown hair hung in loose curls past her shoulders. The dress she wore was a dark blue that clung to her body in all the right places. Her light skin had a health glow and even from a distance Rhys could see the bright blue flecks of her eyes.

Feyre Archeron.

Rhysand only knew her from sparse conversations where they worked. She mostly called him a prick and spoiled rich boy. At least she used to until she learned that he was the CEO’s son. Then she got very good at avoiding him entirely.

He was almost tempted to get up and greet her, test the boundaries she would set. Feyre’s sharp wit and quick tongue were always enjoyable. Not to mention Rhysand always found he was fascinated by the grit she exuded at work being one of the only women in the office.

And then she was immediately swooped upon by a man in a green button up.

Rhysand turned back to his beer.

“You’re just gonna sit back?” Cassian asked. He wore a smirk and waggled his eyebrows.

“Shut-up,” Rhys muttered.

“I’m just saying, it’s not like you,” Cassian said. “Especially when it’s Tamlin Doyle.”

Rhy’s hand clenched around his beer. He’d been hoping he hadn’t seen properly.

“She hates me,” Rhysand reminded his brother.

“Oh really?” Cassian’s grin turned feral but Rhysand didn’t have the time to question him on what was going on when a hand trailed around his shoulder and a lithe body dropped into his lap without warning and without fanfare.

Instinctively Rhysand wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. His heart hammered into overtime when he realized who it was exactly.

Feyre, in all her glory, was leaning into him until all he could smell was her warm vanilla scent and all he could feel was her breath as it caressed his neck when she leaned into him.

“Please pretend to be my boyfriend, the guy at the bar is creeping me out.” Her mouth brushed against his ear, his cheek.

Rhysand leaned back, shock clearly written on his face. But Feyre looked so panicked that he would turn her down that he couldn’t help when he pressed a kiss to the crown of her forehead.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he said, certainly loud enough that Tamlin would hear.

“Traffic was hell,” she replied swiftly, “not to mention someone made me stay late from work to finish up his reports.”

“I would never do that,” Rhysand said appalled, but something in him was absolutely gleeful at the gleam in Feyre’s eyes.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Yeah you would.”

Feyre threw her head back and laughed. Rhysand had almost forgotten his brother was here. He wanted to glare at him, but Feyre seemed delighted at seeing him that the words choked off.

“Cassian, how I’ve missed you,” Feyre crooned. She dropped a small look over Rhysand’s shoulder before pressing a feather light kiss to his cheek. Tamlin was still watching. “Where have you been?”

“Private security,” Cassian said. There was no mistaking how much Cassian seemed to be enjoying the personal misery that Rhysand was facing as he grinned at Feyre. “Been travelling.”

“Shame, there’s nothing good to look at the office anymore,” Feyre said as she swiped Rhysand’s beer from the table and took a long sip.

Rhysand rolled his eyes and rested as hand on the curve of Feyre’s waist. She cast him a side look with a quirked brow. Appearing as innocent as possible, Rhys shrugged and cast a look to where Tamlin Doyle was still leaned against the bar watching them.

“Really, Rhys?” Cassian cast him a suggestive look and a well aimed kick under the table. “Stopped walking around shirtless in the office?”

“If I remember, you’re the one who dumped that water on me,” Rhysand said.

A prank war had been taken a step too far initiating a slight strip tease in the office. Rhy’s father had not been amused. And far too many of the women in the office had been present at the incident which made for too many cursory glances and invitations out for drinks.

And Rhysand really had eyes for only one person in the office and she pretended that he didn’t exist.

Feyre chuckled in his lap, leaning into his chest. Her long hair brushed against his neck as she moved. The motion only reminded Rhysand of her lean curves, the tight fit of her dress that was increasingly riding up her thighs and drawing his attention.

It was far too easy to imagine running his hands over her skin, testing her limits to see what would set her aflame. But all too soon, Feyre let out a long sigh and pulled away from Rhysand.

Reluctantly, Rhysand pulled his gaze from Feyre to look around the bar and he found that Tamlin had disappeared.

“Thanks for the cover boys,” Feyre said as she stood. She cast both Rhys and Cassian a smile. “Until next time.”

Rhysand watched as Feyre crossed the bar to where another young woman waited. There was an obvious familial resemblance between the two. The second woman had her hair pulled back into a neat bun, the angles of her face much sharper than Feyre’s and the blue of her eyes was hard as steel.

“That’s her,” Cassian hissed from across the table. “The one who told me about this place.”

But Rhysand barely heard him as he watched Feyre leave. Part of him wanted to chase after her and somehow get her to stay. He knew however, what her response would be. He could only watch as she disappeared around a corner. Monday was going to be hell.

Cassian let out a low whistle. “Dude. You’re screwed.”

Rhys flipped his brother off.

thanks for reading, love ya’ll

tags:

@tottenhamboys20 @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @bamchickawowoww @ladywitchling @ireallyshouldsleeprn @courtofjurdan @sassys-world @sleeping-and-books @superspiritfestival @chieflemming @julemmaes @harrymoncheri @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @my-fan-side @sjmships @emikadreams

#feysand #rhysand #sjm fandom #fanfiction #feysand au #thanks anon!#anon answered #feyre x rhysand #no but really writing is my therapy write now #gotta do something to distract me from everything else

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

Teacher’s Pet (Part 3) - FINAL

Masterlist for Teacher’s Pet

Prompt: You’re a college student, who is having a tough time of things. that is, until there’s an offer made between you and your favorite professors

Word Count: 3635

Song: Do with it by Betty Who

Aesthetic: by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo Warnings: sexual daydreaming,Flustered OFC, professor/student smut, SMUT galore that’s what this is,Dom/Sub, spanking, Sir troph, oral female receiving, beard kink, fingering, baby girl kink, professor kink, rough sex, desk sex, mentions of voyeurism, toy use, seducing professor,Daddy/baby girl, teasing, ice use, neck marking, blindfolding, nothing under a skirt, hair pulling, choking,double penetration

Note: This is basically porn in writing. If you’re looking for super sound plot, you won’t find it. Its sex. I focused on the sex. And my first crack at a threesome. I wrote this for my super amazing best friend @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The affair carried on for some time, well after finals. It was now the end of the semester, summer, actually. You’d kept it from both men that you were with either of them. They thought they were the only one. It wasn’t lying. You weren’t their girlfriend, they didn’t have a right to know.

You spent nearly every weekend at their houses, one weekend at Tony’s, the other at Bruce’s. Tony fucked you on nearly every piece of furniture in his house. Bruce fucked you in every possible position. He prided himself on being knowledgeable in all kinds of ways to feel closer.

Most of the time Bruce had you tied down to his bed, and sometimes he blindfolded you. Tonight was one of those nights. The windows were open, as it was very warm outside. Not too warm that it made you hot or balmy, but warm enough to keep you comfortable.

The warm wind wafted in through the curtains, washing over your entirely naked body as you laid on top of his satin sheets. The blindfold was tight on your face, keeping you ignorant from your surroundings. Bruce had said he’d be back a few minutes ago, and you were starting to get restless.

“Bruce? Daddy! Where are you?” you cried out, a bit angry and frustrated.

“I’m right here,” he answered, sweeping into his ornate bedroom.

“You kept me waiting.”

“I know,” he assured, his finger trailing across your chin. He smirked down at you.

You felt the bed shift under his weight before ice suddenly hit your skin. He hadn’t used ice in several weeks. It shocked your system. You arched up, pulling at your restraints.

The ice trailed from your collarbone, to just before your nipple, around your breast, down your stomach, getting it awfully close to your pubic area before he trailed back up. His tongue suddenly followed the trail.

He did this again, but started from the opposite side. You let out a content sigh before he moved the ice to your nipple, making it perk up immediately. He led the ice touch you there for just a second, then he slapped your tit gently, watching it jiggle.

He moved the ice to the other nipple before his mouth captured your other nipple. One warm, one cold. The ice was removed and you sank into the warm feeling of his mouth on your tit, the tongue working wonders over your nipple, making you strain to want to touch him.

Just as you were really sinking into the feeling, suddenly another warm sensation hit your other tit – both tits felt like they were in someone’s mouth. Then two seconds later, you knew those tongue motions., the small bite that he did to your nipple.

That was Tony.

“What the fuck?” you cried out only a half second after his mouth hit your nipple.

The blindfold was taken off you as both men suddenly stood at the foot of the bed. Tony had his hands in his pockets, gazing down at you. Bruce’s arms were crossed.

“You look fucking good, baby girl,” Tony appraised as he eyed you up and down like you were something good enough to eat.

You pulled against the restrains, wanting to get up.

“Bruce, what the hell is this?” you demanded.

“Well, Tony and I noticed that you’re not always around. We both happened to be talking about a girl we were seeing and we happened to realize that… well, it was you. When we realized you were seeing us both, we thought we’d surprise you.”

You eyed the two of them. “So you decide to come suck my tits without my consent?”

Tony and Bruce exchanged a glance.

“Baby, you give us both plenty of consent all the time, we didn’t think you’d mind with us both here. But if you want me to leave…” Tony offered. “We just wanted to confront you.” He walked forward, his finger trailing up your leg, over your hip, around your breast, to your collarbone, down your arm. “Just have a little bit of fun, that’s all.”

“You’re seeing us both, Y/N. I thought I was the one you belonged to?” Bruce asked in an innocent tone.

“I do. But I also belong to Tony.” Your eyes flashed between the two men. “Look, I like fucking you both. Tony offered to fuck me for better grades and I was happy to agree. Hell I would’ve done it for free. Then, I got so confident with Tony, I wanted Bruce too. I need the grade boost and I figured why have just one, when I can have both that I want?” You eyed them, your eyebrows raised, daring them to fight you. “I didn’t lie. Neither of you ever asked if I was fucking anyone else. I didn’t ask you. I thought the concept was clear - when I’m around, one of you is fucking me.”

You grinned, proud of yourself.

“Damn, Bruce, she’s good.”

“She’s also right,” he growled. “I’m not giving up those succulent tits. I don’t care if we share. Do you?”

“That pussy is far too delicious to say no to,” he replied, staring at you with something feral in his eyes.

“Yeah, see, like, I couldn’t give these up,” Bruce said, walking up, kneeling on the bed, leaning over, sucking your nipple into his mouth as Tony watched happily.

You couldn’t help but react. You wanted to feel a little like you were on stage, but hell, who cared? Both of the hottest men were right here, wanting to keep fucking you.

Tony hummed. “Mhm, and I can’t imagine not doing this..” He nestled between your legs, still clad in his suit, except the jacket. He had his vest, tie, white blouse shirt, and dress pants on. He leaned down and his lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard. Your head threw back against the pillow. Your nerves were positively alive as both men worked their signature magic on you.

One of these men alone was sometimes too much to take. Now with both of them, you wondered if you would die with them tonight.

They work on your sensitive parts for several minutes, getting you so close to the edge of your first orgasm you can taste it, but just as your legs are trying desperately to wrap around Tony despite the restraints, they stop.

Bruce moves down between your legs, and Tony moves up to your other nipple. He loves on it, doting on it as he twists your free nipple in his fingers, gently biting at your other nipple. Bruce flattens his tongue on your clit.

“Damn, Tony. Was she this wet when you got down here?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, bud,” he said, taking a quick break before going back.

You cried out, the onslaught almost too much for you to take.

“Fuck!” you called out eventually.

Bruce starts shaking his head between your legs, adding a bit of vibration and a little extra to your core as Tony sucks harder on your nipple and you’re so close to snapping you can hardly see straight. Bruce keeps lapping at your folds, pushing his tongue deep inside you. Tony reached up and put his hand on your throat, squeezing just enough to make you feel the pressure.

You thought you would explode.

“Ungh, Tony, Bruce,” you panted.

“Yes, dove?” Bruce questioned, coming up for air.

“It’s a lot,” you breathed, panting hard.

“We know, pet,” Tony said as he continued to fondle your breasts softly.

“Some relief?” you begged breathlessly.

“You hear that, Bruce? She wants relief. Should we give it to her?” Tony questioned with a bit of a smirk.

“I think she’s earned it.”

The two men smiled at each other before they were both suddenly between your legs. The sight alone had you quivering. They gazed at you, shit-eating grins on their faces before they dove right at your core. Their tongues hit you at the same time and you slammed your head back on the pillow in sheer euphoria. You moaned loudly. Their tongues collided on your folds, your slick, but they didn’t care and neither did you. They were worshipping you, as they’d each done separately on many occasions, but tonight, they happened to be sharing you.

While one worked your clit, the other one tongue fucked you. Then they traded. Their beards scraped your thighs, your ass, everything. It was beard burn like you’d never experienced but you loved it. You were a babbling mess, writhing within the confines of the restraint system tied to the large four poster bed. In an instant, there was a finger inside you. You gasped from the sensation, coming up off the bed, only to fall back again while the finger curled inside you, coaxing that impending orgasm to get closer and closer. It really didn’t take much. You weren’t even sure whose finger it was, but fuck, you didn’t care. Something was hitting that sweet spot. The guys were sharing sucking on your clit, and the sight alone made you gush. The orgasm hit you without much warning and you screamed out.

Both men slowed their actions, letting you come down naturally without interrupting the flow of things.

You sigh in utter content as you relax, every muscle feeling like jelly. Bruce and Tony work fast to undo your ankle restraints. Once your free, you truly feel like your floating in your own exultation.

“Aww, Brucey, do you think we’ve over worked her?” Tony asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Nah, she can take more. Can’t you baby girl?” He leaned down, kissing you. You nodded meekly. “See? She’s fine for Daddy, aren’t you?”

“Mhm.”

Tony placed himself between your legs, unzipping his pants, but barely. He was still fully clothed, laying his body over you, as he pulled his hardened cock out.

Bruce laid beside you, kissing you, his hand wrapping around your breast, rolling your nipple in between his fingers for a moment, then teasing you and letting go.

“Do you want it, baby girl?” Tony asked, his cock resting against your sensitive clit. The heat radiating off of him made you shiver. You wiggled underneath him.

“Yes, Professor,” you answered, falling into the role he loved you to be in.

“How bad?”

“Very bad!” you nearly shouted.

“Aww, begging for my dick. How nice,” he mused. He gazed down at you with a twinkle in his eye before he moved slightly to lower the head down so it could line up with your core. You wrapped your legs around his back and glared at him.

“Just fuck me already, Tony!” you growled.

“The mouth on this one,” Tony scoffed. “Bruce, you wanna do something about that?”

“Sure thing.”

With that, Bruce put his hand on your mouth and Tony sank into you, slowly, like always, and your eyes rolled back. At that, Bruce took the opportunity to recapture your nipple, sucking hard on it. Jesus, you thought you’d cum again just from this. Tony began slowly moving in and out, building up a nice pace. You could feel every inch of him, every ridge in his cock as he moved and you kept him clamped close to you with your legs. Your arms pulled against the roping around your wrists.

When Bruce eased up on your breasts, he kissed your neck, pulled your hair back from your face, kissed your lips, put his hand back on your mouth, leaned down and teased your clit slightly while Tony moved expertly inside you.

Tony began to pick up the pace and you were trying to cry out from under Bruce’s hand. He allowed this and removed his hand, letting you gasp and pant as Tony thrusted deep inside you. Every time he hit down to the hilt you lurched your head back in response to the sensation that swelled around you.

“What’s a good student say?” Tony prompted as he held himself above you so you could admire his chest.

“Fuck me better?” you challenged with a gleam in your eye.

Bruce smirked. “She’s a lot more mouthy with you than me.”

“I don’t punish her like I bet you do,” Tony remarked, grunting as he thrusted inside you again, making eye contact with you as you gasped from the nerve he hit.

“That you don’t,” Bruce said with a mischievous look in his eye.

As Tony leaned farther back to get a bit deeper inside you, to feel the head of his cock scrape against your g-spot, Bruce snaked his hand down to your clit, playing with it.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop,” you warned through clenched teeth.

The two men slowed down. Bruce released your restraints. Tony pulled out of you, making you feel empty and hollow. You wanted to whine, but you refrained. They helped you to your feet where Bruce positioned your foot onto the edge of the bed, the other one still standing on the floor.

Tony stood behind you, his hands trailing over your front, his fingertips leaving blazing trails on your collarbone, your breast, your nipple, your stomach… He kissed your shoulder, up to your neck, your ear, moving your hair out of the way.

He bent you forward slightly so he could line his cock up with your hole. He sank into you again and just as you adjusted and he started to pick up a good rhythm, Bruce got on his knees before you. You took a deep breath. He leaned forward. You put your hands on one of the four posters to steady yourself against Tony’s thrusts.

“Oh, fuck, that feels good, Professor,” you said happily, shuddering from the new angle and sensation.

“How about this, baby girl?” Bruce questioned before letting his tongue assault your clit. You hissed in response. You were over stimulated. But that was perfectly fine. He sucked, nibbled, licked, and clicked at your clit. He changed it up and it kept you on your toes until suddenly… Tony was gliding in and out, at a medium pace. He wasn’t going achingly slow, but he wasn’t ravaging you. It was just enough to enjoy getting filled up, and then have it taken away again. Bruce seemed to notice the pace, and he matched it. For every time Tony sank deeper into you, Bruce sucked your clit. When Tony pulled out, Bruce simply licked up your clit.

They kept that rhythm for just a handful of strokes and you were a mess of nerves, your legs giving out as an orgasm crashed into you violently.

“Agh! Fuck!” you cried out, grabbing the poster even harder, your fingertips digging into the expensive wood as Tony continued his pace and Bruce gently kissed around your clit.

“That’s my baby girl,” Tony said happily. “Mm, cumming for your professors like that. Such a good student,” he praised. He tossed his head back before he reached forward and pulled your hair in his fist. One hand on your hip, one in your hair, he kept pumping until you felt that familiar hardening of his cock, the stuttering of his hps, and then suddenly – the hot stickiness pooling inside you, making you feel warm and adding to you own orgasm.

Tony pulled out, panting.

“Are you good to go for Daddy?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, Daddy,” you responded happily.

“Good.” He kissed you on the lips quickly before nearly throwing you on the bed, making you giggle. He manhandled you. He yanked you up, flipping you over onto all fours. He stroked himself for a second before lining up with your liquid filled pussy. “Damn, baby girl, what a sight,” he commended. “I never thought I’d find another man’s cum this inticing, but I gotta say, it’s hot as fuck seeing that pour out of that pretty pussy of yours.”

You move your ass in response, only prompting Bruce to quicken his pace to get to you. He doesn’t waste time to make you feel his thick cock against your slit. He glides it against your clit for a moment, rubbing you ever so softly, relishing the feeling before he finally slides up to your entrance and he sinks inside you, that extra width filling you again.

Your arms felt like jelly.

“Ungh,” you cried out incoherently.

Bruce began bucking into you. His hips clapping into your ass and thighs as he made a choppy pace of fucking you. The sweet sighs and moans that fell from you drove Bruce to keep up his pace. They also encouraged Tony to get hard nearly immediately again. He never would’ve thought watching you get fucked by another man would be so damn arousing but he couldn’t help it. He got a great view from here. He got to see your pussy filled by a cock, even if it wasn’t his, he got to see your tits swing in response to Bruce’s motions, and he got to see your pleasure driven expressions.

It was a win all around.

Tony walked over, stroking himself, shedding all of his clothing as he climbed onto the large bed on his knees. He took his cock and positioned it between your breasts. He then pushed the breasts together, forming a soft, supple cocoon around his dick.

Bruce was fucking you, hard, from behind, one hand on your shoulder, another entangled in your hair. Tony was fucking your tits, keeping them pressed between his deft, long fingers.

You wondered if it was even possible for you to come undone again. But if these men kept this pace up, it was highly likely.

“Mm, Tony, what a lucky man to get to fuck those tits,” Bruce appraised from behind you.

You glowed at the indirect compliment.

“They are quite nice on my dick, Bruce. Almost as nice as that tight cunt you’re fucking.”

“Mmm,” he moaned in agreement.

Both men threw their head back in ecstasy as they kept going. You pushed back against Bruce and eventually, Tony let go of your breasts and you grabbed his dick quickly. You held yourself up on one arm while pumping his cock with your free hand.

He moaned out at your work, and that encouraged you to keep it up. Your hand was wrapped around his shaft, your thumb rubbing over the sensitive spot on his head. You kept twisting your hand, running your hand up and down, up and down, Tony even pushing into it, like he was fucking your hand.

He reached under you and grabbed your nipple, twisting it, making you jerk with pleasure as you bent down slightly for Bruce to get even deeper. Bruce grabbed your hips, holding you in place.

“Oh, fuck, baby, Daddy’s gonna cum,” he cried out.

Just at his words you nearly came undone, but Bruce wasn’t a selfish lover. He quickly found your clit, leaning over so he could stimulate you. You kept Tony in your hand, pumping faster, harder, and Tony continued to twerk your nipples just to the point of nearly hurting. But it felt good. It felt damn good to be worshipped by these two gorgeous professors.

Between the waves of ecstasy from Tony’s nipple play on you, and Bruce’s girth filling you up and fingering your clit, you could feel the impending orgasm. Your core started to throb harder, a heat pooling inside you.

“Daddy, I’m gonna cum!” you nearly screamed.

“Let it out, baby girl,” Bruce coaxed.

And so you did. The third orgasm slammed into you like a semi truck, forcing you flat on your belly. Bruce stayed with you though, and as soon as you were on your belly, he kept fucking you, until his release happened too and he screamed out your name.

“Y/N! Fuck… My god!” he shouted. Tony was on the edge and that sight of you cumming was all it took. He had finished stroking himself only for his own orgasm to overtake him.

“Shit. God damn,” he breathed.

Everyone fell in a heap on the bed.

After ten minutes, you all began moving. Everyone moved to the bathroom to clean up. After everyone was done, you made your way back to the bedroom. You got your clothes on, as did Bruce and Tony.

“Soo,” you drawled out. “Where do we go from here?”

“I think we should do this,” Tony suggested. “One week with me, one week with Bruce, and then, one week at your house.”

“Yeah, I never have been there,” Bruce noted.

“Me either, pal.”

You grinned and smirked. “You two wanna see my place?’

“Well, we are the only men in your life right? It’s only fair we see it.”

“I suppose,” you agreed. “Although, I don’t see any reason to separate us all. We had so much fun here, maybe we should just… you know… move in together?” you prompted. It’d been four months since you started this affair with them, but it felt right. You weren’t happier with any man you’d ever met.

Tony and Bruce glanced at each other.

“That’s a possibility,” Tony said.

“I have plenty of space,” Bruce noted.

“I clearly don’t mind sharing some things,” Tony added.

“Why don’t we do a trial run? We could try out over the summer? Tony, you wanna stay here a week with Bruce and me as a phase one?” you offered, holding your hand out to lead him back to the bed.

“How can I say no to that face?” he cooed before leaning forward and kissing you deeply.

“I think this is going to be the best summer of my life,” you laughed as they joined you in laughter and on the bed. They both wrapped their arms around you, and all three of you fell into a relaxed sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tag List: @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaelingoat @friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo @damalseer @heyitscam99 @yknott81 @sorryimacrapwriter @glitterquadricorn @xxqueenofisolationxx @little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama @bittersweetunicorm @alyssaj23 @sea040561 @princess76179 @thisismysecrethappyplace @sarahp879 @malfoysqueen14 @ellallheart @breezy1415 @marvelmayo @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @cocosierra94 @hardcollectionworldtrash @capsmuscles @marvelloushamilton

#smut #tony stark fic #professor! tony #teacher's pet #tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader

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highgaarden · 4 years

Text

fic: see honey, i saw love

Requested by @galvanizedfriend + prompt: He was rage and hellfire unleashed. His voice dripped with sarcasm. He could talk like sugar or spit venom.

Post TVD finale. Everything is canon, but everyone lives. Fair warning, jealous angry angst ahead. I’m sorry, friend – this is probably the exact OPPOSITE of what you wanted!! But huzzah, this is my first piece of writing that isn’t a small drabble in FOREVER? I’m very rusty. Please be kind.

***

See Honey, I saw love;

Some months later he shows up at her door, and kisses her. Oh, how he kisses her.

klaus/caroline, 1.5k words, 1/1.

A Klaus scorned is a Klaus unlike any other. An island on his own, violent waves all around. A lot of wet rocks.

Caroline tries to soothe, usually. She never really has to try. A hand rested on his jaw is enough to calm him. A press of her forehead to his. A lingering gaze, maybe. She never has to want for his tenderness; he comes to her willingly.

Other times he disappears.

Tonight is one of those times.

Caroline wakes to the sound of a banging door, pounding feet, and the green shiver of the woods surrounding their home.

She knows Klaus is claw deep in mud now, running in the wild.

She cannot stop him. She cannot find him.

She waits, on the porch, her earl grey getting cold. Morning comes.

***

“I’m not in the mood, please—” How he manages courtesies confounds him, still, but she’s just the soft curves of a woman right now, no sign of vampire, no smell of blood. The curl of her hair invades him, he closes his eyes, tries not to put any force when he shrugs her circling hands off his shoulders. “Love, please—”

“Klaus,” she says, softly. “Let me.”

He sighs. “Not now.”

“Look, Klaus – no, open your eyes – it was nothing, alright? We had to meet—”

“With what cause do you even have to see him anymore? Your days of trying to kill me are over.”

“You’re misunderstanding.”

“You. Are not seeing.”

“Klaus.”

“You still smell of him.” His movements are brisk now. He turns away, he’s on the other end of the room now, hand around the doorknob. “I know it from a mile away. It hasn’t changed a bit all these centuries.”

“Klaus, Stefan and I are not—”

At the mention of his name he swings the door open and steps out of the room. “My patience only runs so thin, sweetheart.”

“Stefan was worried—”

“I worry!” he shouts. She stills. “Is that not enough?”

“He’s my best friend,” she says quietly. “Was.”

Klaus regards her coldly. “He was mine, too.”

***

Stefan and Klaus had met in New Orleans, apparently.

And Klaus hadn’t liked what he’d found in his old friend. Caroline doesn’t know anything more than that.

“I did him a favour,” Klaus allows this bit of information whenever she needles too much. “Just the one. He hasn’t wasted it yet.”

“How do you know?” she presses.

“He is still alive, no?”

And Caroline would have an unexplainable look on her face then. It boils his insides.

***

Klaus had been the one who’d changed her mind about having the twins. Klaus helped her rediscover a love, a new kind of love, and he puts his hands to her stomach sometimes, imagining. And Klaus’ voice had been the only one who managed to lull Lizzie to sleep. At first she keeps him on the phone by the twins’ cribs, his voice talking softly into her child’s ears. Some months later he shows up at her door, and kisses her. Oh, how he kisses her.

That night he holds Lizzie in his arms for the first time and she opens her eyes.

***

He could even be tender when fucking her.

It shouldn’t be called fucking, really, it was something more than that. Something that blooms languorous and slow. He puts his hand to her throat, she rests a palm on his chest. The world is quieter here.

She knows the betrayal. It wasn’t just a betrayal of skin, it wasn’t as if Klaus had just marked her his and left it at that. She had accepted him, chose him. He had come to her willingly.

And she had spoken to Stefan.

“I had to know,” she whispers into the woods, flashlight shining uselessly. “I had to know what you did, Klaus.”

It seems as if the forest is trembling around her.

“You told him to leave me. Why, Klaus? Why did you make me think he didn’t love me anymore? The exit was so swift, Klaus! I was alone! And you – ” her breath catches in her throat, “- you didn’t come for me until months after that.”

She hears the muted sound of a wolf’s howl.

“I want to know why, damnit!” she screams into the darkness.

She senses something heavy and feral bounding towards her.

***

His wolf tackles her to the ground, crushes the wind out of her. It growls in her face, it pulls a scream and a struggle from her. “Klaus, stop it!”

There’s the sound of shifting bones and Klaus in his human form is on top of her now, breathing heavily, looking at her so darkly. He looks like a rage that had been undone. A hellfire in his eyes. When his lips parted, she didn’t know if his voice would drip sarcasm or spill sugar into her. His breath warms her parted mouth and she tries not to taste the venom of his lingering wolf teeth.

“Klaus,” she says raggedly. “You took my choice away from me.”

“He left me no choice,” he whispers back. “He did not love you as he should have.”

“And you do?” Caroline tries to sit up, but his arms cage her. She pushes harder. He lets go.

“Are you not happy with where you are now?”

“Knowing it’s all fabricated?”

“Do not insult me. You’re upset over a different reason.” He grabs her chin when she sees sign of a wavering gaze. “You’re upset because you’d had a forbidden thought.”

She clenches her teeth and gets to her feet now, clapping dirt off her arms. “You don’t know anything.”

Klaus matches her stance. They circle each other in the woods.

“But I know you. I know you in your marrow. You’re afraid about those lingering feelings you still have of Stefan. Wondering if I hadn’t intercepted, would you still be in domestic bliss with him?” He scoffs. “Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you never knew bliss until me.”

“I could have come to you willingly.”

“I was taking a shortcut.”

“It was unfair.”

“It’s also been sixteen years, love – get over it.”

Caroline seethes. “Why are you the one angry here?”

“Because he still loves you, and you are weakened by him!”

“That’s not true!” she shoves him. She shoves him, he allows himself to stumble back into a tree.

They are very close to losing each other now.

“I loved you,” Klaus says accusingly.

“Do not say it like it’s in past tense, you dramatic asshole.” She shoves him again. This time, he wraps his hands around her wrists. “What you mean to say is you trusted me.”

“Of course I did.”

“I’m sorry I spoke to him without letting you know. I should have discussed it with you. We are one,” Caroline says, and she stares into his eyes so hard that he loses track of a second.

“We are,” Klaus says, and a deep breath enters his lungs.

Caroline’s expression softens. “My heart changed a long time ago, Klaus. I didn’t think it still affected you.”

“Everything about you affects me,” Klaus says with a small tilt of his mouth.

“I’m sorry it does,” she says, and pauses before brushing him a kiss.

Klaus can’t help but return it: Soon she is the one pushed against the tree. “Don’t be,” he murmurs. “Do you want to take this fight inside?”

Caroline pouts. “I don’t want this to be a fight anymore.”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he obliges.

***

A Klaus soothed is a different side of him. Not bad. Just different. He gifts him his submission. She pulls him to her breast, holds him there. And then they make love.

When he enters her, it is with a painful sort of relief and it pours out of her bones, turning her liquid. She turns them over and moves her hips so slowly he almost whimpers. “I feel like I’ve missed your warmth for years,” he says breathlessly.

“Do not do that to me again,” Caroline says. Her nails dig into his chest. “You shouldn’t be so wild inside. I’m here. I am not going anywhere.” She tries to reason with a joke, “It’s too late.”

Klaus frowns, but there’s laughter in his eyes. “I thought we discussed that any time before the girls enter college is fair game?”

“Obviously I was lying,” she replies. Her pace quickens. Klaus groans.

“Since we’re being honest now,” Klaus says, “So was I.”

He takes one of her hands and presses a kiss to her palm. She leans down and replaces her palm with her own lips. If Caroline tells him anything now, he will believe it with his whole heart.

#galvanizedfriend #tumblr askbox fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #hannah writes things #otp: speak my name when you damn me #welcome back to the #drunk writing: a series #tag

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fallout-snippets · 5 years

Note

Hello it me again, I L O V E your longer reacts and ur writing is just amazing. I would die if u did the interested! companions (+Deacon) reacting to sole almost dying but barely surviving like they get knocked out or have a really bad injury and go into surgery and wake up alright (totally up to u!) And it just being real angsty and sad. Sorry if this is a lil confusing I hope you have fun with this prompt and thank u for reading anyway. 💕

(sorry if im taking too many liberties and artistic choices with the replies but i want to make them unique, also kinda lost wind at the end cause theyre kinda long)

Cait is a furious mess in the waiting room, refusing to leave until she can see Sole again. It had just been a lucky shot by a lucking fucking raider but it’s enough to turn everything upside down and Cait wishes she hadn’t had to pick up Sole and run the hell out of there and instead could give that raider the beating of a lifetime. To soothe her nerve she plans out how to track them down and imagines what she’ll do to them.

It takes a few hours of silence from the operating room until the doctor finally emerges and she’s close to wrestling the poor guy down to ask what took so long but she keeps her cool, the way Sole told her to. It seems that Sole will recover without any lasting injuries but he requests that she lets them rest which she scoffs at, and pushes back the man so she can see them.

The doctor obviously can’t convince her to leave and instead resigns to at least getting her a chair. Cait spends the rest of the night and day sitting next to Sole, sobbing into their sheets when she knows they won’t notice. She holds their hand, feels their warmth and lets that be the thing that calms her down.

Once Sole wakes up though, she won’t be so vulnerable. They’re going to get an earful from her about being so careless and she’ll make sure they know that’s not going to fucking happen again.

Curie regrets becoming a human when she’s alone in the field with a Sole that might be bleeding out infront of her. She hates how her hands shake, how sickly cold she feels and how warm their blood feels on her hands as she tries to put pressure on the wound.

Her brain switches from a logical approach to a terrified one, between what she can do and has to do and what might happen if she does it wrong and she wishes she still had a stone cold approach to an injured patient. Instead it’s Sole. She might lose them for real and she feels a lump in her throat grow.

Thankfully Sole has passed out, for better or worse, and Curie puts a cloth over their face to make them anonymous. She brings out an emergency toolkit and some stimpaks and forces a deep breath. It takes a great mental strength to force her fear away so that she can get to work but soon she focuses only on the wound. She makes sure it’s clean, nothings stuck inside and she carefully administers the stimpak inside to out, letting the cellular regeneration slowly close the wound from inside.

Once she’s done she sits down, removes the cloth from their face to wipe her hands but she can’t bring herself to move. She feels sick and nauseous, something she never thought she’d feel doing something as natural as that. When Sole wakes up she’ll force herself to come back but for now she just sits and tries not to think about her hands inside Soles abdomen with their life hanging on a thread.

Danse doesn’t notice anything wrong at first. He’s been trained to take the situation seriously and never celebrate until they’re safe home again but it’s been a while since he’s been a soldier and it’s hard not to celebrate around Sole. So he doesn’t notice that not everyone is dead.

Sole makes a remark about the awful outfit the dead man infront of them has on and Danse chuckles and turns around to relieve the other man of his ammunition. He doesn’t hear the grunts of a survivor and he doesn’t hear them approaching but he hears the crunch of a blunt object connecting with Soles scalp. It echoes for weeks afterwards.

He quickly eliminates the threat but Sole has already slumped together on the floor, blood quickly pooling beneath them and he has never been this scared before. He does what he can to… keep the pieces together and he picks them up to bring them back somewhere safe. They don’t wake up for a while.

It’s not until Sole slowly blinks their eyes open in the safety of their home that he finally allows himself to cry. He sobs through an apology, begs them to please forgive him, while they softly comb his hair with their fingers, waiting to figure out what happened.

Deacon is the king of pranking and is pleased to have finally found a worthy opponent in Sole. It can range from placing a whopee cushion under their seat to staging a lovers spat in a full bar and he is living for it. So when Sole is dramatically complaining about the burning heat he just laughs and tells them to cool off.

With a smirk they toss him their jacket and pack and dive into the waters they’ve been travelling next to and he laughs louder for the sheer drama of it. What a match made in heaven. He waits for Sole to reemerge to splash him down but they dont and instead the surface grows still. Until their body slowly floats to the surface and he prays it’s just another prank.

It could be. Sole knows how to get under his skin. But there’s red leaking into the water from their head and he takes a look into the murky water and finds it filled with large rocks hidden just below. Quickly he throws himself in to pull them out, dragging them onto the dusty road.

The cut on their head isn’t deep and won’t be lethal but they’re unconscious and he’s struggling with what to do. He vaguely remembers how to do CPR and gets started, trying not to lose his shit in the process. He ends up getting water spat in his face but Sole coughing is music to his ears. He allows himself to hold on to their shoulder for a second longer than he needs to before he forces out a laugh.

“Did you cool down?”

Hancock likes being a little reckless, it’s good for the soul. Gets you out of your comfort zone and helps you sharpen up. Plus it’s fun. So Hancock’s not exactly complaining when he takes up with Sole who isn’t afraid of a fight, on the contrary; he downright loves it.

It can range from switching from guns to a fistfight just for the hell of it or batting baseball grenades into a super mutan stronghold just because they can. So when Sole suggests a shortcut from the roof of a three story building to the bus below he doesn’t think much of it. He declines it himself, knowing he doesn’t have it in him to do it but Sole has survived much worse with barely a scratch.

Except he sees them get ready and they leap like a bird ready to take flight but instead of a thud of them landing on the roof he hears glass breaking. He hurries to the ledge and finds Sole in a pile of broken glass and blood, staring at their bloodsoaked hands in shock. Somehow they landed on the sunroof window and fell through the bus.

Suddenly he can’t breathe and he feels ants crawling all over him and he doesn’t care that it’s not even reckless, it’s just stupid, but he throws himself off the edge onto the bus as well. Luckily the wounds are only superficial and Sole recovers quickly with carefully placed stimpaks but he shakes for hours afterwards with the image of a slashed Sole below him. It could’ve been worse, it looked worse, and sometimes he can’t shake the feeling that it was worse and he’s living in a comfort high to cope with it.

MacCready has always been afraid of ferals, even before that happened. It’s knowing they used to be people that terrifies him the most, the idea that there used to be a person inside and now there’s nothing but rot. That they’re just creatures, full of rage and hunger.

Usually when there’s a group of them Sole allows him to fall back and let them deal with it, much to his relief. The sounds they make, the shuffling of their feet on their ground. Everything comes back in vivid detail and he feels sick to his stomach. But this time it’s different. Maybe there’s one too many or maybe Sole is having an off day but they overwhelm them.

He hears Sole screaming as they’re wrestled to the ground, ferals biting and scratching through their clothes to get to their skin. He barely remembers what comes next, in his mind he’s trapped back with Lucy trying to save Duncan but when he comes to again his hands are bloody and torn.

The whole thing comes flooding back and he assumes the worst, reliving his nightmare again but he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. Sole is behind him, standing behind the couch he’s suddenly in, and they’re clearly wounded but alright. He sees bitemarks on them and fights the urge to cry but the tears come anyway. At least this time he could save Sole before they got them.

Piper knows she’s not winning any popularity contests in Diamond City but she’s surprised at how many people seem opposed to Sole specifically. On a good night they’ll be left alone, maybe swap some stories with some random passerby, but more often than not someone has to voice their opinion.

Sole is used to it by now and tries to take it in stride. Theres plenty of drunk idiots at the Dugout Inn and there’s no reason to deal with all of them. This time, however, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Sole turns around to ask them to please leave but the person in question brings out a knife and stabs them in the abdomen.

Piper can’t help but to scream and rush to catch Sole who clutches their stomach and stumbles backwards with blood gushing out from their fingers. The person quickly scatters in the crowd but Piper doesn’t care. She screams for help and luckily people may dislike Sole but not that many dislike them enough to want to see them dead and someone gets a cloth to press on the wound.

Soles spends a few weeks in bed, resting and moaning everytime they turn around in bed and everytime Piper feels a sickening guilt spill over. It could’ve been worse. A knife in your stomach is more often than not lethal. She has to pay more attention, she owes that to Sole. Piper keeps thinking what life would be like if Sole died and everytime it makes her sob into her scarf.

Preston believes in the best of people and that no one is above another. Luckily Sole believes the same. They almost feel like a reward for all the horrible things he’s had to endure and he can’t tell them enough how glad he is they’re with him.

He doesn’t want to imagine the place he’d be in if it hadn’t been for them saving him. But when Sole neglects to tend to a minor wound that ends up infected, it’s all he thinks about. What if this is it? What if the universe is taking back his one good thing, the one glowing ember in the ashes?

Preston doesn’t know how to act. Things seem to move on in the rest of the world, people take care of themselves in the settlements that Sole built, but for Preston nothing is moving. He barely breathes. He sits by their bed and wipes the feversweat from their forehead, he talks to them when they’re in such deep sleep it looks like death.

Will he sit by their grave like this too?

Gage has seen Sole do some pretty fucked up things and come out of it more or less unharmed. It seems like nothing really cuts them deep enough to make a dent which seems perfect for a troublemaker.

Who would’ve known a simple antbite would be enough to make them fall deathly ill and lie in bed for several weeks? Their leg swells up to twice its size and it turns an awful purple shade while a fever rages in their body, making him think for sure that’s that. No coming back from that one.

He doesn’t really know how to feel about it. He hasn’t really cared enough about someone else before and the way he’s feeling now he doesn’t think he ever will. Gage is more angry than anything, but not at Sole. He’s furious that something as inane as a bugbite might take them out when they’ve done so many incredible things normal humans shouldn’t be able to.

But more than that he’s angry to think he might end up alone again. As pathetic as it makes him sound, he needs them. Their comfort, their company… their laughter. He sits outside their room most of the time, unable to face them but unable to leave. All he can do is hope that the chems he’s scavenged are enough.

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