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ginnsbaker · 10 months

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships (16/22)

Chapter summary: You go through a difficult period following your breakup with Yelena, and you and Wanda end up falling down the rabbit hole for the second time around

Chapter word count: 6.4K | Warnings: Angst, Mild smut | Ship: Wanda x Female Reader

Author's note: Before you say anything, I have a plan. Enjoy :) P.S. My requests are open

AO3 | Masterlist

Next chapter: Seventeen Part One

Sixteen

“And then she kissed you?” Agatha asks. She looks the same way she does when she’s actively participating in gossip, hanging onto every detail of the latest scandal that keeps most people entertained in their insignificant lives.

Wanda solemnly nods, as if validating a piece of tragic news.

“Why aren't you thrilled?” Agatha observes quietly, picking at her tooth with her fingernail. “I mean, doesn't that confirm that she still has feelings for you?”

“You remember what happened last time, right? When she did more than just kiss me?”

Agatha grimaces, “Right, of all places, in our stockroom." Then, her tone morphs into a more probing one, “But, did the kiss feel as if she just wanted to get into your pants?”

Wanda lets out a sigh, her heartbeat quickening as she reminisces about its tenderness. It felt akin to a first kiss—vulnerable, slightly apprehensive, tinged with anxiety, and yet, at the same time familiar—like finding her way back home.

It was perfect in every sense.

But it was tainted by its very nature. It was a betrayal. And if there were truly raw feelings behind it, then it’s worse—it would mean that you have been emotionally unfaithful to Yelena.

Wanda may have ruined yet another relationship.

In the midst of her internal struggle, she finally manages to answer Agatha, “It felt like hope,” giving voice to her undeniable feelings for you. “But she’s with Yelena.”

“I never really had faith in that relationship to begin with,” Agatha retorts dismissively, cleaning her hands with a towel before reaching for one of the cookies on display.

“That's a terrible thing to say,” Wanda chides.

“I’m only being honest,” Agatha says, unapologetic in her bluntness. “You were fucking each other like rabbits and then a few weeks later, she gets a girlfriend. That's a classic rebound scenario. I'm surprised the woman she's with allowed herself to be used like that.”

Wanda finds Agatha’s uninhibited words a little offensive, though she understands that their deepening friendship has allowed for such unfiltered honesty between them. Even though she's jealous of Yelena, Wanda understands that she is good for you. She doesn't like how Agatha talks about Yelena as if she's too naive to try a relationship with you.

Wanda feels she can relate with Yelena. Often, love makes us scared that we might never get a second chance, so we choose to take a leap of faith, despite the warning signs.

“So, what are you planning to do about it?” Agatha asks, taking a bite of her favorite cookie. Wanda makes a mental note to deduct that cookie from the stock count.

Wanda shakes her head, replying, “Nothing,”

Agatha pauses mid-chew, her eyes wide with shock. Wanda can't help but observe the crumbs of food lodged in her teeth. “You're not going to seize this opportunity?” Agatha questions, disbelief coating her voice.

“Y/N needs to sort things out,” Wanda lets out a heavy sigh. “Without my interference.”

“You’re not afraid of missing out on this chance?”

Wanda sidesteps Agatha's question with one of her own. “Why are you suddenly supportive? It wasn’t long ago when you couldn't stand her.”

“I’m supportive of you. I’m rooting for your happiness, dear. But I’ve seen you at your worst, and I think you’re putting on a brave face right now.”

Wanda's eyes dip down. Her friend isn’t entirely wrong.

“What happens if she decides to stay with Yelena?” Agatha probes further.

Wanda's response isn't immediate; she takes a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before replying softly, “Then I hope she’ll be very happy with her.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, because of course, Wanda would say that. Even if you were being served to her on a silver platter, she’d worry for your happiness over her own.

“And where does that leave you?” Agatha asks, folding her arms across her chest.

Wanda lifts her shoulders in a casual shrug, her face unreadable. “Living life as it comes, I guess. Just one day at a time.”

At this, Agatha decides to drop the subject. She has a strong feeling that Wanda’s just waiting for you to come to her, and when you do, she's certain that Wanda won't maintain this pretense of indifference. As for Wanda, she doesn’t want to obsess over what you’re doing or thinking. She doesn’t want to make the same mistake of hoping for an outcome that only you can decide.

Switching topics, Agatha raises an eyebrow and asks, “And the pup? Is he doing okay?”

Wanda smiles faintly, “I brought him home yesterday.”

“Well, that's a relief,” Agatha remarks. “Do you reckon Sparky masterminded all this to get Y/N to your place at an ungodly hour? Can dogs be that crafty?”

Wanda throws her an incredulous look. “Are you being serious right now?”

A wicked giggle slips from Agatha, spreading until Wanda finds herself laughing along. She doesn't notice the arrival of a guest until the distinct sound of the call bell jars her attention.

It’s Valkyrie, casually leaning against the countertop, looking awkward and so unlike her usual self.

Agatha casts a sly glance at Peter, who's been trying to catch her eye ever since Valkyrie stepped into the cafe. When Agatha isn't around, Peter fills her in on the latest happenings, a reliable source of juicy tidbits. Peter quirks his brows and discreetly nods towards Valkyrie, his mouth miming a silent message. Reading his lips, Agatha pieces together that this is the woman who recently found herself entangled in Wanda's intricate web.

Agatha sweeps her eyes over the woman appreciatively. Not bad. Not bad at all.

Wanda rubs her palms together, a habit she’s developed before taking a customer order. “Hi, Val! What is it for today? We have new beans delivered all the way from Niseko–”

“Actually,” Valkyrie softly cuts her off. “I was hoping we could talk?”

Agatha watches their exchange, an eager twinkle in her eyes. With the pace at which interesting events are unraveling, she may as well pop a bag of microwave popcorn to truly savor the unfolding drama.

Wanda nods and moves away from the counter, temporarily handing the reins to Agatha. They pick a spot in the furthest corner from the kitchen, well out of earshot, much to Agatha's disappointment.

“First off, I owe you an apology,” Valkyrie begins. “I’d blame it on the alcohol, but there’s no excuse for me pressuring you too much to take shots. That wasn’t cool at all. You already said no several times and I ignored you.”

Wanda waves her off casually. “Oh, it's alright. I appreciate the apology, but it wasn't that big of a deal. You couldn't have forced me to drink if I really didn't want to, right?”

Valkyrie's frown dips further at Wanda's easy dismissal of the issue. “No, Wanda. If I'd kept on, I might've pushed you into it even if you didn't want to. I'm just glad Y/N stepped in when she did.”

Something flashes in Wanda’s eyes at the mention of your name. Valkyrie catches it but opts to ignore it for the meantime.

“Yeah, I did feel a bit cornered that night,” Wanda concedes, a smile returning to her face. “But it's water under the bridge now. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

“You sure don't beat around the bush, do you?” Valkyrie attempts to lighten the mood, but her tension is evident in her shaky voice and the way her fingers fiddle with her watch.

Wanda chuckles. “It's a skill I've been honing lately.”

Taking a deep, measured breath, Valkyrie gathers her courage. "Alright, here it is..."

Wanda tilts her head at her curiously, wondering what it’s about.

“I like you,” Valkyrie blurts out. “I don’t normally confess to someone I’m not even dating, but you’re… incredible. That's how I feel about you and I thought you should know."

“Oh! Uh…” Wanda trails off, blushing at Valkyrie’s confession.

Valkyrie nibbles at her lip, observing as Wanda fumbles to put her thoughts into words. She silently hopes she's left Wanda speechless in a good way.

“There’s… someone,” Wanda manages to utter out eventually. “I've been in love with her for the better part of my life.” Or maybe her whole life, if she’s being brutally honest.

Valkyrie nods, her throat tightening to hold back the sting of rejection. “It's her, isn't it?” she ventures, silently alluding to you.

Wanda diverts her gaze and emits a modest laugh. She must have made her feelings too obvious for anyone to see.

“She’s my ex-wife,” is all the explanation Wanda offers.

“Wow,” Valkyrie looks taken aback by the revelation. “That sounds messy.”

“It's beyond messy,” Wanda retorts.

“Go on,” Valkyrie encourages.

Wanda looks at her, thoughtful. “Are you sure you want to delve into my past? It might take some time.”

Valkyrie smiles, already leaning in closer to signify that she’s all ears. “I made time this morning specifically to talk to you. I want to understand, at least, why I'm being rejected.”

Wanda chuckles softly at the gesture. Collecting her thoughts, she starts to narrate a condensed version of the turbulent history she's had, of how she ruined everything that’s good in her life.

When Wanda wraps up her story, Valkyrie simply says, "Wow, that's... pretty fucking messed up."

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Wanda admits, biting her lower lip, anxiety swirling in her gaze. She worries that revealing her darkest past may have cost her a budding friendship. “I think I saw your interest, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions and have the wrong idea. I just wanted us to be friends. I still do, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course, I want to be friends with you, Wanda. More than the fact that you’re hot, we have a lot in common too.”

Wanda's cheeks tinge a soft pink at Valkyrie's flippant comment about her being ‘hot’.

“So, friends then?” Valkyrie extends her hand.

Wanda smiles in relief. “Friends.”

***

A phone call rouses you from sleep. You groggily glance at the clock and realize you've overslept.

“It’s done,” your lawyer's voice cuts through the grogginess as soon as you pick up the call.

Disoriented, you squint against the daylight streaming in through the window. “What are you referring to?” you inquire, your voice hoarse from sleep.

“Vision has settled,” she elaborates, her words crisp and distinct. “And he caught a flight to Tokyo last night.”

“He's gone?”

“From what I've heard, he intended to use the settlement money to finance his studies overseas. He won't be returning in the near future. But even if he does decide to cut his trip short, you're safe. He has no legal means to trouble you anymore,” she assures you.

“You've got snitches now?” you quip, your eyes narrowing in suspicion even as the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of your mouth.

Her laughter rings out through the phone, followed by a breezy, “You're welcome,” before she ends the call.

It's over. A chapter of your past has finally closed. Vision has physically left the city, and you've literally paid your dues. You hadn't realized you were in a kind of self-imposed cage until now, when a sense of liberation pulses through your veins.

Before you can fully indulge in the relief provided by your lawyer's news, however, a persistent knock at your door breaks your reverie. You can't help but wonder who it could be, and how they bypassed the building's security without a notification from the concierge.

As you pull the door open, you find yourself face to face with the last person you expected to see.

“Nat?”

She appears ready to tear you apart. For a moment, the thought crosses your mind, 'this is it, this is how I go, at the hands of my best friend'. Strangely, you're indifferent to whatever she might inflict on you. Having her here at least affords you an opportunity to have a conversation.

Yet, Natasha doesn't respond. She doesn't even spare you a glance. Instead, she brushes past you and starts gathering random items into a large duffel bag she brought along.

“Nat, can you please just talk to me?”

“What for, Y/N? I have nothing to say to you.”

“Yelena broke up with me,” you say.

Natasha scoffs. “Yeah, no kidding.”

“Nat, please,” you plead. “You can’t just cut me out forever. I’m your best–”

“Are you?!” The outburst that tears from her is enough to make you recoil. “Are you my friend, Y/N? I woke up to my sister on my doorstep, in shambles. All thanks to my ‘friend’.”

You wrap your arms around yourself as tremors course through your body. Tears start to flow down your cheeks at the mere mention of Yelena.

“You want to talk? Fine, I’ll talk,” Natasha rages on. “I stood by you through thick and thin. I held your hand through all the shit you went through last year. I brought you into my home. I took care of you. I loved you–” Natasha's voice catches on 'loved', and your heart shatters at her use of the past tense.

“–and you just betrayed me, like I meant nothing. You betrayed my sister like she meant nothing. We both cared about you, Y/N.” Her voice dwindles near the end, her next words coming out just above a whisper. “So, no, we’re not friends. Not anymore.”

“Nat, I’m s–”

“You know what? I can’t fucking do this. I’m just gonna send someone to collect Yelena's things. If I don’t, just throw out her stuff like you did with your relationship. Goodbye, Y/N.”

The door slams shut behind her. You find yourself on the floor, curled into a ball, as you grieve the friendship you’ve known all your life.

***

Dark screens and unreturned messages follow.

Yelena has blocked you on every possible platform, cutting off any form of communication. Natasha hasn't, but she leaves all your messages unread, allowing your calls to go unanswered, seemingly enjoying your desperation. Clint ignores your texts, and Kate only responded once, promising to try and speak to Yelena for you. That was a week ago, and there's been no word since. You didn't think you'd be back in the dark place you were in a year ago, and the worst part is, you brought it on yourself this time.

The only news you get about Yelena is from your own mother. A few days after Yelena left your shared apartment, your mother called to ask what had happened. Apparently, Yelena had told her the news herself and asked her to take care of you and make sure you were alright. Throughout the call, you cried silently, feeling the remnants of Yelena's care for you even after you broke her heart.

And your mother, perennially at odds with handling emotions, simply offered her condolences. Although by doing so, she offered more support than she did when you were weathering your divorce from Wanda the year before. With your latest tragedy out of the way, she proceeded to ask if you could make time to visit Montauk over the holidays.

***

Drinking is… a problem. Again.

But you approach it with more caution this time. You don’t drink as much at home so you can avoid not showing up at work the next day. Rather, you sneak in a flask in the office, sipping from it from time to time to keep you the right amount of…adrift. You’re too good with numbers that even with a little haze in your head, the alcohol doesn’t interfere with your work.

It interferes with other thoughts.

***

When Kate finally calls you, you’re in the middle of a disastrous presentation at work. Her words had been brief, only giving you the time (three in the afternoon) and location (The New York Public Library) where she wanted to meet.

It takes some time for you to locate Kate within the vast elegance of the Rose Main Reading Room. She's tucked away in the northeast corner, engrossed in her work, even on a Sunday. A towering pile of books rises to her eye level on her desk.

“I can’t believe I was wrong about you.” Kate says without looking up as you settle on the vacant seat next to her.

“Wrong about me?” you ask, keeping your voice in a hushed tone.

“I had this fleeting thought that you might actually be a good person.” she says.

Swallowing hard, you struggle to find a response, well aware that Kate is just laying out the facts. What kind of person would cheat on their best friend's sister? What kind of person would throw away years of trust and a lifelong friendship?

“She told you?” you finally manage to ask.

“Yelena didn’t say much,” Kate says with a hint of sorrow. “But I've never seen her look so…” she trails off, struggling to find the right words, and eventually concludes, “She doesn't look like the Yelena I know.”

You’re afraid to ask what she means by that. You haven’t looked in the mirror yourself, in fear of seeing the results of your own wreckage.

“She quit today, you know?” Kate reveals, setting down her pen to give you her full attention. You don't see resentment in her eyes, only caution. This is the most compassion you've been shown since your relationship with Yelena fell apart.

The news of Yelena's resignation hits you like a punch to the gut. She had a promising career ahead of her, and she'd found a supportive environment in her workplace. It's hard to believe she'd just abandon that so abruptly. You feel a wave of nausea at the thought.

“I sort of saw it coming,” Kate adds. “Not her resignation–God, I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't budge. I… I saw you running back to Wanda.”

Your eyes narrow curiously as you regard Kate. “How?”

Kate sighs, pushing a pile of papers to the side to give you her full attention. “It's not a secret, you know. You might think you're being discreet, but you’re more transparent than you'd like to believe. You’re a completely different person when she’s around. I saw it during the 6-miler event we all joined by chance.”

There’s no point in denying any of that. The weeks that follow after that, you were crying to your mother regarding your conflicted feelings about Wanda. But if you had been aware of the signs as early as then, would things be different somehow?

“I didn't mean for any of this to happen, Kate,” you say, the words sounding weak and inadequate to your own ears.

“I know,” Kate says quietly, and there's a touch of sympathy in her eyes that makes you feel even worse. “But that doesn't change the fact that it did happen. And people are getting hurt because of it.”

You can sense that Kate is one of those people–by hurting Yelena, the girl she clearly loves.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you whisper. You wish there was another way to convey how sorry you are–a keyword to make it all go away.

“Yeah, me too. Mostly because I have to tell you that we can no longer be friends.” Kate says, looking genuinely upset about her decision, her gaze dropping to her hands as she twirls the pen between her fingers.

“I know,” you nod, appreciating her honesty. “Thank you.”

“Look, I have no idea how deep your thing with Wanda goes. All I know is you can’t keep running away. You can’t keep hiding behind the comfort of other people.”

You bob your head in acknowledgment, even though you're uncertain how to put her words into practice.

"Can you pass on a message to Yelena for me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously.

Kate lets out a sigh, her fingers halting their movement on the pen. “I’ll try. No promises though.”

“Could you tell her that I'm sorry...that I truly loved her?”

A moment of silence follows your request as Kate studies you, her lips pursed. It might seem hypocritical of you to make such a claim, but she refrains from passing judgment. But seeing your bloodshot eyes and your pale chapped lips and the lack of life in you, she thinks there’s probably some truth to it.

***

It takes you an additional week before you summon the courage to visit Wanda's apartment.

Truth be told, you've been hiding away in shame, confining yourself to either your bedroom or your office, instructing your assistant to keep the door closed and not to disturb you, secluding yourself from the outside world. Aside from interactions at your work, you haven’t talked to anyone.

A moment of misjudgment led you to lose everything that you were left with when you lost Wanda. But gradually, even as you were beating yourself up over and over again with the dissolution of your relationship with both Romanovs, Wanda became the only one you can think about. You can't escape her pull, no matter how hard you try.

Eventually, you devolve into nothing more than a compulsion; a compelling need to see Wanda. Which is what brings you here, with your fist poised to knock on the door. But just before your knuckles make contact with the wooden panel, the door swings open, and Wanda's voice unthinkingly spills into the hallway where you stand.

“–let me ask if the neighbor has some sugar–” Wanda halts dead in her tracks as she comes face to face with you.

The timid smile on your face drops as soon as you realize she's not alone. Behind her, comfortably perched on the couch is Valkyrie.

“Seems like you're already entertained. I'll head out,” Valkyrie proposes, getting up on her feet. “I'll pick up my shirt when you come around for the run next week, sound good?”

Wanda nods in a daze to that, her eyes never leaving you.

"No, I should leave," you counter weakly.

“No, Y/N, please stay,” Wanda implores. “See you later, Val. Thanks for the shoes.”

You stiffen and step aside as Valkyrie moves to gather her belongings. When she finally approaches the door, standing next to you, she tilts her head to murmur a parting sentiment intended for your ears only.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I had a spill on my shirt. Don't let her down this time,” she whispers.

Her words stun you into silence long after she's left.

“Y/N? Please, come in,” Wanda invites you, her voice trembling slightly. Nodding silently, you step inside.

You regard each other quietly, simply observing one another for what feels like an eternity. This isn’t how you imagined things would go when you thought about coming here this morning. You wanted to see Wanda because you needed to be with her. But now, all you can think about is Wanda and Valkyrie being all over each other.

“It’s been awhile,” Wanda offers, not really sure how to begin as you stay awkwardly near the door–as if you’re strategically placing yourself there in case you decide you want to run. She studies you, attempting to read your expression, to figure out what this could be about. She’s been thinking about the thumb drive that contained the video of her and Vision. Did you finally see it? Did you decide to pay him off?

Or is this about Yelena? Wanda’s been thinking if you came clean to your girlfriend about the kiss, wondering if you've managed to patch things up, and if Yelena has forgiven you.

If you’ve chosen to be with Yelena after all.

“Yeah, Valkyrie was here pretty early, wasn't she?” you state more than ask, a hint of bitterness edging your words. You glance at your watch, adding, “At 6:30 in the morning, no less.”

Wanda furrows her brows at your tone, as though she's on the receiving end of an unfounded accusation.

“She was on her morning run, dropped by to hand over a pair of shoes from her club's sponsor. Nothing more,” she explains.

You snort, "Sounds awfully convenient."

Rather than entertain your skepticism further, Wanda redirects the conversation elsewhere. What you presume about her and Valkyrie is the last of her worries right now.

“Why are you here, Y/N?” Wanda asks, her voice a little unsure. When your eyes meet hers, Wanda sees the signs of sleepless nights and a certain emptiness that paints a clear picture.

You and Yelena are done.

And it's breaking you. Her heart aches, even knowing that you're now, technically, available. She never wanted this for you. And she can't help but feel that she messed up your happiness once again.

“I just... I needed to see you,” you admit with a half-hearted shrug. “Looks like you didn't waste any time though.”

“Valkyrie and I are just friends,” Wanda insists, the edge of her patience beginning to fray.

“You seriously think I'll believe that?” you shoot back.

Wanda heaves a sigh, exasperation seeping into her tone. “Believe whatever you want, Y/N. Doesn't change the truth.”

“She was wearing your shirt.” you highlight, not quite ready to drop the issue.

“She spilled coffee on herself. I gave her a clean one. That's it.”

“And I'm supposed to accept that at face value?” you challenge, an eyebrow arched skeptically in her direction.

“Yes, you are!” Wanda says firmly. “Because it's the truth. I wouldn't lie to you.”

I wouldn't lie to you. Her words reverberate within your skull, playing on repeat like a broken record.

And that's the crux of it, isn't it? You're not sure whether you can still believe her.

“Y/N, please,” Wanda's plea rings out, sounding lost and desperate. She isn't even certain what she's asking for. What she does know is that you're teetering on the edge of a breakdown, still reeling from the pain of your breakup.

You don’t look like you’re in the right mindset to talk about what you’re going through. About how you both left things. And as much as Wanda wants to figure this out with you, she can’t do anything if you’re not willing to trust her.

“Wouldn’t lie to me?” you repeat, your voice laced with sarcasm and a painful sort of humor. “Alright, let's put that to the test, shall we?”

Wanda's throat tightens. She's unsure where you're heading with this.

��Yelena and I broke up. She left me that same morning,” you start off casually, as if discussing the weather. “Because she deserved better. Because I am, as it turns out, selfish and deceitful, right?”

“No–”

“You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Wanda's mouth snaps shut at your words, a sense of finality creeping into her. “...yes,” she admits quietly.

Slowly, you advance towards Wanda, your steps intentional and calculated. She remains rooted in her spot, refusing to back down.

“Do you feel happy that Yelena and I have broken up?” you ask.

Wanda looks hurt by your question. "Y/N, no, of course not–”

Your stoic expression tells her you're not buying it.

“Do you regret our kiss?” you probe, stepping closer, until Wanda finds herself backed against the wall. You lean in, foreheads almost touching, your dark eyes daring her to lie to you.

Wanda takes her time to answer, but when she finally does, her expression is resolute, as though she's trying to prove a point to you. “No, I don’t regret it,” she murmurs, her words a mere breath against your lips. Wanda looks so taken by the hungry look in your eyes that she fails to see what comes next.

The kiss this time is a stark contrast from the last. There’s an edge of danger to it, almost like the kiss that started Wanda’s downfall that culminated in a near-death experience, the kiss that was punishing and every bit of the hatred you harbored for her.

But there's also a desperation to it–as if you're sinking and this kiss is your lifeline; a frayed, ragged lifeline that could only be the one to pull you back to the surface.

As Wanda's head hits the wall with a soft thud, a pang of concern breaks through the haze of your fervor. Swiftly, you slide your hand between her head and the hard concrete, cushioning her as the urgency of your kiss escalates. Wanda almost sobs at the subtle tenderness behind your action, the considerate gesture leaving her somewhat taken aback, considering the harsh exchange you'd had just moments before.

No, this is nothing like your previous encounter.

You're not biting down to break skin. Your fingers aren't pressing into her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Your tongue isn't demanding or invasive, it's simply there, matching her rhythm and intensity. Wanda is unable to do anything but moan under you and rub her thighs together to relieve the pressure that’s building there.

Yet, you still don’t let her touch you. You don’t let her fingers venture up your stomach from under your shirt. Instead, you catch her hands, lacing your fingers through hers, and pull her arms above her head. All the while, your lips deftly trace a path down her throat. It’s soft and wet and so utterly delicate–everything Wanda thinks she hasn’t earned.

Nothing prepares her for the moment your hand makes contact with her core, even through the fabric of her shorts. She realizes just how much you’ve been holding back when you cup her forcefully, groaning from the heat and dampness that hits your palm.

If this means what Wanda thinks it means, she doesn’t want it to happen against the wall of her living room.

“Y/N?” she whispers raggedly in your ear, feeling the heel of your hand starting to grind against her clit.

“Yeah…?” you moan against her heated cheek as your fingers slips beneath her panties and find wet, wiry curls.

“Fuck–” Wanda whimpers at the contact. “B-Bedroom, please.”

Following her lead, you hoist Wanda up and her legs instinctively coil around your waist. She directs you towards her bedroom with verbal cues, realizing you're far too engrossed in lavishing attention on the skin just above her breasts to care about bumping into furniture. Your hand drifts up her back, finding the clasp of her bra and skillfully unfastening it.

And then no words are spoken at all after that.

***

Wanda stirs awake near noon, realizing that she's skipped her therapy appointment. Instinctively, her hands reach out to the area beside her, expecting to feel your warmth. However, she is greeted only by the cool sheets of the bed, the space vacant.

You're gone.

While she had been lost in dreams where she had a second chance at the life she yearned to have with you, you had quietly dressed and slipped out of her apartment, leaving no trace or note behind. You had vanished as silently and swiftly as a dream at daybreak.

Wanda arches her back, mimicking the languid stretch of a cat, the resulting pops of her spine easing the tension more than the action itself. The sex was… phenomenal. She couldn’t think of a better word to describe it.

When a bit of the afterglow wears off, she is haunted by a question: What happens now?

More importantly, are you coming back? Or is this a one-time thing for you?

With a weighty sigh, Wanda allows herself to collapse back onto the mattress. Doubt creeps in as she begins to question whether her decision to let this unfold was the right one. After all, you’ve both been down this path before, sex was not a magic remedy that mended everything.

What she couldn’t deny, however, is how gentle you were with her. You were making love to her, and nothing could sway Wanda from this belief. It sparks a tiny ray of hope within her that perhaps this time, you're ready to give her another chance.

Maybe, just maybe, you're open to trying again.

Yet, the vacant space next to her feels almost accusatory. Wanda has never been fond of waiting. But it’s the only thing she can do for now.

After all, beggars can’t be choosers.

***

The call from her therapist comes at around nine in the evening. Wanda considers it a little unprofessional, given the late hour, but she supposes that Calliope sees at least a dozen patients a day. Truthfully, she’s been anticipating this call all day, especially after she deliberately skipped her session to–

A soft snore escapes from your half-open mouth, drawing Wanda’s attention momentarily.

–spend time with you. Wanda can’t explain it, but she’s afraid to bring this up to Calliope. And she knows that if she sees Calliope or talks to her, it would open the floodgates and everything will come rushing out before she can stop them.

She's missed two calls now, but the phone in her hand vibrates again and Calliope’s name stares back at her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda finally picks up.

“Hello, Wanda?”

“Hi,” Wanda replies, aiming to sound cheerful.

Calliope wastes no time getting to the purpose of this call. “You missed this morning’s session. Did something happen?”

Wanda's gaze drifts to you, sleeping soundly, your hair a mess as it spreads out in every direction. The sheets have slid down, exposing your bare back in a manner that makes her want to abandon the call and join you.

“Oh, uh... I just got tied up at the cafe. Sorry for not informing your secretary,” she hastily lies.

“So, everything's okay then?”

“Yes,” Wanda confirms, her eyes never leaving you as she replies honestly this time. Calliope seems satisfied with that and proceeds to book a slot for Wanda two days hence before ending the call.

You open an eye at her lazily, your voice muffled by the pillow as you ask, “Who was it?”

“No one,” Wanda says without batting an eye. “Just a supplier for the coffee shop.”

Your response is a drowsy murmur, your face sinking deeper into the pillow as you pursue the lingering traces of Wanda's scent. A smile tugs at Wanda's lips at the innocence of the gesture, despite the fact that you’re very naked under the covers. She hadn’t anticipated she’d see you again so soon, moreso that she’d sleep with you again right away when she does. But you had showed up unannounced, yet again, and casually asked Wanda if she'd eaten dinner already. Wanda had barely gotten the word ‘yes’ out, before you’re urgently reaching out and snatching her into a hungry kiss.

And then it was all lips and touches and her coming into your mouth three times until she had to literally cover herself with her hand just to get you to stop.

Wanda's cheeks warm as she surrenders to the memory of your fervent reunion from only a few hours prior, but your sleep-laden murmurings, muffled as they are by the pillow your face is buried in, yank her back to the present. She chuckles lightly and perches herself at the edge of the bed, drawing a line along your back with her fingertips, raising goosebumps along the path.

"Can you repeat that?" she prompts, massaging your neck.

You lift your head slightly, your eyelids still heavy with sleep. “I said–do you need me to go?”

Wanda shakes her head, even though you can't see her. “Let’s just sleep,” she whispers.

Wanda gets up to remove her shirt over her head. Then, she slides back under the sheets and curls up against you. She presses her bare body to your back, fitting herself perfectly against your shape. Your warmth seeps into her, filling the cold spots that your absence had left behind.

Wanda notes that this is the first time you’re willing to stay since before you found out she cheated on you. She closes her eyes and allows herself to drift away. If you’re staying, then there's an opportunity to talk about this tomorrow.

***

Leaving a slumbering Wanda behind is not easy. You have to gingerly disentangle yourself from her grip to avoid waking her up. Initially, sleeping with Wanda was not part of your plan, but seeing her with Valkyrie had stirred a sense of jealousy within you that led to a powerful desire to claim Wanda as yours.

And so it kept happening, again and again–like a drug you just couldn't shake off.

You haven't really thought about what it all means. To be honest, you've been actively avoiding it. A week of overthinking has left you stuck at a dead-end, feeling numb and desperate to feel something, anything at all.

And in all this, Wanda is the only one who seems to fill the void, the only one who doesn't make you feel so alone.

***

“Dr. Williams?” Pietro says hesitantly as he picks up the call.

“Hi, Pietro. I hope I'm not catching you at a bad time,” comes Calliope's voice, clear and loud.

“No, I was just–did we have a scheduled meeting that slipped my mind?” he inquires, wondering about the suddenness of this call.

“We didn't,” Calliope assures him. “I'm actually calling about Wanda. Have you had a chance to speak with her recently?”

Pietro doesn’t like the sound of this. “No, I haven’t. Is she okay?”

“She missed her appointment this morning without notice. It’s the second time in a row. And I just got off the phone with her… she was deflective.”

“I'll check in with her,” Pietro promptly assures, before adding more softly, “Should I be worried?”

“She has agreed to meet me on Tuesday,” Calliope replies, deftly skirting around his question. “So, it may not be a pressing matter. I apologize for disturbing you.”

“No problem at all, Dr. Williams. Feel free to call anytime.”

As the call ends, Pietro is left alone with his thoughts. His mind is whirring with worry for Wanda, and he sits there for a moment, lost in thought. With a sigh, he places his phone back on the coffee table, a frown etching itself onto his face.

Feeling restless, he picks up his phone again, fingers swiping the screen with a certain degree of nervousness. His gallery opens up, a collection of countless memories frozen in pixels. He scrolls through it, stopping at a particular picture that still haunts him.

It's a hard image to look at, a memory of a particularly painful day. But he keeps it, just in case he needs it, a ghost hiding in his phone.

He knows, if push comes to shove, he has this to fall back on.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #yelena belova #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #agatha harkness #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader

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imagine--if · 1 year

Note

"What am I to you" Bruce Wayne/Battinson x reader?!?

A/N: I kinda just went with the flow on this haha, there's a smidge of riddler x reader too but hi battinson peoples!! It's been a while 😁🖤 enjoyyy, sorry if I didn't follow the trope as much as you wanted bahaha

Wordcount: 798

"I'm sending you to Wayne Manor. You'll be safe there."

You blink up at the mystery man clad in all black in shock, rubbing at the mild red tape marks around your wrists. Wayne Manor? Was he joking?

"Wayne Manor?" you repeat incredulously. "You can't just go to Wayne Manor. Bruce Wayne lives in Wayne Manor."

The Batman doesn't look up at you as he gently pulls a hand away from your wrist, cleaning the agitated skin area with a softness that should be alien to the vigilante, who stalks troublemakers and maniacs each night, warding them off the streets by any extreme means that doesn't involve guns.

"He'll understand."

You gape at him in a daze, the night's events a blur, making your head hurt just thinking about it. Of course, whatever drug that dampened the towel The Riddler shoved in your face before you were whisked off to a cold, crumby hotel room can't be helping either, and you swear you can still feel the effects making you feel weak and shaky even after The Batman stormed into the scene, cutting it short with an untamed rage you'd never seen in those dark eyes before.

Before all this, you'd never properly met The Batman, least of all been saved by him. It was only now that The Riddler was targeting the corrupt, trying to prove himself to Batman, and save you, his so-called angel, a beacon in this dark, cesspool city, from the corruption and the dangers lurking around every corner. But, if anything, The Riddler seemed like a danger to you, constantly sending you love poems and riddles on old-fashioned, cheesy valentines cards and promising his followers and viewers of his streams and trials that another reason to carry out his acts of terror was for you.

"So- so pure, and innocent, and angelic... and they're being corrupted! The influence of this rich, disgusting vermin of the city is attacking the biggest influence and symbol of hope in this forsaken place! I'm going to do something... something spectacular. All you have to do is watch and wait for a little while longer..."

If you'd have known that donating to charities for orphans and helping out true detectives like James Gordon with crimes instead of being bought off by Falcone would gain this kind of attention, you might have thought twice. But here you are. Being obsessed over by a murderous genius, and protected by a vigilante mystery man.

"Do you know him?" you ask Batman in wonder, as he frees your wrist, treated carefully and delicately. "Mr Wayne? I don't know if he'd be happy with me staying there. I mean, he doesn't talk to many people and... well, no one really knows much about him."

"He can make an exception," Batman answers you. "This is serious. I don't want you going back home or anywhere by yourself until Riddler's behind bars. You're a part of his plan, too."

You sigh, putting your hoodie back on and pulling the sleeves over your hands, fingertips poking out of the material. "I know. But I'm not your responsibility. You have enough to do already."

"It's my responsibility to keep you safe," The Batman argues. "I'm sure you're a very capable person, but this is dangerous. People have died. You know that."

"I don't think he'll kill me," you say after a beat of thought passes.

"He won't," The Batman says. "He won't go near you again. I'll make sure of it."

"Well..." you struggle to find the words, confused, as Batman goes over to his car, like something out of a sci-fi movie. "Thank you. But why do you care so much?"

The Batman freezes, glancing over his shoulder at you with an unreadable expression.

"No, I mean," you continue quickly, "apart from the fact that you're a vigilante and a protector and all. Like, what am I to you?"

You cringe inwardly at yourself after hearing the words come out of your mouth, and at the masked man's bemused expression. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He was only protecting you because there's a terrorist on the loose, right? What exactly are you expecting?

What you don't expect is for The Batman to take a heavy step towards you, offering you a gloved hand to help you into the vehicle. His hand lingers in yours when you're sat down and he hesitates, an odd look of - what, insecurity? Flustered, just a little? - written in his features as he looks you dead in the eye, the intensity making your breath catch in your throat.

"Probably more than you think," he replies after a few moments of silence, and then his hand slips out of yours as the engine roars to life.

⭒❃.✮:▹𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ◃:✮.❃⭒ (message me know if you want to be removed/added. ghost blogs/dead accs have been removed.)

@misadventures0fdes @junebugp @simestandswithtaylorswift-blog @carley-carley-carley @lostbunn @dragovegogrimborn @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @edwardspumpkinpie @murderbimbo00 @sweetums0kitty @beel-mcburger @cml-san @jervis-tetch-my-beloved @bimboanime @phoenixgurl030 @dangerouslittlefairy @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowersleep @hxney-lemcn @callsigncrash @bokksieu @skateb0red @philiasoul@felicityofbakerstreet @deadlights-darling @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

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callsign-rogueone · 22 days

Text

deja vu - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader part of Bodhi and Darling's story 💗 words: 2.9k 🏷: set in the year before Fourth Wing (Bodhi’s first year). one tiny book spoiler but it’s not stated explicitly, hurt/comfort, anxiety, imagined character death (in a nightmare). mild dissociation, anxiety, nausea, fighting (challenge match), one very small injury, canon-typical peril and danger.

“I love you,” Bodhi rasps, closing his eyes. “I’m so… sorry…”

“No, no, hey, look at me,” you beg, hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “You’re gonna be okay, we’re getting you help, but you have to keep looking at me, okay?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t move or make any indication that he can hear you. He’s silent, perfectly still — he isn’t breathing.

“Bodhi,” you cry, “Bodhi, please don’t leave me. Wake up, please.”

His heart has stopped beating. The love of your life, the man who had sworn to protect you, who you had sworn to love in sickness and in health and through the test of time, until the end of your days, is dead.

You feel like the air has been squeezed from your lungs, your breaths coming in choked sobs.

“Wake, child,” someone interrupts — Sìoda. “It’s just a dream. It’s not real.”

You shake yourself awake, panting like you’d been running for miles. You look down at your palms, illuminated by the gentle moonlight filtering into the room -- they’re clean; not streaked with Bodhi’s blood. It was just a dream. Just a terrible dream, likely a product of the overactive imagination you’ve had your whole life, and your anxiety about the dragonkind exam you have tomorrow that you’re convinced you’re going to fail, despite spending all evening studying.

“Your mate, and all of your brothers and sisters are safe in their beds,” she soothes, “as are mine.”

Oh. You still aren’t any good at shielding, so she’s been getting all of your emotions through the bond — you’d likely woken her up with your distress.

“I’m sorry,” you say in a guilt-ridden whisper. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Don’t apologize, my child. Just breathe.”

You mop up your tears with the sleeve of your pajama shirt, and focus on deepening your breaths, trying to relax your racing heart.

“There are still a few hours until formation,” she says gently. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

You lay back down, gazing at the wall of gray stone beside you, counting the bricks and trying to find patterns in the texture until the exhaustion overtakes you, and you fall back asleep.

Thankfully, your subconscious doesn’t torment you with any more cruel sights. You wake up to gentle November sunlight warming your skin and birds chirping — last month, a pair of doves had made a nest in the tiny alcove by your window.

You get dressed quickly, sorting out your hair and straightening your uniform. You’re in the middle of lacing your boots when there’s a knock at your door, the familiar rhythm that you know can only be Bodhi; like clockwork, he comes down the hall to get you every morning so you can walk to breakfast together.

You unlock the door with your mind, something you’ve been able to do for the last week, breathing a sigh of relief when he walks into the room unharmed and smiling. You hug him extra tightly, tucking your head into his neck and holding him a moment longer than usual, comforted by the steadiness of his breathing.

“You okay, Darling?” he asks, sounding concerned.

You hum in contentment. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You don’t mention the dream, because nobody wants to hear about their own death, and it would be silly to bother him with something you’ve already gotten over — though you know the image of Bodhi bleeding out in your arms on the floor of that empty classroom will likely be burned into your brain forever.

He gives you an easy smile, shouldering your bookbag and gesturing for you to head out the door.

You’re comforted by the normalcy of the day. It’s almost too easy, too smooth.

Everyone is present and accounted for at breakfast, in good spirits — as good as they can be, in your current situation. Battle brief passes quickly, with no reports of catastrophe, though you know that they likely aren’t giving you all the information they have. The dragonkind test you’d been so worried about is much easier than you’d expected, and you have the rest of the afternoon off until dinner.

You don’t object as your squadmates suggest you use one of the empty common rooms to study in — the same one you’d seen in your dream.

What would you even say? Sorry, guys, but can we pick somewhere else to be, because I had a nightmare last night that Bodhi died in this room?

You shake it off, repeating Sìodha’s words in your mind as you crack open your textbook: It’s just a dream. It’s not real.

But then every word of the conversation going on around you starts to sound very familiar, like you’ve heard it before — like they’re reciting lines for a stage play.

It’s just a dream. It’s not real.

But this can’t be a coincidence. There’s too many similarities for comfort; the location, the timing — the sun is just starting to set — the exact page that each boy’s book is open to… you remember that, remember Sawyer’s book being open to a page with that same illustration.

“Have you done number four yet? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Let me see.”

You predict their replies with nearly perfect accuracy — because you’ve heard this exact conversation before.

What if it is real? What if you’re trapped in an endless loop like in one of the novels you’d read, where the leading lady has to live the worst day of her life over and over until she figures out how to change it?

You could hardly bear to watch the light leave Bodhi’s eyes in that dream, and so help you gods, you are not going to see it ever again; you’re going to do something about it.

You’d read some theory in a philosophy book once that the flap of a butterfly’s wings can set off a chain of events that cause a hurricane. Would it be safer to stop this exact moment as it happens, or to interrupt now? Or was that dream really just a dream, and today will just be a normal day, or Basgiath’s version of normal, and you’re worrying over nothing?

“I don’t think that’s it. I think that’s the answer to number five, though.”

Those are the words. You’d almost missed them, too concerned about what’s going to happen in the next five seconds, but you should have just enough time if you act now. Sìodha seems to think so too, sending you a flood of urgency and panic.

You tackle Bodhi to the ground, wrapping an arm around his waist and putting a hand behind his head to cushion his fall as you both hit the floor. Your knuckles split on the impact, pain ripping through your hand, but all you can focus on is Bodhi underneath you — his eyes wide with shock, but still blinking up at you, his lips parted in a gasp, but not slick with blood, his heart racing, but not stopping.

There’s a shout from beside you, the clatter of metal against stone, and the sounds of a brief struggle. Dain has the would-be assassin pinned in a matter of seconds, Sawyer helping him restrain her and haul her away, leaving you and Bodhi alone, still tangled up in one another on the floor, his eyes locked with yours.

He finally manages to form words, but not a complete sentence, still stunned. “What… How did you… What?”

“I saw this in a dream last night,” you answer, your voice wavering. “I saw you sitting right here with me, talking to Sawyer. You said that same sentence, and then there was a knife in your chest.”

You look to your right, where it lays on the floor a few feet away — the exact shape and length as the one you’d dreamed of. “That knife.”

Bodhi’s eyes widen even further as he puts it together. “I think that was your signet,” he breathes. “You’re a visionary.”

You finally let go of him, moving to sit by his side on the cold stone of the floor and staring blankly at the dagger. It had missed either of you by at least three feet, but had you acted a second later, or not at all… That doesn’t matter, you suppose. What matters is that Bodhi is alive; that you’d been able to save him, because you’d known what was going to happen and you altered course at the last second.

You should be proud of yourself, but all you can think about is his words to you, and the implications thereof. If this is truly your signet, then you’ll have to watch this kind of thing happen over and over, and likely not just to Bodhi, but to the rest of your friends, too. But what if you can’t stop it next time? What if you see something happen to the twins? They’re a two-hour flight away, and you can’t abandon your post just because you had a dream that something bad happened to them.

Will any of your dreams be just dreams anymore, or are you going to see all manner of terrible things every night for the rest of your life? How are you supposed to distinguish between dreams and reality, between the sleepy inventions of your subconscious, or the magic of your signet?

“I’m sorry, child. It is a powerful gift to have, but it can be quite cruel.”

You can hear Bodhi speaking, likely a thank you and some soft reassurances, but you don’t process the words. You don’t respond to either of them, still not fully convinced that this isn’t another dream.

The warmth of his hand on your arm starts to pull you out of that numbness. “Talk to me, darling.”

“I watched you die,” you whisper. “There was nothing I could do. I just had to hold you, until… I thought it was just a nightmare, but then it started happening in reality, and...”

You shake your head, eyes welling with tears that you try to blink away. You tell yourself that there’s no reason to be crying, no use when he’s standing in front of you, alive, breathing and talking and holding your hand, but you can’t stop the flood of emotion; confusion and relief and horror and several other things you can’t put a name to right now.

“Hey,” he coaxes, “look at me.”

You focus your gaze on him, on those soft brown eyes that still blink at you, the rise and fall of his chest.

“I’m okay,” he says softly, wrapping your hand around his wrist, mindful of your scraped knuckles. He positions your fingertips over his pulse, pressing them into the skin so you can feel the gentle beat of his heart. “I’m alive, because you saved me.”

You nod silently, warm tears slipping down your cheeks.

He gathers you into a warm embrace, rubbing your back in soft, soothing motions. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, my darling girl. But the next time something like that happens, you tell me, okay? I don’t care if you wake me up at three in the morning, I want to be there for you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Good.”

You stay like this for a moment, just sitting with him and finding comfort in the warmth of his touch and the steadiness of his breathing.

“Do you want to go to the healers for your hand, or do you want me to wrap it up for you?”

“Want you to do it,” you answer softly, still feeling a little fragile. You don’t want to be away from him, even for a moment; you might work up the courage to ask if you can sleep in his bed tonight.

“Okay.” He presses a kiss to your temple, getting up to pack your bags.

Dain and Sawyer haven’t returned, likely still in Varrish’s office with the unbonded girl. You scribble a quick note to thank them, and to say that you’re done studying for the afternoon, leaving it on top of Dain’s book.

Bodhi picks up your bag, shouldering it along with his own.

He stops to pick up the dagger, sheathing it at his side, and you blink at him, confused. “You’re keeping it?”

“Of course I’m keeping it. It’s a memento of my first assassination attempt.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Only you could be so proud about someone wanting to kill you.”

He pulls you in closer, tucking you under his arm. “Not nearly as proud as I am of you. You should have seen it. I’ve never seen you move that fast in my life.”

Your cheeks warm in embarrassment, suddenly shy. “I was worried I’d lose you,” you say softly.

“You won’t ever lose me,” he soothes. “We made each other a promise, and I intend to keep it.”

“So do I,” you say quietly. “So do I.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t have any more terrible dreams -- visions -- for the rest of the week, just a generalized sense of anxiety and insomnia, waiting for the next one and wondering what it’ll be, what terrible fate may befall one of your friends.

Each day that passes simultaneously soothes your anxiety and stokes it. If you aren’t dreaming of any terrible things, then they won’t happen, but what if you don’t dream them? What if you can’t see harm coming to them in advance, and thus can’t prevent it?

As soon as you enter the gym for Emeterrio’s class, it hits you again; that incredibly strong sense that something very bad is going to happen, very soon.

Bodhi sees your posture change, your normal relaxed and graceful presence tightening uncomfortably, and puts it together immediately, looking at you with concern.

“I have that feeling again,” you manage, forcing down the acid rising in your throat. “But this time, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“It’ll be okay,” he soothes.

“You don’t know that,” you reply, still looking around, surveying the gym for anyone that could pose a threat to you or any of your friends, which happens to be every single person in the room.

He takes your hand, and the feeling stops; vanishes completely, as if it was never there. Bodhi’s presence and his gentle touch have always been a comfort to you, often the only comfort you have, but nothing like that has ever happened before, a relief so intense and sudden.

Your gaze snaps to him, eyes widening. “How did you…”

He lets go, and the anxiety and nausea comes back in a tidal wave that nearly knocks you over. He lays a hand on your back to steady you, worried you’ll collapse, and the feeling dissipates again in the blink of an eye. Definitely not a coincidence.

“I think you turned it off,” you whisper. “When you let go, it came back.”

He blinks at you for a few seconds, processing. “Do you think that’s…”

“Laurent and Daneel,” Emeterrio calls.

Oh. That’s what you’re supposed to be worried about.

“Deep breath,” Bodhi prompts.

You inhale as deeply as you can before he moves his hand off of your back, and you aren’t hit with another tidal wave, just a normal, manageable level of anxiety appropriate for someone about to start a challenge match.

But as you step onto the mat, the anxiety fades into… something new. Confidence, like nothing you’ve ever felt before -- like you know you’re going to win this fight, without question, like it’s already been written down in the professor’s gradebook, and carved into history.

Interesting.

You lower your head to your opponent in respectful acknowledgement, getting a snarl in response. Well, then. Maybe this will be harder than you’d thought -- but you still have that unshakeable feeling that you’re going to come out on top.

She makes the first move, a punch that you’re able to dodge easily. She tries again -- and you step to the side without thinking, avoiding the blow by a few inches.

You continue dodging and blocking, reacting naturally, almost subconsciously, not even thinking about your movements.

You feel the same strange feeling you’d felt during the conversation leading up to Bodhi’s would-be assassination; you’d known all the words, knew what was going to happen because you’d seen it in a dream -- only you don’t remember dreaming any of this at all. It had been a total surprise that your name would be called with hers, the intense anxiety you’d felt being the only indicator, and even then, you’d been worried that it would be one of your friends in danger, not yourself.

Very interesting.

A slow smile spreads across your face as you realize exactly what is happening -- this is your signet at work, that familiar hum of power through your veins as you move, keeping you a few seconds ahead of everyone else in the room.

“You’ve had your fun,” Sìoda nudges, sounding amused. “Now end this, and end it well.”

The girl agrees. “Come on, you filthy fucking traitor! Fight me already!”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the quadrant as they wait for you to respond -- every eye in the gym is watching you, even the other cadets that are supposed to be fighting across the room, but you don’t move, don’t react to the comment, preparing for what’s going to happen next.

She hurls a dagger at you, enraged by your lack of engagement in this fight -- and your hand flies up to catch it, your fingers wrapping around the hilt and stopping it in midair.

Silence. Absolute dead silence.

You examine it for a second before you tuck it into your belt, looking back up at her. “Let’s fight, then.”

#bodhi and darling #bodhi durran #bodhi durran x reader #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #mine #fourth wing fanfic

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nanamiscocksleeve · 20 days

Text

The Office Pet Part 3

warnings: MDNI, sex, rough fucking, fingering, mild pet play, cum dump, mild foursome, creampies, cumplay, exhibitionism, oral (fem receiving), toys, overstimulation, dominance, nipple and clit play.

man, I was horny af when I wrote this. Pure filth, no plot, just some good kinky fuckery. Part 1 - Part 2

“They’re considering hiring someone with the promise that he could be a partner someday.” Kento lovingly washes your hair in the tub, making sure he gets every inch of your scalp clean. You let him pamper you, eyes closed and humming in happiness. He reaches for the removable showerhead and gently cascades water over your hair, ensuring the suds don’t get into your eyes.

“We’ll be entertaining him here to get a feel for him.” You look curiously at Kento, and his mouth curls into a smile. “Ah, I see you’re remembering the last time we hosted a party here. I recall you enjoying yourself quite a bit.”

“I did.” You giggle at the memory.

“How do you feel about doing it again tonight?”

“I think it would be fun.”

“Excellent.” He helps you stand and starts toweling your hair dry.

“All the same folks as last time?” You ask, loving his gentle touch.

“Yup. You remember how it was when we vetted Higuruma.”

You nod your head, then raise your arms as he starts drying off your body. “So it’s him, Gojo, and…?”

“Kusakabe.” Kento gives you a name. “It’ll be very similar to last time.” He scoops your dried body out of the tub and places you on the bed, before grabbing a bottle of lotion. You lay out on your stomach comfortably, then pout as he drips lotion on your back.

“That’s cold…” You protest, only to be met with an indulgent chuckle.

“Sorry, my sweet.” He runs his warm hands over your back, and the cold cream heats up, going into your smooth skin. You hum and settle down. His hands move to your ass, gently massaging the flesh as he moisturizes you.

“Think you’ll be all right entertaining one more person?”

“I think so. Same rules as last time, right?”

“Yes. They can look. Touch limitedly with permission. But fucking you is solely my right.” He cups your mound with his hand and your arch up so that his palm can curve and capture it. He squeezes, not arousingly, but it feels good anyway.

“I think we’ll have fun.”

Kento huffs, and gives a playful smack to your ass. “I can always count on you. But, then again, you like being on display so I suppose you’re more into the idea than you’re letting on.”

A mischievous laugh leaves your lips and you wriggle your ass, causing him to bark with laughter and give you another smack. “Come here you.” He sits down and cradles you on his lap, hugging you tightly. “I love you, you know?” He kisses your forehead.

“I love you too.” You graze your nose against his face, inhaling his scent. The unconventional nature of your relationship still had trust and affection at the end of the day. He holds you possessively, jealously, sometimes. But you were both comfortable with your dynamic.

“What’s your safe word?” he breathes into your hair.

“Heel.”

“Yes. And remember just because there are rules doesn’t mean you can’t ask for it to stop. I’ll be there the whole time. If something makes you uncomfortable, just look at me. I’ll know.”

Kento was a source of security for you. He would never let anyone demean or put you down. You knew where you stood with him. He kisses you, his mouth exploring yours for a moment before pulling away.

“Let’s go put on a show.”

—

The men are dressed in their finest, most expensive-looking suits, sitting on the plush, immoderate furniture in your living room, sipping Kento’s excellent collection of liquor. The new guy, Kusakabe, has a harsh, bored-looking expression on his face as he swirls his scotch in a glass.

“What’s so special about this party that you guys said it’s practically an interview?” Disinterest coats his tone as he takes a swig from his glass.

Gojo and Higuruma exchange glances, smirking knowingly at each other.

“Let’s just say that these parties…show us how much we can trust each other. After all, if you can’t obey the rules relating to our office pets, then why would we trust you with anything else?”

“Office pets?” Kusakabe wrinkles his nose. “Don’t tell me I have to spend all evening entertaining a cat or something.”

Higuruma laughs and takes a swallow of his whiskey. “Well, there’s a pussy involved.”

Kusakabe looks unsure whether to take him seriously and decides against asking anything. Noise at the top of the steps announces Nanami’s arrival and the men sit up straighter, watching him descend.

He’s carrying you in his arms, your perfect naked body on display, snug against his chest. Kento has added a simple black choker around your neck, with a cute bow attached to it. “I’m glad everyone could make it.”

Kusakabe’s eyes widen as he sees you, almost choking on his drink. Kento’s mouth is a sardonic curve, a taunt to the new potential hire who suddenly seemed to have lost the cocky demeanor he had when he was first interviewed.

Kento sits down on a grand-looking armchair, letting you lay down on his lap, and delicately fondles one of your nipples, almost like an afterthought, similar to how one plays with their hair while reminiscing something. It barely does anything to you, and you sit patiently, letting him do as he pleases.

“As we all know things are a little…unconventional in our office. But it’s good. It helps with productivity. And it helps us know we have each other’s backs no matter what. And how do we assess these qualities?”

He pauses and pats your head proudly with his free hand. “Thanks to the office pets of course. They’re a status of how far we’ve come in our careers. And they represent qualities that are meaningful to us. They give us companionship, and love, and are excellent stress relievers.”

Gojo and Higuruma chuckle, nodding, while Kusakabe continues to look shell-shocked. Nanami continues with his speech. “But of course, each office pet is sacred to the person they belong to. We admire and respect each other’s pets, but we never cross boundaries. So anyone who thinks just because our adorable pets look available,” he squeezes your nipple hard enough for a cute whimper to leave your throat, “isn’t someone we would want to have in our office.”

Kusakabe stares, wide-eyed, hanging onto Nanami’s every word. The prospect that he could have a pet if he was made partner one day was sinking into him. Nanami’s voice cuts through the room.

“Look at my pet.” He gestures to you leisurely sprawled out on his lap, already turned on by the thought of events to come. “She’s sweet, obedient, and one of the best things to ever happen to me. So to assess if someone is worthy of being part of our exclusive circle, there are 3 rules they will need to abide by tonight.” He holds up his hand and stretches his index finger.

“One. You can look. Two,” He holds up another finger. “You can’t touch unless given permission by me and my pet. And 3. No one can fuck her except me. Do you understand Kusakabe?”

Gojo slaps Kusakabe playfully on the shoulder. “He’s following rule one all right.” Nanami and Higuruma laugh as Kusakabe flushes. You can’t help but join in the laughter, then pull at Nanami’s collar.

“Is he a virgin?” you ask and the room erupts with laughter, Kusakabe chugging from his glass to avoid looking embarrassed.

“No, my pet, he’s not,” Nanami chuckles, stroking your hair. “I just doubt he’s seen anything as sweetly delectable as yourself before. He's probably never seen a woman so willingly displayed, so ready to be used and admired. ”

It takes Kusakabe a second to regain control of himself. With a cough, he says, “I think I would fit in with your circle very well. I promise to abide by the rules.”

“Perfect. Well then. No sense in delaying the fun.” He picks you up and places you on the lush carpet, patting your ass to encourage you to move forward. “Go ahead, my dear. Show them what a good time really looks like.”

You gracefully and enticingly crawl to the center of the carpet, smiling, before laying back and spreading your legs apart, delicately fingering your already swollen clit, in full view to the group.

“That's it, my dear... Show these men how much you enjoy being on display…” Kento’s gaze darkens with lust as he watches you play with yourself, your moans filling the room and spurring on the already aroused crowd.

“See that, gentlemen?” He says, gesturing towards you. “This is what happens when you train a woman properly.” A wicked gleam appears in his eyes as he turns back to them. “Now, isn't it time you showed your appreciation of her?”

All the men had a boner; you could see the outlines through their pants, straining against the fabric. At Nanami’s words, Gojo and Higuruma free their cocks, stroking themselves in time with your fingers on your clit. Kusakabe was either too shy or too shocked by the scene, because he didn’t make any move to unzip himself, but kept his eyes fixated on your open pussy with his teeth gritted, fascinated.

You feel powerful, knowing how much control you hold over these men, knowing they can’t do anything to you. It stirs a gripping arousal in your body, and you moan, knowing you need more. Looking sweetly over your shoulder, you ask, “Kento, can you bring out the toys?”

Kento smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Of course, my dear.” His voice is filled with anticipation. “Let's see how many orgasms we can wring out of our precious pet tonight.” He disappears into another room briefly, returning moments later with a small box full of toys. He sets it down beside you, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Here you go, my dear,” He coos, handing you a small vibrator. “Have some fun with this while we decide what to do with you next.”

You accept the toy from him, gathering some of the moisture leaking from your hole, and begin to tease yourself with it, whimpering at the pleasure. “Kento…can I choose someone to hold it for me? It’s easier to have fun that way.” You look at him with a pout.

Kento nods, a devilish smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Of course, my dear. Choose whoever you wish.” His eyes roam over the crowd, wondering who you’ll pick, but he already has a good idea. You temptingly crawl over to Kusakabe who looks at you like he’s seen the gates to heaven. With a smirk, you offer him the vibrator. He glances over at Nanami, who nods.

“She’s giving you permission, so yes. Take it.”

“So generous of her,” Gojo praises you. “Just don’t be disappointed if you find yourself adjusting him constantly. Look at his hands. He’s trembling.”

It was true, Kusakabe’s hands were trembling slightly as he took the toy from you before sitting down on the carpet. You lean up on your knees, and with shaky hands, he positions the vibrator against your wet slit, making you moan quietly. The crowd watches silently their eyes glued to the scene as Kusakabe, gaining confidence, begins to tease your clit by rocking the vibrator in circles against it.

“Mmm...yeah like that,” you hum as you start humping the vibrator, your tits swaying as you do so. Gojo and Higuruma look impressed with Kusakabe who’s watching you intently, his cock straining so much in his pants it looked like it might tear the fabric. You giggle and try to give him a reassuring look but it’s hard with the pleasure coursing through you. Kento’s heart pounds in his chest as he observes you lose yourself to pleasure. Your moans fill the room, echoing off the walls and stirring up a storm of arousal among the gathered men.

“Isn't she beautiful?” Kento asks rhetorically, his eyes never leaving your writhing form. “So obedient. So willing…” He gives Kusakabe a nod of approval to keep doing what he’s doing before moving closer to you, caressing your breasts, tweaking your nipples to heighten your senses.

“Ooh... That feels nice…” you bite your lip enjoying the attention and continue to pleasure yourself on the vibrator.

Kento wears a satisfied grin and continues to pinch your nipples. “Such a perfect little slut,” He murmurs appreciatively under his breath. “Enjoying all this attention?”

You giggle at his question and hump a little faster, nodding your head. “I’m having so much fun.”

Kento chuckles before signaling to Kusakabe to increase the speed of the vibrator, which he does hastily. “Let's see how many times we can make our little pet cum tonight,” he says in a dark, sinful whisper as you gasp at the new intensity between your folds. His hands never stop their exploration of your body pinching your nipples harder, twisting them slightly as you moan.

“That's it…” He says approvingly. “Let yourself go…”

You writhe and whimper, humping the vibrator desperately, feeling your climax nearing as your clit throbs from need. After a heart-stopping moment, it hits you, causing your body to convulse in ecstasy as you scream out your release. The sight of you writhing from the orgasm sends a jolt of arousal through the gathered men.

“There we go,” He purrs, running a hand through your hair. “Such a good girl…”

Kento motions for Kusakabe to take the vibrator away from you, and he follows the instruction obediently, backing away respectfully, almost like he’s embarrassed from the knowledge of knowing he helped you orgasm. Gojo and Higuruma clap as he withdraws back to the sofa and you giggle, laying back on the carpet, still dizzy from your climax.

“That was an excellent start. Great job Kusakabe.” Kusakabe is staring at his hands, his face a brilliant shade of crimson. Kento addresses the other two men. “Now I’m requesting more of your assistance. I believe we wanted to see how many times we make her cum tonight. I want her cunt soaked and ready for me by the time I decide to fuck her. You have my permission to touch her. And yours?” he asks you and you nod enthusiastically. Kento helps to bend you over the glass coffee table and spreads your legs wide, revealing your glistening, wet pussy to the room. His words send a thrill of arousal through you.

“Who wants a turn?”

There’s rustling and shuffling from behind you and you hear the men slide off the sofa onto the carpet and pad over to you. Kento’s hands stroke your hair and back, whispering encouragement. You can’t see who’s coming but it’s such a turn-on knowing what was going to happen.

“Hey pretty. Ready for this?” Your heart skips a beat as you hear Gojo’s voice. He caresses your cheek. You nod eagerly, and with a laugh, Gojo begins to squeeze your breasts while Higuruma slots himself between your legs and finds your clit, his wet tongue covering the throbbing bud.

You giggle and sigh and moan as the men take turns alternating between your nipples and clit, using different toys from the toy box to further stimulate you. Kento sits back and enjoys the show, his cock throbbing in his pants at the sight of you writhing in ecstasy. They’ve done this before and he trusts them as they expertly begin building up your climax, making you cum with ease, your pussy spasming almost unbearably with each one.

“Such a beautiful sight,” Kento murmurs appreciatively. “My little slut is enjoying herself.” He notices Kusakabe sitting a little away from everyone, his pants still zipped, looking like he’s unsure how to join in.

Gojo waves him over. “I was gonna pick a toy for her. Why don’t you take over her tits?”

“You’d be more comfortable if you freed yourself Kusakabe,” Kento notes how he’s struggling to move against the tent in his pants. The brown-haired man tenses, like he’s doing this against his better judgment, then frees himself with a groan, his long cock finally out of his pants.

“There you go. Now isn’t it easier to move? Now please, take your place in pleasuring my pet.” Kento looks over to you, vulnerably exposed and sprawled on the coffee table sighing with delight. Gojo turns on a curved vibrating wand and begins to insert it into your wet cunt, making you gasp. Higuruma rubs circles on your clit with his tongue. You buck into his face, making him chuckle. The black-haired man pats you affectionately.

“All in good time little pet,” Higuruma purrs against your wetness before starting again. Kusakabe finally joins in and pinches your nipples, tugging on them, drawing a lewd cry of need from you.

Kento pets your hair. “Just relax,” He coos softly. “Enjoy the attention.” He gives Gojo a look who gets his message immediately and pulls the vibrator out of you. You whimper in protest, missing the buzz before feeling Kento’s hand tease your wet slit.

“Such a greedy little thing” He murmurs, dipping two fingers into your dripping cunt, making you cry out. “Look at how you’re sucking me in…But I wouldn't have you any other way.”

You moan weakly as Kento fingers your cunt, curling up into that gummy patch and bearing down, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your face contorts with pleasure. “So good,” you manage to choke out.

“That's it…” He purrs. “Let it all out…”

Your body quivers and then shakes violently as a strong orgasm rips through your being, your legs trembling from the effort of holding yourself up. Kento continues to finger you through your orgasm, milking every last drop of your juices.

“Good girl, ” He murmurs, pulling his fingers free to offer them to your mouth. “Taste yourself.”

You obediently suck his fingers clean, gazing at him hazily, still dizzy from the orgasm. His hand strokes your cheek tenderly, his expression softening.” Such a good little slut. You please me so much.” He turns away from you.

“Excellent work gentleman,” he addresses his colleagues. “I think she had the time of her life.”

“She makes it easy Nanami,’ Higuruma chuckles, wiping his mouth. “Just lets us use her.”

“Like the good girl she is.” Kento gently squeezes your shoulders and back, easing out the lingering tension from the string of orgasms you had experienced. “And she’s nice and wet for me now….”

His hands move to grip your hips firmly before giving your ass a slap, making you wriggle. You quickly stop as you feel him align himself behind you, his tip waiting at the entrance of your pussy before firmly pushing himself into your wetness. Your pussy is sensitive after all the orgasms but Kento’s thick veiny cock filling you almost makes you go cross-eyed. Your pussy molds to him, remembering every inch and moaning loud as he keeps going in, your pussy tight and snug around his hot velvety meat. With a grunt he begins to thrust, losing himself in the feeling of being buried inside you, inside the moist warmth of your welcoming pussy, using your body to fuel his pleasure.

“That's it,” He growls out, spanking your ass again, seeing the skin redden. “Take my cock like the dirty little whore you are.” You’re practically giggling as Kento spanks and fucks you in front of everyone. enjoying this a little too much. Kento grins wickedly, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he hears you giggle.

“Enjoying yourself, aren't you?” He taunts, his voice laced with amusement. He slaps your ass hard enough to leave a mark and then grabs your hair, pulling your head back, fucking you hard and fast, his thrusts becoming erratic as he nears his climax. “Showing off to everyone how much you enjoy my cock?”

“Yes…That's it... Fill me with cum,” you whimper as his thrusts become more animalistic, hips slamming into your plush backside, balls slapping against your pussy as he struggles to hold on.

“That's it,” He groans out, driving himself deeper into your quivering depths. “Take my seed…”

With one final thrust, he buries himself completely within you before releasing a guttural roar as he fills you with hot spurts of cum. Kento pants heavily, his body shaking from the intensity of his orgasm. His cock throbs inside you, emptying itself completely before finally going limp.

His large hands run soothingly over your back, and he leans down to press a kiss to your ear. “You did so well my sweet. Took every last drop of me,” he whispers appreciatively, resting his cheek on your head for a brief moment before adjusting you into a deep arch in preparation to pull himself out.

“Show them what’s mine,” he growls possessively before sliding out. You lean forward as much as you can and spread your pussy, widening your sore legs as much as possible so that the other men can see his cum dripping out of you, feeling deliciously naughty as it falls from your abused hole onto the carpet.

“That’s it,” Kento’s hiss of approval cuts through the room, relishing the sight of you being stuffed with his seed.

He turns and sees Gojo and Hiuruma calmly drinking their liquor, stroking themselves at leisure, but Kusakabe is scrunched into a corner of the sofa, knuckles turning white as he clutched his glass, his cock still poking out of the gap of his zip, untouched. You look over your shoulder and can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles out of you as you see his face.

“Dessert is served,” you call out. “Fresh creampie.”

Kento laughs heartily at that and everyone else joins in, Kusakabe breaking into a hesitant smile.

“She has a point though,” Kento admits as the laughter dies down. “She loves creampies and I can’t give her another one till she’s been cleaned. So. Who wants a taste?”

Unsurprisingly, Gojo sets down his glass first and makes his way towards your hunched form. He’s known you both the longest and has no qualms over helping you clean up. Kusakabe’s eye twitches as Gojo kneels down and starts licking your pussy clean, slurping sounds fill the room. He does a thorough job, getting every last bit of cum from your folds. You hum and try not to simper, enjoying every moment of debauchery. Once done, Gojo returns to his spot on the couch and wipes his mouth with a napkin.

“Thank you, Gojo. Now before I-” Kento pauses and it’s clear why. Your cunt is beginning to leak again despite the cleanup you were just given.

“How much did you unload Nanami?” Gojo asks in surprise, causing Higuruma to chuckle, almost inhaling his drink. “Her pussy got you in a death grip it looks like.”

Nanami grabs your ass cheeks and shakes them gently and you can feel the hot wet cream sliding out of your inner crevices. “That is quite a lot…looks like we’ll need another cleanup volunteer.”

“Ah, this brings back memories, doesn’t it Higuruma?” Gojo asks while ribbing him good-naturedly.

“Indeed,” Higuruma agrees, looking a little nostalgic. “When I was vetted, I cleaned out your pet didn’t I Gojo? And when it was still leaking…I spent almost 10 minutes with my tongue in her cunt.”

They both look at Kusakabe who’s looking dubious. “Me?” he asks, blushing under their grins.

“Yeah, you’re the new guy. Show us you’re not afraid to handle new experiences.” They goad him, jeering at his shyness.

“I’ve just never-”

“Neither did I,” Higuruma interrupted him. “But we’re a team. It’s important to learn, and be open to tackling unfamiliar territory. Be a good sport now.”

“But I-”

“You might not want to keep your bosses waiting. Especially with a pet hanging in the balance. She was promised another round and she won’t get it until you clean her up. Everyone does their equal share of chores here.” Gojo’s sharp tone makes Kusakabe flinch and he moves to settle on the carpet.

He sees the thick, milky fluid seeping from your cunt, dripping and coating your folds. He hesitates, then darts his tongue out to start the process. You hum in approval as he gently licks away the residue, and he’s surprised that it wasn’t at all what he expected.

“Why does she taste like…?” he asks the room.

“Watermelon candy?” Kento supplies and Kusakabe nods stupidly. “That’s just something unique to her pussy. She has a very pretty natural scent and flavor.”

Spurred by the flavor, Kusakabe returns with vigor and sticks his tongue into you, drawing out a long moan of satisfaction. Higuruma laughs at the sight. “Boy likes watermelon,” he drawls amusedly, and Gojo chortles.

You on the other hand are lost in the sensation of Kusakabe’s cleaning efforts. “Yeah that's it...put your tongue all the way in... Mmm…” you sigh as he listens to your instructions. Kusakabe continues until he can’t feel any more of the salty, watermelon-flavored fluid coming back down. He backs away, his chin and the tip of his nose moist from his actions.

“I think that’s all of it,” he says, gently spreading apart your lips, and seeing the absence of cum.

“Good job Kusakabe,” Kento says gruffly and he scrambles back to his seat. “Now that she’s been properly cleaned,” he spreads your ass cheeks and without warning, slips inside your slick folds, making you gasp and rise off the carpet for a brief second. Gojo whistles appreciatively.

Kento grips your hips tightly and pounds into your pussy relentlessly, Your moans turn into louder and louder screams as he pistons in and out of you. You grip the edges of the coffee table, trying to find balance but Kento is bullying himself into you, fucking into newer depths that have you seeing stars. Your voice is shrill as you make lewd requests, brain cells all dead from a pleasure overdrive.

“Kento…Cum in me... Fuck it in so deep that drips for days…” You manage to string those words together with difficulty. Kento grunts in response, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he feels your walls tighten around him.

He grits out, “I'm gonna fill you up so much you won't be able to walk straight...You’ll go to work with my cum spilling into your panties, even days after I’m done with you…” With those words, he buries himself deep inside of you once again before releasing his load directly into your womb, spraying your walls with his hot seed.

His hips stutter for a second and you begin to relax, thinking he’s going to pull out then squeal in surprise as he pulls you back closer, his chest covering your back, rutting into you sloppily. “Gotta fuck it in there deep…can’t waste it…no good if it drips back down right away…” His hand reaches down to massage your clit gently as he continues to pump his cum into you.

You cry out at the added stimulation, powerless to do anything but let him use you to his liking. The way he fucks you, hitting your gpot, makes you feel like you might fall apart from the intense pleasure of it all.

“Your cunt is my kingdom,” he says in a low deep purr. Things are messy and sloppy, their combined fluids making it easy for him to fuck into her with speed. Kento groans in pleasure as he feels his cock twitch inside you, the sensation of your warm, wet walls milking him combined with the knowledge that he's filling you to the brim with his seed pushes him over the edge a third time. “I'm gonna fill you up again…” And with those words, Kento releases another torrent of cum into your already overflowing womb.

He almost collapses on top of you, the effort from the night taking a toll on him, his breaths ragged and uneven as he tries to regain some sort of thought after the intensity of it all. He stays still for a second and you feel him beginning to soften. Kento pulls out slowly, his thick cream oozing out of your well-fucked cunt. He watches as it dribbles down your thighs, satisfied by the sight.

“There we go. You've got more than enough of my cum to last you a few days…”

“Thank you Kento,” you say sweetly, and roll over, feeling your muscles pull and stretch painfully as you relax onto the carpet. Milky cream still flows from you onto the floor as you sigh. Kento kisses you softly, cleaning off his cum covered cock with some napkins.

He turns to look at his peers, then focuses on Kusakabe. “You didn’t touch yourself at all?”

Kusakabe shakes his head no and looks at the other two, both of them holding napkins over their cocks, having clearly been jerking themselves off until now. Kento huffs through his nose. “That either shows that you have great restraint or hesitate to grab opportunities when they are handed to you.”

He now addresses Gojo and Higuruma.

“I know you’re probably eager to go home and relieve yourselves with your own pets,” Nanami says, tucking his dick away into his pants. “But can we have a quick assessment of Kusakabe before we call it a night?”

“I think he needs to loosen up a little,” Gojo says, crumpling the tissues in his hand.”

“And needs to take action a little faster.” Higuruma stands to pull up his boxers and pants. “You kept needing to be prompted when the rules stated that all you had to was ask for permission to touch. And even then you didn’t take action. You’ll have to be more independent than that to succeed here.”

Kento pulls you onto his lap, not caring that cum was seeping into his expensive tailored pants from your pussy. “If you’re willing to work on those things, perhaps we can set up another informal interview like this one. Maybe…with Higuruma’s pet next time?” He strokes your hair as he glances at the dark-haired man who nods.

“I believe we could.”

“Ok Kusakabe, you have another chance,” Gojo says pointedly to him. “Just allow yourself to relax around us. We want to help you.”

Kusakabe nods enthusiastically. “Of course! Please let me know when the next gathering will be.”

He looks thoughtful for a second then asks, “How long did it take before you were awarded office pets?”

“Oh Kusakabe.” Kento possessively cradles you in his arms. “Try to last long enough for your name to even be remembered by HR. Then we’ll see if you’ll ever be worthy of one.”

119 notes · View notes

heyitsdoe · 9 months

Note

Hiya Doe! With your request still open, may I please request NSFW alphabet hcs for Doflamingo? He’s my favorite OP villain and I can’t get enough of him!

Of course, of course <3 Please enjoy!!

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after the act?)

He's the type to participate in aftercare if he's in the mood. Not always. Sometimes, he'd prefer you clean yourself up, or expects you to clean him. Very, very rare that he initiates the aftercare.

B - Body Part (Favorite body part on you and them?)

He's got a thing for necks. You'll often find him tracing yours with his hands. So delicate and vulnerable. He's fascinated that a place so open to harm can easily become the focal point of pleasure. On himself, he's a master with his hands. They can do so much to you, pleasure you, edge you, or bid you to do as he wishes with just a few strings attached. The power behind them is something he's proud of.

C - Cum (Anything having to do with it.)

His is particularly sticky, and he's a sucker seeing you covered in it. On your face, your back, or even dripping out of you. Just don't expect him to clean you up...

D - Dirty Secret (Self-explanitory.)

You hold a lot more power over him than he lets on. He prides himself on his facade of self-control, of unflappable disinterest or mild amusement when you happen to be around, but he's lying. In reality, he's thinking of fucking you on most surfaces he passes by when you're nearby. One word from you and he'd put aside all else to take you then and there.

E - Experience (Do they know what they’re doing?)

Doflamingo has plenty of experience, though most of his encounters have been ones he's paid for. It's difficult to get close enough to the King in any emotional sense, so other than prostitutes or curious individuals met through business, he's not been overly attached to most of his sexual partners.

F - Favorite Position (Example:)

Anything that has him in the dominant position. He's not fond of letting someone else take the control away from him, even if he trusts his partner. Examples: https://sexpositions.club/positions/117.html https://sexpositions.club/positions/209.html https://sexpositions.club/positions/30.html

G - Goofy (How serious are they?)

Doflamingo is an even mix of serious/teasing, though goofy wouldn't exactly be the right word for it. His teasing is always underlined with a hint of something heavier. There's always more to the way he promises things, to the way he looks at you, even with a wink and a grin. He's a complicated individual.

H - Hair (Grooming habits)

He's mostly tamed, though there are times when he can't be bothered to shave or groom himself. He figures you'll enjoy him regardless of how he looks down there. His pubic hair is just as light blonde as his hair.

I - Intimacy (Romantic or rough and dirty?)

Every once in a blue moon, with the right mood, and a little alcohol, and some self-reflection or reminiscence of things long past, Doflamingo will want to have sex in a much softer way. You know to cherish these moments and keep them close to your heart, because it will be a long time until you experience it again. Otherwise, he'll fuck you rough the rest of the time. He just enjoys it that way.

J - Jack Off (Do they and how often?)

Yes, he jacks off frequently. He's got no shame in admitting it, too. Even to you. It's definitely not quite as satisfying as having your body to use for his pleasure, but if the mood strike him, he won't hesitate to satisfy himself in moments of privacy. He does notice that your name is on his lips just before he reaches climax, though.

K - Kink (What do they like?)

He prefers kinks that emphasize a power dynamic. Seeing you gagged, or bound, with blindfold, etc. He's a big fan of anal, breath play, and role play. He's also quite willing when it comes to semi-public or blatantly public sex. It's the lack of shame, really. He's the King of the country, and that means he can do basically what he wants, when and where he wants.

L - Location (Where do they prefer?)

Absolutely anywhere. In the shower. In the bed. The top of the castle. One of the executives' bedrooms. The bakery down the street. A side alley. His throne room. Really, if you can think of a way to get there, he's up to fucking you there.

M - Motivation (Turn-ons)

Seeing you in fancy clothing, adornments, or jewelry always catches his eye and keeps it. Showing a bit of defiance to him will get him to perk up and turn that wolfish grin your direction. Oh, and to hear you beg? You can convince him to do damn near anything if you plead for it with that tone in your voice...

N - No (Things they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

He would never agreed to being bound himself. Or, if he does, expect him to break free of it prematurely. There's a part of him that can't handle being restrained, even with someone he trusts. FemDom would take some convincing, and for as much as he doesn't mind someone else being privy to your activities, he's not prone to share. Threesomes or more are off the table.

O - Oral (Receiving or giving and how skilled.)

He prefers to receive, but when he does decide to grace you with his devilish tongue, you're in for it. He knows how to put it to good use. Sometimes that's all he'll do, and an entire evening will be spent with him making a mess for him by his mouth alone.

P - Pace (Quick or sensual?)

His pace is typically quicker, since he goes rough most of the time. As mentioned before, he's capable of going slow and steady on those rare, emotionally-packed occasions, but for the most part you're on the fast track once you begin.

Q - Quickie (Do they prefer fast or drawn-out?)

Right up his alley. If he can get a few quickies in throughout the day, he considers that a good day. With so many things to do, he often doesn't really have the time to spend an hour or so pleasuring you, so this is the best way to constantly remind you that you're all his.

R - Risk (Do they like taking risks?)

Risk is half the fun, if you were to ask him. He finds it amusing introducing a little risk to your encounters. Part of him wants to see if you can handle it, and the other is just thrilled by living a little on the edge.

S - Stamina (How long can they go?)

His endurance is quite impressive, given his many years. And, since most of his sexual encounters are quickies, he can treat you to multiple per day if he's feeling it. When it comes to consecutive rounds, he averages about 3 - 4.

T - Toys (Are they up for it?)

He's not opposed to toys, though if they are being brought into the bedroom, they'll likely be for his s/o. Anal plugs are a favorite of his to use on his partner.

U - Unfair (How much do they tease?)

Dear lord help you. If he can get away with it, he'll tease you for hours. It's fun for him to rile you up, frustrate you, make you huff and whine and beg. Make you desperate for it. Seeing you scrabble and rise to the challenge that he presents will never get old to him. Just make sure you can take it before you try dishing it to him, because teasing is an art he's mastered.

V - Volume (How loud or quiet are they?)

He himself is quieter. Usually his noise has less to do with moans and more to do with the amount of dirty talk that comes out of his mouth. You'll pull some surprised grunts and groans from him if you're lucky, but for the most part he's a quieter man.

W - Wildcard (Random hc?)

Part of Doflamingo thinks he wants a more intimate and 'healthy' relationship with his s/o, but after years of not truly putting his full trust in any other person, holding others at an arms length, and generally just viewing himself as superior in all ways, he doesn't think he has that ability. But there are moments, when you two are together joined in the most intimate of ways, that the thought crosses his mind, how he should be more gentle with you, say softer words, give you those gentle caresses...

X - Xray (What have they got going on?)

Doflamingo is a shower, not a grower. Radiates big dick energy and has the package to back it up. He's thick and veiny, with an upward curb to his cock.

Y - Yearning (Drive level.)

He's almost always down to fuck, though is skilled at hiding that. Very easily turned on, requires very little foreplay to get hard, and he's thinking about his s/o and the next time they'll get to fuck on almost a daily basis.

Z - Zzz (Do they sleep after, and if so how quickly?)

He's not a post-sex sleeper. He's constantly thinking, especially after a good fuck. And since he doesn't typically wear himself out with sex, there's little reason for him to sleep after. If you request it, he'll indulge in laying next to you until you fall asleep, but he doesn't feel any need to himself.

#Doflamingo x reader #Donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #ask #askbox #sinful #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #miss-taura

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certaincollectionlandblog · 4 months

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Domestic life with the book guys featuring the Twisted series by Ana Huang

*In honor of the fact that I have been so stressed my period came a whole two weeks early (live, laugh, love) please enjoy the absolute outpour of content this following week :)

Alex Volkov (Twisted Love by Ana Huang)

If we are going strictly off of Alex's character in Twisted Love it can be safe to assume that he is not going to be warm and mushy. This does not mean that there won't be any larger than life proclamations of love (I mean this man dropped 40k easy on a painting just because his girl wanted it), but he isn't going to be doing anything over the top in public

Following the previous point if you are expecting PDA I hate to tell you the most you'll be getting is maybe some light hand holding and a very quick hug

If there is a book man who is the definition of introverted I so see Alex fitting that description

He may not tell you he loves you verbally, but there are other ways he shows you. He might keep your favorite snacks in stock at the house so you never run out. He is going to have all of your favorite games and movies at the house so if you ever want to stay in you're able to.

Now if we're going off of Alex's character development throughout the Twisted Series and further on we can tell Alex is slowly coming out of his shell. He is still severely introverted, but he clearly is getting better at mild PDA.

Alex is as Taylor Swift would say Midnight Rain and he honestly just needs someone who will either be an absolute ray of sunshine or loves to dance in that rain (metaphorically speaking of course he would never actually want to dance in the rain for fear of getting you sick)

As we can clearly tell that man is constantly dropping a pretty penny on whatever you want. Looked a little too long at the purse in the window and boom it's wrapped up on the table when you get home. Mention wanting to read a book ONCE and he has it delivered in hardback (it's also autographed duh)

As far as like living together domestic life this man is spotless. He doesn't leave dirty dishes, dirty clothes, literally anything behind. He keeps control of his life in the form of keeping everything clean, orderly, and planned out.

This clearly follows into the bedroom because this man is never ever going to give over control. "Oh he might be a switch" No. Nope. Never. Don't see it happening sorry.

Alex is clearly not a very words of affirmation person, but quality time seems important to him. He will never admit it, but he is a cuddler like big time. Short of it being a quickie this man is not having sex with you and not getting his cuddles afterwards. Would he rather die than admit this to anyone ever? 1000x yes However as clean as this man is he is not laying in dirty sheets.

He wasn't given a proper upbringing and spending time with you doing mundane tasks around the house heals part of his inner child. You need to go to the grocery store? He's right there pushing the buggy. You need to wash dishes? He is ready to dry and put them up.

Rhys Larsen (Twisted Games by Ana Huang)

This man is about as protective and possessive as they come do we need to revise the chapter on him threatening to burn down parliament? *enter swooning here*

He is a sucker for safety because if anything happened to you that he could have prevented everyone better be praying

PDA is all based on timing. Rhys can read a room and he knows when he gets to let them know you're his and when it's not appropriate

Rhys is former military and he has gone through a lot. This man is a shell of who he used to be and the book clearly showed us that, however Rhys is the perfect example of how if you are broken once before that you won't remain broken forever. He struggles with PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), technically it's known as C-PTSD (Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). He is so used to giving up control to follow orders that sometimes he just needs to be reminded he's human and that regardless of the outcome everything will be okay.

He loves going on vacations where you can just get away from the world for a while and turning off the buzz of everything going on

As a way to cope with his C-PTSD Rhys uses drawing to relax. You'll often find little scraps of paper around the house with his sketches on them.

It's hard for Rhys to open up, but when he does you understand it was well worth the wait

Say what you want, but I firmly believe Rhys is a switch. This man could truly go either way and I think it depends on the situation. He doesn't have very many "no's" but if anything could seriously hurt you he is not down for it. He is covered in enough scars left by others that he would never want to take a risk that could leave you with that same lifelong reminder.

This man is the kind to show up at 3am with a dog he found on his way home and how he's only allowed to stay for one night and you end up keeping the dog forever

His phone screensaver is literally a photo of you and the dog because let's be real he can't pick a favorite

This man is a slut for emotional intimacy

If you told him "Oh I got you this cause I remembered you liked them", "I heard this song and thought of you", or "I thought you might like this" he is going to be thinking about it for forever

Rhys is going to make it well known that you're his girl

Josh Chen (Twisted Hate by Ana Huang)

*I have to say Josh is my least favorite, but I will try to do him justice*

This man is a doctor (and a bit of an ass tbh) so he would not trust anyone else to take care of you, if you get sick it's Dr. Chen to the rescue

He loves bringing you random food at work, but he also has a really tight schedule being a doctor and all so if he can't deliver it in person he will have it waiting on you when you get home

Let's be real Josh's personal life is a little bit of a mess and I wouldn't expect anything different from him on how he would keep a house. There would be rumpled clothes all over and the bed might never get made. He would pick up his trash, but if the dishes didn't make it in the dishwasher they were simply waiting till next time to get done.

Now Josh is nothing short of a playboy for the most part so the idea of him settling down will definitely be an adjustment.

Due to Josh being a doctor and still working to pay off his student loans he can't really afford fancy vacations or expensive gifts. Josh really loves just eating cheap takeout with you and watching movies

We all know Josh isn't the best with his words and is really hot headed, this often leads to Josh more so apologizing and a rather decent amount of makeup sex

Josh is the definition of all out rough, break your back like a glow stick sex. He's going to degrade you and yet have you coming back for more every single time. He's cocky and quiet honestly he has a few good reasons to be

He is more likely to fuck now and ask questions later it's just the Josh Chen way

Emotionally intimacy? Josh doesn't know her (maybe a little) but this man is more likely to have you open up to him before he ever opens up to you. He's been betrayed by some people who were incredibly close to him before and he will be damned if he makes that mistake ever again

Christian Harper (Twisted Lies by Ana Huang)

Rhys and Christian are big buddies so it makes sense that they are going to be extremely similar, but different in their own little ways

Christian has little use for moral code and much less what society deems as correct, but if you deem it correct than he is going to break his back bending over backwards to make that happen for you

Christian is the grumpy cat of the group. Sassy, grumpy and yet just the perfect combo of attractive to have that attitude forgotten (almost)

He runs his own security company and if you think he goes overboard for his clients you have no idea how overboard he will go for your safety

He is the definition of a German Shepard boyfriend; looks scary, fiercely protective, and is willing to chase down the mail man if he threatens you

Christian is a make his own rules type of man. If you're uncomfortable or upset he doesn't give a single crap he is going to do what makes you happy

You know this man makes note of everything single thing you like; your favorite drinks, your favorite movies, which friends annoy you the most and why (Christian is an honorary girlie he loves all the tea)

This man is petty to the T

If something small annoys him he is going to remember it until the day he dies

Opening up is hard for Christian and I think it would take a lot to get the point where he is open to freely sharing information with you

He is more likely to tell you about something that bothers him on a small day to day basis than telling you the big stuff from his past

Christian knows that he is the physical embodiment of big dick energy and does not disappoint

I really don't ever see Christian not being dominant, but hey I could be persuaded to think otherwise given the situation. I just don't personally see it

This is a man gives off the vibes of being downright obsessed. If you made cookies that tasted like straight up saw dust he would eat them all to see you smile before you would be able to pry the truth about how bad they were out of him

#ana huang #alex volkov #rhys larsen #josh chen #christian harper #twisted series #twisted love #twisted games #twisted hate #twisted lies #romance #books #book tumblr #morally gray #morally grey men

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queers-gambit · 1 year

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When It Rains, It Pours

prompt: ( requested ) after a long hike, you and Joel find a rundown motel, and after finding the cleanest room, there's only one bed.

pairing: Joel Miller x female!reader

fandom masterlist: HBO's The Last of Us

word count: 4.4k+

note to requester: i know i said i'd get slutty but it wasn't going the way i wanted it - so, we've come to this. i'm so sorry 😭

warnings: cursing, we all pretend like we're not all dirty and disgusting from the apocalypse, mild mild mild smut but still NSFW [female-receiving fingering]. OC Joel who has a thing for pet names. author doesn't know what this is and promises she normally writes better.

The night was pitch ebony, swirling thick darkness making it hard to see in the absence of the silvery moon. There had been a wicked storm that brewed quickly overnight, and being as you and Joel were making a supply run into an area you don't often venture, it was easy to lose yourselves in the wilderness. If it wasn't the night that disrupted sight, it was the sideways rain that pelted over you two; and no matter a functioning compass or not, it was still hard to fucking see, let alone gage where you were.

"Joel!" You snapped, "This is fucking ridiculous. We're either going to wonder into a fucking trap or catch pneumonia. In case you're not paying attention, we're not exactly strapped with penicillin right now!"

He sighed, the two of you huddling under a tree. "We're almost there," he told you gruffly after hours of silent hiking.

"Yeah? How's it you know that? The rain is washing out the trails, Joel, we're kinda stuck out here with no real indication of where we are or where the fuck we're going!"

"No, we keep heading West - "

"How can you even determine which way is which!?" You snapped. "Our flashlights went out an hour ago, we should've made camp to wait out the storm."

"So the rain water could wash us out? Or so Infected could accidentally stumble upon us? Oh, wait, I know! So the other humans could come and rob us blind before leave us for dead, right?"

You offered a mocking look, "Then what do we do now, genius?"

Joel sighed heavily through his nose, shaking his curls out and spraying water all around. He tried to look through the trees but it was difficult to see three feet in front of yourself. "We should keep moving," he decided.

"I agree but our dilemma is, which way?"

"Uh," he tried to wipe the compass clean but in reality, he simply couldn't see from lack of light. "Shit."

"Yeah! Shit!"

"Don't get snippy with me - "

"I told you at least three miles back that this wasn't doable nor smart," you glared. "We should've been better prepared. So, where to now?"

"Well, I mean - "

"Fuck's sake, Joel, are we lost now?"

He paused, "Not exactly lost..."

"Just unsure, right? A little misplaced? Confused, even?"

"Just - c'mon." You glared at the back of his head but pushed off the tree trunk to follow him. "Bill said there's an old motel 'round these parts. With luck, we can crash there."

"If we're even in those parts," you growled.

"Well, keep an eye out."

"Have I slapped you today?"

Joel hummed, "Nope."

"There's still time," you huffed, yelping slightly when your foot stepped into a thick mud hole - tripping you into the flooding mud. "Ah, fuck! Ow! Hey, Joel?"

"What happened?"

"I'm stuck," You grit, trying to yank your leg free. "Fuck's sake, it's really in there. Joel, c'mon, help me out. What the fuck is this new Earth made of? Bastard ain't budgin'!"

Joel had to pause and double back to simply kneel, soaking his knee with mud, and after three good yanks, there were two pops: a loud one from freeing your foot (with your shoe still on) and a small one from within your ankle.

"Shit," Joel panted, wobbling for balance with a small pant. "You all right?"

"My fuckin' ankle," you breathed. "God, I twisted it real good, 's throbbing and swelling already."

"Think you're good to walk?"

"Gonna have to be," you used his offered hands to help you to your feet as you refused to be left behind as dead weight. In this day-and-age, you understood that injury would often get you left behind because nobody had the strength or ability to support the weak and injured. You tried a few slow, tentative steps but they were decently painful, so, Joel sighed and let your one arm sling around his neck to aid you as a crutch. "This is not ideal."

"No shit," he breathed, trying to keep hold on you, his gun, and keep his head on a swivel.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, what's that?"

"What's what, where?"

"Just pause, Joel, hang on, hang on," you snipped, tugging his shoulders You took a full minute to retrain your gaze, but then, you saw the outline of a building. "There," you pointed through the trees. "Do you see that?"

Joel squinted for a long moment, then nodded, "Could be the motel."

"Oh, thank you, God," you sighed, the pair of you moving for the motel as the storm drowned out any grunts of exertion. Bolts of lightning flashed to only confirm the building's appearance, and thunder seemed to reach into your bones. When closer, the building came in clearer view - shadowed, rundown, overgrown with vegetation... But with a few opened room doors.

"Here," Joel panted, leaning you on a thick tree trunk along the tree line. "I'll check it out - "

"Like hell you're going alone," you shook your head, pulling your hand gun out. "But it's also cold as shit and I'm drenched, I'm more than willing to help search the area if it means I lay down. C'mon, I can go slow on the ground floor."

Joel paused for a moment, then nodding slowly, "I'll check out the top. Shoot first, ask questions later," he reminded with a meaningful stare - as if he wanted to say more but couldn't. "And fucking run if you have to."

You offered a tired look, "Still givin' me that advice, all this time later?"

"Someone has to, you're chaotic and reckless."

"It's gotten me this far!"

"With bullet wounds."

"Flesh wounds," you instantly corrected, limping across the car park. "C'mon," you muttered, the two of you spacing out and slowly checking out the motel. Without your flashlights, it was ten times as difficult, but you had a little bit of a system.

Any door that opened, you tossed something into the room to rattle any Infected from rest. You'd wait at the open door, hoping the bolts of lightning were enough light to guide you. Some rooms were bolted shut, some literally fell off its hinges. Some were ransacked, some looked torched, others seemed... Lived in.

"Joel!"

"What?" He asked, appearing behind you so suddenly you jumped in fright. The man should often wear a bell, he was too sneaky for his own good.

"Fuck you," you sighed, shaking your head, "you know I'm jumpy."

"What is it? Why'd you call?"

"What's this look like to you?" She asked, pointing into the room as she stepped back. He offered a confused look before glancing in, then doing a double take.

"Gun up," he nodded, slowly taking two calculated steps inside to reach for the oil lamp he saw through the flashes of lightning. He got it lit using the leftover lighter, amazed by the way the lamp provided the room with warm light and also how nothing moved in the room.

It was almost suspicious after years of 'worst case scenarios' coming true. I mean... Look where you were! In the Wastelands of stupid-fucking Zombie World. Doesn't really get more 'worst case' than this!

Slowly, Joel checked out the closet and bathroom as you looked under the bed - wait, wait, wait, wait, hold on a second.

Pause.

Freeze frame.

Back up.

Record scratch.

One bed? Just one?

And as if that wasn't bad enough, it seemed to be unusually small. There was no way this bed belonged to this room, making you wonder from where the old inhabitants came from... Local, perhaps, if they transported a fucking mattress. Looking around, you realized the bed wasn't in the best condition, but there were blankets and thin pillows left behind.

Trying not to worry about the single bed, you poked around the materials in the room, Joel exiting the bathroom.

"We're alone," he nodded, looking skeptical.

"What do you think happened?"

He toed a few empty old cans, sighing, "Probably went out to find food. Not much other reason to leave." He picked up a child's stuffed animal, nodding, "Guess they just didn't make it back."

"All right, well," you shrugged, setting your gun down to lock the bolt on the door, "help me out here."

Joel stepped up and helped you move furniture in front of the door for added protection; then drawing the tattered curtains over the lone window to try and provide comfort in solidarity.

"All right," Joel sighed, staring at the bed like you had. "Hm, all right. Well... Let me get a blanket or two and I'll crash in the tub - "

"Like hell you are," you scoffed, shivering from the freezing rain water. "I'm not listening to you bitch and gripe and moan about your back all the way to Bill and Franks - and then all the way back to Boston."

"So, what? You think we're both gonna fit in that bed?"

You eyed it for a moment, but the cold was settling into your core. "You afraid to touch me or something?" You asked sarcastically. "Oh, right, I forgot, God forbid you get close to someone!"

Joel sighed your name in reprimand.

"What's the issue?" You whined, hands shoved under your arms. "I'm freezing, man, can we make a decision so I can at least have the decency to pass away in my sleep? Fuck's sake."

Joel glared, "That's not funny."

"What's your issue!?"

"It's not so much as us sharing the bed as it is we'd have to strip and share the bed," he tried to explain.

"You're almost 60-God-damn-years-old, but you're nervous about seein' me without clothes on? Are we in 6th grade again? Did we go back in time and I missed it!?"

"You've made it clear since day one you didn't want nothin' to do with me - "

"What the fuck are you on about?" You snapped. "Joel, honestly? You're the most important person in my life. I care about Tommy, I care for Tess, sure, but I wouldn't be gutted losing them. I would be if I ever lost you. So, shut the fuck up about how I didn't want nothin' to do with you, we share a fuckin' apartment - "

"That's because of space issues," Joel sighed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you took a long breath. "Joel?"

He rolled his neck out, "What?"

"I care about you," you simply said. "And I'd much rather lay in that bed awkwardly without clothes on, sharing body heat, than stand here another moment. We're both drenched, my ankle is throbbing, and you know what? I'm tired. I'm really fucking tired and that rain isn't letting up."

He sighed, nodding, "We might have to keep shelter for a day."

"So long as I can get warm, that's fucking fine," you shrugged. "Now, are you good? Is it okay to try to rest?"

Joel sighed, glancing at the bed and feeling his throat tighten. The bed was smaller than he hoped, and in honesty, you two would be lucky laying on your sides, pressed against one another, and not fall off. "Fine," he agreed, seeing how you were now trembling without control. "Fuck, I'm sorry, look at you, you're shakin'," he sighed, approaching you with rushed steps.

"Just cold, Joel," you complained, stiffly letting your pack fall off.

"No, you're fuckin' frozen," he sighed. "C'mon, get this jacket off."

"I-I'm tryin'."

"Want help?"

"Please, I'm just fuckin' tired," you groaned, letting your forehead fall to his shoulder as he worked to shed your outer jacket.

"Work with me, sweetheart, lift your arms, there you go, that's it, good girl," he whispered, trying to help you peel more layers off. "You look like hell," he frowned, the flickering oil lamp providing minimal visuals from the shadowing, but in a warm, honied light.

"Feel like hell, too," you looked down your leg, sighing at the mud caked up them. "You look at peachy as ever," you tried to tease, but it came out in a shudder from a shocking wave of cold.

"Sit," Joel directed, turning you to lean on the bed's edge. He knelt to take your boots off - taking care of your injured ankle - and left your shoes at the bottom of the bed. He peeled your socks off, sighing as your toes were turning a slight shade of blue. "All right, quickly now. Lift your hips, let me get your pants off."

"Tryna get me naked, huh?" You grunted, flopping backwards on the bed.

"Keep talkin'," he grunted, unhooking the button on your jeans to start peeling them down. It turned into more of a shucking, and he tried not to notice how your panties tugged down, too.

"This is stupid."

"Yeah?"

"Mhm. Bill gave us fried information, Joel, ain't shit out here."

"He was right about the motel, though. Maybe we get a fresh start when the storm clears."

"Maybe we just say fuck it and go live with Bill and Frank."

Joel chuckled, "Yeah? That's what we should do?"

"Yeah, fuck people."

"All right, now," he sighed, successfully getting your pants to your thighs without your panties following. "So, fuck people, we go live like hermits?"

"Yep, better than under FEDRA's heel."

"They pay good money for pills," he reminded, sighing deeply. "All right, little one - "

"I hate that nickname."

Joel sighed, seeing your eyes closed but brows crinkled. "Peach?"

"Yeah, that's the one I like," you hummed with a soft smile.

Joel allowed himself a solemn chuckle, "All right, peach, let's get you under the covers."

"Poor excuse for 'em," you grunted, rolling over a bit to shuffle under the blankets. "They're scratchy."

"They're wool," Joel noted, petting the blanket. "They'll warm you up."

"Can't feel my toes."

"Let's hope your lips go numb soon."

"Fuck off, I blame you for this."

"You blame me for the storm?"

"Yes," you grumbled, shifting under the blankets to take your last layer off - your tank top - and tossing it at Joel. Your bra followed. "Lay those out for me, will you?"

"Mhm," he grunted, doing as you bid, but also laying out your other clothes. Your eyes didn't open out of pure exhaustion, and after a few minutes, Joel's weight was dipping the mattress. "Feelin' all right, peach?"

"Mhm."

The oil lamp went out, and Joel shifted in bed. "Fuck's sake," he muttered, trying to adjust, but every movement jolted your body. The mattress was worn and old, sinking under your weight but still loose enough to jostle you around. "Sorry, sorry."

"It's all right, but just settle down, Joel, please," you sighed, eyes cracked as he still twitched around. "Oh, my God, please, just - spoon me or something. Just whatever gets you to lay still."

"It's just too small a space."

"Then get closer."

Joel sighed and shuffled once more, but then, his chest was pressed right up to your back and soon, you were being cocooned in his warmth. Another readjustment, and his legs were forming around yours. "All right?" He checked again.

"Mhm."

He sighed, "Can I lay my arm down?"

"Yeah," and now, your eyes were wide open, but in the pitched darkness of the room, Joel couldn't tell. His arm, thick with undefined muscle due to natural age-deterioration, laid over your hip and waist - trying to find a comfortable angle. "You're warm. Feels nice," you mumbled.

"I'm... Sorry?"

"No, no, it's good," you assured, trying to throw him a bone and took hold of his arm to pull him the last inch closer. You cradled his arm to your chest, and Joel sighed almost in relief. He soon started to relax - but you couldn't help but notice he still felt tense.

"You're shaking."

"I'm cold, shut up and go to sleep," you snipped, but your lips stretched in a smirk. His nose slowly traced the skin of your neck to rest just by your ear, pausing, and then tightening his arm to let himself rest in the crook of your neck. His breath was warm over your skin, and oh, fuck, did it feel good. In fact, you even hummed, mumbling, "Warm."

"You sound drunk."

"You fucking wish."

Joel sighed, his other arm easily sliding under the skimpy, thin, decaying pillows you used. For a singular, secular moment: everything was normal. There were no Infected. There was no end of the world. There was just you and Joel, maybe on a camping vacation and this was your night in a motel before hiking into the wilderness. He was warm, he was alive, he was breathing against your back and neck that you couldn't help but give a brief moment of thanks for the gentle reminder you two were okay for the present.

You were alive, and that was a huge relief.

Things seemed to quiet for a moment, until Mother Nature made her cruel reminder that She was the only force on Earth to be reckoned with by cracking a large boom of thunder. One so loud, it rattled the window. One so loud, it created small tremors in the pooling-waters. One so loud, soaking-wet leafs dropped from branches. One so loud, it made you jump and recoil back into Joel.

"You're okay," he eased in your ear, cracks of lightning flashing behind the thin, moth-eaten curtains. "Scared of thunder or somethin'?"

"No."

"Then why's your heart racing?"

It was only then you became acutely aware that when you jumped, you had subconsciously pulled Joel's arm in and his hand was nearly pressed over your entire breast. Just a hair's adjustment and he'd have hold of your nipple; the feeling exhilarating but also somehow forbidden. "Oh," you flinched in embarrassment, "sorry, I just... I'm not the biggest fan of thunder when it cracks like that."

"You're breathing funny."

"All right, this isn't gonna work if you're just gonna keep pointing out shit. I can do it to you, too, you know."

"But I'm not - "

"You're hard," you pointed out smugly, Joel going silent.

But then, you didn't expect him to gruffly reply, "Can you blame me?" Your breathing stuttered when his hand freely moved up to palm your breast tightly; kneading as if holding a fresh loaf of French bread. "Got the prettiest thing pressed against me, bare fuckin' naked, it'd be impossible not to be hard," he all but growled in your ear, you trying to clear your head as his actions were mesmerizing you. "Don't even know what you do to me, doll, do you?"

"No," you squeaked, gulping to clear your throat. "Gonna tell me?"

He chuckled, "Remember that real bad fight between Tess and I? Few years back? When she stormed out and slammed the door so loud, it knocked over those books?"

"Yeah?" You panted, slowly pushing your hips back to let your bottom grind into his bulge. You wore only your panties, feeling Joel hot and heavy against the curve of your ass through his thin and wearing-out boxers. He usually only liked wearing them for hikes for chaffing, so, most days in the QZ, he forwent boxers.

"It was cause of you," he whispered, both hands sure to leave bruises behind as he let his hips meet yours.

"I didn't - "

"No, doll, you ain't do nothin'," he cut you off, grunting slightly as he dry humped into you. "But I fucked up. I was so stuck in my head, it was durin' that heat wave. You wore that fuckin' grey tanktop and I was done for, girl. Hear me? Fuckin' done." You shuddered against him. "Felt like a God damn teen again, not sure what to do when he saw a woman's skin."

"What's you do?" You wondered.

"Might've said your name," he admitted, the hand not palming your breast snaking under your form to wiggle between your thighs. "Women don't like you bein' balls-deep in them, sayin' another woman's name."

"No, we certainly don't," you mused, reaching back for his neck.

Joel took this as invitation and rutted harder into you, letting your breast go to guide your leg back over his hip. Then, it darted back to grope the warm flesh. He grunted in your ear, "You were in my head, darlin'. Always have been, but it was real bad back then."

You remembered, "Because I was seein' that guy? Oliver?"

"Think so," he panted.

"Jealous?"

"Terribly," Joel growled, toying with your wet (from rain) panties for a moment before easing his hand into the front of your panties. "Jesus fuckin' Christ, girl," he noted in appreciation.

"It's from the rain."

"Yeah? That so?"

"Uh-huh."

"Even down here?" He smirked, middle finger ghosting over your slit to make you twitch with the smallest of gasps. Long forgotten were your freezing cold state, finding Joel similar to a personal furnace.

Okay, time for a little bit of truth. Ever since you started having "regular" sex, you learned that while cocks are nice, it's so much more pleasurable for you to have a man with skilled fingers. You liked that stimulation so much better for some reason - but hey, hey, hey, if Joel wanted to offer you a romp in the sheets, you wouldn't say no.

"Yep," you gulped, answering your companion and reaching for his other hand to forcefully grope your breast. It'd been far too long since you were intimate with another person, so, you didn't want nice and gentle. You weren't even sure if this thing with Joel would (or could) ever happen again, so, you really didn't want it nice and gentle.

"Darlin'," Joel warned, moaning in your ear as he slipped his finger inside you - wetness welcoming him like a vortex into your unknown. "I don't think I can stop - we should stop now. We should stop now, doll, c'mon."

"I'm not doin' anythin'," you whispered, whining when he pushed a second finger in.

"So fuckin' good for me," he grit.

"Joel? Joel?"

"What's wrong - "

"No, nothing, I just - I want this, too. I don't want you to stop."

"You don't mean that - "

"Joel, however long you've wanted me is probably almost as long as I've wanted you. Please," you whispered your beg. "I just want to feel you. Give me a bit of life, Joel, baby, please, I just want to feel alive."

Joel sighed your name, and you pushed his hands off to lift onto your hands and twist around. He looked up at you for a moment before reaching up to hook his hand around your neck and pull you forward until your lips collided in a frenzy of lips, teeth, and tongue.

Joel knew kissing you was a bad idea, but he was out of fucks to give at the moment. He wanted this, so, he'd relish in it.

He had you, he finally had you - and he wasn't about to give you up for the fucking world. He sighed before completely submitting himself to your charm; to you.

Knowing he had fucked someone more recently than you, you reached for the outline of his straining member and reacquainted yourself with the feel of a cock - of a hard cock hidden beneath fabric. Joel was right, you were starting to feel that juvenile excitement as if this was your first time again, and how you loved it.

Your lover moaned into your mouth, nearly hissing at the feel of your hand over his hot cock; trying to gulp down the feeling and not bust his load right then and there. "Can I take these off?" Joel asked, toying with your panties.

"Please," you breathed, helping him shed your last layer of decency before hitching your leg up his hip again and exposing your cunt to his wondering hands. Your moan was broken and whimpered when he pushed two fingers in again, letting go of him for a moment before latching onto his arm when Joel increased the speed of him tempo.

You begged his name for reprieve, but there was no mercy to be found in Joel's actions. You whimpered and shoved your face in his neck, unconsciously humping into his ministrations as Joel slowed himself into sweeping motions to search for you G-spot. You couldn't remember the last time you had such a diligent love, most simply thinking the clit was enough - and while it was with a vibrator, it wasn't if your sexual partner didn't know where the fucking clit was!

However, Joel proved he was well-versed in how to please a woman, and while he wasn't a regular Casanova, he was determined to bring you to your peak. "There, there," you jolted when his finger pad found that spongy-good spot inside your inner walls that, when stimulated, had you seeing stars. "Oh, my God, yes, yes, fuuuck yes," you whimpered, needing to open your mouth to latch onto his shoulder as your climax reared its white-hot head.

"C'mon, darlin', lemme feel you," Joel muttered, his Southern accent coming out into play more as he reached for your clit at the same time. The combined efforts had you ready to cry. "I know you're there, c'mon, c'mon, baby, want you to cum all over my fingers, c'mon - yeah, like that, good fuckin' girl, there it is," he coached, watching you closely as you briefly forgot to breathe.

You would've been ashamed of the moan you let out if anyone else was around, and if the storm didn't drown you out; Joel praising you for doing 'so good' for him as he stared down to watch you twitch and cum - coating his hand.

You didn't usually squirt unless your G-spot was hit, and Joel seemed mesmerized by the messy action as well as the sight. It made him feel both prideful and primal to see himself splattered with your juices. However, it wasn't enough to distract Joel for long - who didn't let up. He kept you going by never removing his fingers, and instead, watched as he coaxed you through your epic ride. "That was better than I imagined, baby," Joel admitted quietly.

"You might change your mind before the sun comes up."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yep. I wanna be on top."

Joel paused for a moment, blinking at you, then decided, "Maybe for one of the rounds - but the first one, I'll be the one fucking you."

With a growing smirk, you taunted, "Bring it on, cowboy."

author isn't very confident writing NSFW, but hey, practice makes perfect, right?

requesting rules and masterlist

TLOU masterlist

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou #hbo the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou hbo #hbo tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #tlou joel #joel miller drabble #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction

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soapskneebrace · 1 year

Text

NSFW Alphabet — Captain John Price

Pairing: John Price x AFAB reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: BDSM dynamics, mild daddy kink

Now on AO3!

Dedicated to @yeyinde who has been almost my sole inspiration for how down bad I am for this fucking man. (And because I know she’s working on her own version of this and I’m DYING for it.)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Almost to a fault, John is both active and attentive. After he’s pulled away from you, breath coming out in heavy pants and hair mussed where you’d been running your hands through it (or pulling it—he really likes when you pull it), he’s already on his feet scrounging up a washcloth to clean up with, a sip of water for you both to get back some of that hydration that you’d sweated out, and would you like him to toss you your shirt, dove? He’s never really able to sit still on even the calmest of days, but all it takes to get him to lay back down with you is a sweet, soft plea to come hold you. John cannot deny you when you ask like that.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn’t know if they’re his favorite, but John has a lot of appreciation for his hands. They’re weathered, scarred, and have carried out some of the most heinous acts a man can commit against another human being, but you also mewl and plead for those hands to touch you, to hold you tighter, to pin you down and mark you up. John uses the same hands he’s drenched in blood to wring breathless, sobbing pleasure from your body, and that he can do that is something that he holds dear. When it comes to your body, John loves your neck and your breasts. He has painted both with blooms of red and purple using his lips and teeth, and love to watch your breasts shake and bounce as he thrusts into you, one hand wrapped carefully but firmly around your throat.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Given the opportunity, John always prefers to come inside you. He’ll grab you in an iron grip, thrusting with a force that you’re certain will leave bruises, and bury himself to the hilt when he hits his peak, snarling into your skin as he rolls his hips against you to milk himself with your pussy. There is one exception though: if you’re taking him with your mouth, there’s nothing he likes more than to pull out and paint your jaw with his spend. Then he’ll yank you up, hands grabbing your face regardless of the mess, and kiss you messy and stupid.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to have your ass. Perhaps not the dirtiest of secrets, but he’s rather old-fashioned, and it feels dirty to him. Also, it feels unfair, since it’s an act he thinks only he’ll really be able to enjoy. You’ll have to be the one to bring it up, but you’ll get hints from him that he’s thinking about it—he’ll frame the little ring of muscle between his fingers when he spreads your cheeks as foreplay is heading rapidly toward the main event, or he’ll thumb your perineum when he’s plowing into you from behind, growling about how pretty your ass looks bouncing against him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

John has had few partners, but plenty of sexual encounters. He is not a man for casual sex—at least, not one-time flings—and prefers to dive deep into pleasure with people that he trusts. Figuring out what makes someone tick, what makes them lose every inhibition with him, is far more to his preference. He’s learned that to have sex means to learn about someone else’s body a little more every time it happens, and that sex really does only get better than even the best anonymous hookup.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Hands down, John likes to have you on your back with your knees hooked over his elbows. Any position, really, that he gets to spread you out and hold you open is his favorite, and he absolutely wants to see your face as he wrecks you. He consumes the expressions you make with a hungry, steely gaze, and he demands more often than not that you look him in the eye when you come on his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Humor is not really his thing, in the bedroom or out of it. That isn’t to say that sex with John is always serious and intense—he cares for you, deeply, and that includes your smile and your laughter. It is more accurate to say that John is looking for that lightness after the fact; after you’ve wailed and moaned and whimpered from the ecstasy he’s drawn out of you, he wants to make sure you’re grinning and saying how amazing that was once you’ve finished. You can tease him plenty about how into the act he gets, because he knows if he takes you to bed you won’t want to leave it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

John is wonderfully hairy all over, and when he has the time he keeps himself neat and groomed (he’s already maintaining the mutton chops, after all). His chest hair is dark and a little coarse, as is his pubic hair, which strains up his belly in a happy trail that can’t quite make it to his navel. His forearms, calves, and thighs are also generously dusted with the stuff, although years of tight military gear are starting to show their effect on how fast it grows. He’s not too worried about it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He can’t help but be at least a little romantic. You’re his, and his alone, and that’s a gift he is actively thankful for every day. He is not exactly prone to sweetness, but sex with John is always comfortable in that he is always paying attention to the little reactions you give when he touches you like this or thrusts into you like that. You find, even pretty early into the development of your sex life with him, that he’s as hungry for the way you respond to him as he is for the feel of your body in his hands.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You caught him with his hand around his cock once, at his desk on base and flushed red as he fisted himself in a tight grip. He’d called you there, in fact, and it had been at the beginning of your sexual relationship with him—he’d sounded out of breath and strained on the phone, and you’d hurried there to see what the problem was. As it had turned out, he’d started jacking off under the impression that you weren’t present, and then some background mental math had resolved itself to correct that assumption. It was the first time he’d bent you over his desk, but not the last.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

John truly does not like the word daddy, but that does not inhibit his enjoyment for the dynamic. He loves your acquiescence, loves the complete faith you put in him to take care of your needs, and even loves it when you give him the opportunity to lay down the law by being a brat. It’s half about the control—the heady opiate of power met with submission—and half about getting to give you what you desperately need from him. He loves to see you come absolutely unraveled, and loves to be the person you trust to get you there.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His office is a constant favorite. He doesn’t get to have you there as often as he likes, what with the international nature of his job, but every time the two of you have been within walking distance of it, he’s had you on his desk, on the floor, and across the couch against the wall at every opportunity. He’s a horrible tease about it, too—he’ll keep you speared on his cock for what feels like hours as you cling to your sanity, one eye on the locked deadbolt, your only barrier between bliss and humiliation, as John reminds every so often, “No, dove, you’re not allowed to come yet.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Sometimes all he needs to see is the offset angle of the collar of your shirt to be ready to go. It makes him feel a little crazy, like being a randy twenty-something again with a cock that worked faster than his brain ever could, but that’s just the effect you have on him. More than once you’ve met him after your shower, skin still shimmering from the humidity, smelling fresh and hair a little damp, only to have him walk you back against a wall to work up a sweat and defeat the purpose of the bath entirely.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He does not want to actually humiliate you. Control is one thing—abuse is another. In the moment, he might growl about how needy you are, how perfect you look with that fucked-stupid expression on your face, but he will have a very, very hard time calling you a slut or a whore even if you want him to. Those are words, he was taught very early, that you do not call your partner, or anyone else. Period.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

John appreciates giving and receiving in perfect balance. The picture of you on your knees, his cock down your throat as he sits with you between his spread legs, is as appealing as the reverse, and he’d never make himself choose between one or the other. When he eats you out, his arms are wound around your thighs from underneath, pulling your pelvis in closer to his face as he buries his mouth and tongue and nose into your folds. When you finish on his lips, he will not stop. He wants to hear you wailing.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

It all depends on what he’s trying to accomplish. If John is trying to get you to that place where words have stopped having any meaning and you are more an experience of pleasure than a person, he’s going slow, and he’s going hard. He wants to be as drunk on you as you are on him, too, and he’s had enough experience with the best Scotch he can afford to know that that dizzy, heady feeling belongs only to an endeavor in savoring it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are a tool in his arsenal that he uses to tease you, but he ends up teasing himself, too. That’s the point, of course, but sometimes it can backfire, and that turns into a rare occasion when John is not in control, is not trying to wring every drop of pleasure from you that you can stand. When John is needy and frantic because he tried to whet your appetite and got lost in his own want for you, you find it much easier to flip him over onto his back or press him down with a hand to his shoulder, and at that point he’d do just about anything you told him if only you’d let him have you. If you want to reap the benefits of him getting you back for it, you can bring him up to the razor’s edge of coming and then leave him there for you to indulge in later. Plan not to be able to walk after the next time he gets you into bed.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

John is perfectly willing to experiment with positions and sensation play, just as an example, but there are limits to what he’s willing risk. While the fantasy of the 141 watching as he fucks you dumb is a favorite of his, he’s not actually willing to get into a situation in which that might happen, both because you might not like it and because he needs to maintain a measure of decorum as commanding officer, no matter how unconventional his methods might be. He still thinks about it, though.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

He’s only getting older. He’s gotten cranky about this several times. He can manage two rounds, three on a really good day, but he thinks he should be capable of more. He wants his body to obey his own command, and wants it to be available to you, in fact, whenever you want it. You’ve reminded him more than once that he needs three squares and eight straights if he wants to actually have the energy to do what he wants to you, and neither are always readily available to him. He usually gathers you up into his arms when you say that, because in this big, horrible mess of a world he has a partner who treats him like the fragile human he feels he isn’t allowed to be.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or on themself?)

John’s old-fashioned, and the wealth of toys available today frankly makes his head spin. He’ll feel a little intimidated, too, if you consider bringing a vibrator into the bedroom with him, because it will feel a little like a suggestion that he can’t please you with just his own body. Luckily, rather than get pissy, he will communicate this, and you get to tell him that the full idea was to let him edge you with the vibe for as long as the both of you could stand. That’s a technique that fits within his tastes, and when you further inform him that butt plugs are great little tools to work up to anal sex, he gets on board pretty fast.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If it isn’t clear by now—John is merciless. He plays the instrument of your body like a virtuoso, and only hears music in your begging and pleading. He’s never cruel and he never leaves you truly frustrated and unfulfilled, because that’s not who John is, but he’s going to keep your climax out of reach until he knows for certain that finally being able to come will wreck you. How is he being unfair, he asks, when he always gives you what you want in the end?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Normally, sex with John is punctuated with growls, groans, deep snarls, and chesty rumbling. Keeping control of you also means keeping control of himself. But. When you catch him in those frantic moments, when his hunger for you far outstrips his desire to play those games of dominance and submission, you can hear him moan and whimper and almost weep when you ply his body with your hands and mouth, when you sink onto his cock at a pace leisurely and comfortable for you and agonizing for him. He will swear all colors of the rainbow, curse and praise you in the same breath, promise to get payback and promise you everything he owns if you would please, sweetheart, just please let him fuck you properly already.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He asked Kate once—ONCE—what he might be able to do, in her opinion as a woman, to take better “care” of you. She’d stared at him for a silent, awkward, infinite moment, and when she finally replied it was to address a completely different subject. He’d downed the remainder of scotch in his glass and asked the bartender for another. The best case scenario would have had Kate pretend to forget that he’d ever so much as thought to ask her, but no—later that night, she sent him a fucking Cosmopolitan listicle, not because she’s finally decided to be helpful but because she wants him to know: she remembers. She will always remember.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

John reaches about 6 inches fully erect, is uncircumcised, and is thicker toward the base of his cock. It’s an average length and shape, but he has never been, and never will be, an average man, not on the battlefield and not in the bedroom. His balls are a little larger than average, though, and they sit low and heavy. It’s actually rather fitting, for a captain who threatened to hunt a four-star general down.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

You wouldn’t know it, because he keeps it under control as much as he does everything else, but John always wants you. There are hints of it—the intensity of his gaze, the low baritone his voice can reach when addressing you even in the company of others. The way he maneuvers himself into position at your side, not so close as to be unprofessional, but close enough to feel the energy radiating off of him in waves. You always get drunk on him, on what he gives you in bed, but sometimes it’s a surprise to be reminded that he’s every bit as drunk on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Part of the reason John gets up immediately to do the little chores of aftercare, at least sometimes, is to keep himself from falling straight to sleep. He isn’t always exhausted after he’s fucked your brains out, but the world is getting more complicated. His job is getting bloodier. Someone is always screwing over someone else, and he tasked himself a long time ago with fixing all of that. He has to be able to get up and do it. It’s why he’s honed the control he has over himself to such a sharp edge. It’s why, when he finally lets go and lets you take the reins, he’s never as mad or as frustrated about it afterwords as he is in the moment. But he really needs to be reminded that he’s allowed to rest. That he’s allowed to settle into the comfortable afterglow, to breathe in silence just for a little while. In the end, you have to be the one to ask him, wouldn’t you like to lay down with me, John? Wouldn’t you like to just hold each other, for a bit? And always, his answer is yes. When you ask like that, soft and sweet, he cannot deny you.

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licorice-tea · 4 months

Text

Don’t Fight The Feeling

Pairing: Wriothesley x reader

Content: mild injuries and medical themes, cursing/sexual language and innuendos, technically coworkers to lovers, not exactly a clear confession, ongoing situationship, reader is a doctor, reader is said to be pretty strong or good at fighting, not really proofread 😅

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: i wrote this several weeks (or months?) ago and i decided to finally finish it up so i could share it! maybe not my best work but i do want to kind of branch out into other fandoms that i enjoy (one piece will forever by my main though!) hope you enjoy!

Sigewinne knocks on the door to your office- a private room within the infirmary of the Fortress of Meropide- before opening it.

“Doctor l/n! His Grace has sustained a serious injury to his shoulder!” she shouts at you while wheeling the man in question in on a stretcher.

He doesn’t look to be in lots of pain, but then again he has a way of putting on a facade even when he is.

You sigh, “Thank you for bringing him here, Sigewinne.”

While pulling on your gloves, Wriothesley stands up from the stretcher, much to Sigewinne’s annoyance.

“Your Grace, let them help you-“ you try and fail to have him sit back down.

He waves you off insisting that ”It’s just my shoulder that’s messed up,” and “the rest of me is perfectly fine.” The Duke says that last part with a secret wink in your direction.

You roll your eyes; he’s always so insistent that his injuries are of no importance and it kills you. With a hand on his good arm, you insist, “Sit, Your Grace. Please.”

He smiles gently and complies, lowering himself onto the patient bed in your office instead of the stretcher this time. “Just for you, Doc.”

You look down at Sigewinne to thank her again, and she leaves your office.

“I can’t believe you entered another fight in the Pankration Ring.”

“I was bored, finished all my paperwork-“

“And so that’s a good reason to go and injure your shoulder?” You gently press at his shoulder to examine it. He winces and you frown- no matter how annoying it is, seeing him in pain is what really bothers you.

“Well, you know how it is down here. Not much entertainment wise- hiss” he sucks in a breath as you touch a particularly tender spot.

“Sorry…” You mutter as you continue cleaning a small open wound on his shoulder. It’s superficial, but it needs to be dealt with before you can bandage his arm for it to stay in place.

“-besides fighting. And you, of course.” Wriothesley lays a hand on your side with a featherlight touch.

But, you resist the temptation to lean in to him in favor of getting him bandaged up first. “Not now.” You hiss and push his hand away.

“Aw, c’mon. You haven’t missed me? You’re not worried?”

“I saw you just this morning… And I always worry about you, because the moment I’m out of sight you go and do stupid shit like this, so I can’t say I’m any more worried than usual.”

Something in your scolding causes a grin to break out across his face. You turn to grab the bandage wraps from your cabinet, and when you turn back around to see him smiling, you frown. “What?”

“You care so much.”

“I’m a doctor. It’s part of the job.”

“Sure, but you wouldn’t be staying all the way down here in the Fortress if it was just a job.”

“Wriothesley!” You scold him once again, scandalized.

“I mean it, y/n.” He lifts his arm for you as you move to start wrapping the bandage around his shoulder. “You could live in any nation you want; and you could be… Well, any kinda doctor you want. But, you’re still here.”

“I like my job here.”

“Tending to wounded boxers?”

“It has its benefits. Plus, you gave me this nice office and my own lab. I have everything I need to conduct my own research on my own time.” You tie off the bandage and meet his intense stare. “I like it here, Wriothesley, really.”

“And I like you, y/n. Really.”

You look back down and start to roll down his sleeve for him. Such a simple gesture, but it exemplifies just how unprofessional your relationship with the Duke has become. “…You can’t just say things like that.”

He grins his wolfish grin again, “Why not? Can’t handle the truth, Doc?”

“It’s not the truth, and it’s not funny enough to be considered a joke. Therefore, it’s a lie.”

“You wound me, y/n. You’re telling me you don’t feel the same for me?”

“No. You’re my boss.”

“Barely. And we’ve slept together before, what’s wrong with admitting you like me?”

“Still; technically my boss.”

“Then, I give you full permission to admit to your feelings for me.”

“I don’t- I don’t have feelings for you.” You button the cuff of his sleeve and start to pick up the spare bandages and whatnot.

“Now who’s lying?”

You choose not to justify his question with an answer, ignoring him as you turn back to the supply counter and cabinets. He waits patiently while you pretend to organize your already very neat storage area.

“I’m sorry for fighting again.”

There’s a pause in your frantic organizing, then shake your head with a dry scoff. “Well it’s hardly fair. You’re stronger than most of-“

“Most? I’ve been the reigning Champion of the Pankration Ring for years-“

“And yet,” you turn back to look at him with a falsely sweet smile, “I can still beat your ass in a duel.”

Wriothesley laughs, “Oh yeah? What about the first time we dueled? You didn’t put up much a of a fight then-“

“I hadn’t been expecting my new boss to challenge me to a duel.”

“Couldn’t resist; you seemed like a worthy opponent.” True. “You know, when we first met, I thought you were the most beautiful doctor I’d ever seen.”

“Hm, except you thought I was a new prisoner, didn’t you?” You correct him, already knowing the story.

“… A very stunning new prisoner.” This earns a giggle out of you, and Wriotheseley takes it as an opportunity to continue. “Can you blame me? The only new people we ever get down here are prisoners.”

“True, true.”

You finish pretend organizing your supply cabinets and make your way over to stand at the foot of the patient bed. But instead of making another flirtatious comment, Wriothesley pats the spot beside him- he’s sitting upright, so there’s plenty of room. With an overdramatic sigh, you comply. When you do, he give you a satisfied, albeit surprised smile.

Choosing to ignore the fact that you’ve just given in to one of Wriotheseleys attempts at getting closer to you, you ask; “And now?”

“Huh?”

“Your opinion of me compared to when we first met.”

“I think you’re a lot more than pretty, now.” He punctuates with a wink.

You playfully punch his arm, not nearly hard enough to actually hurt the man though. Still, His Grace exclaims in pain.

“Oh shut up, that wasn’t even your bad arm.”

“Only if you kiss me.” The force of your punch seems to be forgotten as Wriothesely’s icy blue eyes bore into your own.

Your mouth gapes. This isn’t the first time he’s asked to kiss you. And you have, on several occasions, on late nights when the two of you are both lonely and bored of work. Or during meetings in his office that lead to something less than professional. Still, you don’t usually indulge him when you are in “work mode,” as you are now.

“What?”

“I’ll shut up,” he takes the hand closest to him and wraps it in both of his, not even wincing when he moves his injured arm to do so, “but only if you kiss me.”

And, much to Wriothesley’s and even your own surprise, you do exactly that.

#fanfic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #wriothesley #wriothesely x reader #wrio x reader #wriothesley x you

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nametakensff · 3 months

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Happiness (D/isco E/lysium, M/M)

Final part of my little three fic series - here is the follow up to 'Revelation' and...it's a monster. 17.4K. If you actually manage to stick with it all then I commend you <3

K/im angrily confronts H/arry about his inappropriate conduct. H/arry reluctantly reveals why. Fucking ensues

~~~~~

Content:

M/M, past M/F, hinted past M/M if you squint, H/arry has a sneezing fetish, K/im is a kinky motherfucker, cold sneezes, sympathetic sneezes, manually induced sneezes, rapid sneezes, mentions of dust allergy sneezes, sexual fantasies, masturbation, hand jobs, dry humping, frotting, finger sucking, mentions of anal sex, mentions of blow jobs, some mild mess, spray, sneezing on someone, licking spray off fingers (sorry lmao), edging, (brief) orgasm denial, elements of domination/submission, some voyeurism/exhibitionism, verbal teasing, dirty talk, praise kink, embarrassment/humiliation, graphic descriptions of semen, crying a little during/after sex (guess who), K/im and H/arry like each other a lot more than either of them realised

CW: (unintentionally perceived) public masturbation, drug and alcohol mentions, potential heart attack mentions, potential priapism mentions, bullet wound mentions, self-hatred, H/arry is still a mess, internalised homophobia, H/arry experiences a lot of shame re: the fetish and describes himself with degrading language, K/im is perhaps a little too forward initially, mentions of dead bodies (in a murder investigation / gallows humour way), mentions of potential STDs (K/im is just being cautious)

Notes:

Takes place in the canon game timeline so again, please don't read if you don't want spoilers!

For the sake of the fic, the bed in the coastal shack is a proper single large enough for both of them to lie on and the room has a working sink. I had to let these men clean themselves up

K/im should not be doing this with a concussion but. It's my fic, so

EXTREMELY NSFW - Minors DNI!

It has been at least five days since you first touched yourself to the thought of Lieutenant Kitsuragi sneezing. You have touched yourself in a similar fashion every night since – up until a bullet to the thigh and your subsequent fevered unconsciousness prevented you from doing so. You did not mean to make a habit of it, but the orgasmic release the thoughts ultimately lead to is almost as addictive as any drink or drug. The fact that the Lieutenant has sneezed multiple times each day in your presence has made resisting your nighttime jerk-fests damn near impossible.

The fantasies have evolved into an increasingly varied (and sordid) collection of scenarios. Your favourite is the one starring Kim as your butler, burying his face into a feather duster to alleviate his allergic misery by inducing an endless series of sneezes. Naturally, you play the role of the voyeuristic employer, watching the scene unfold from your grand office chair and stroking your cock until you cum all over the hardwood surface of the desk that Kim has just finished cleaning. It is incredibly self-indulgent and fantastical, which naturally makes you cum with the force of a firehose. Every morning it is a little more difficult to look the Lieutenant in the eye. He is completely innocent to your sins, and you are a filthy pervert.

You still have your cold. Now that you have returned to the fishing village with the fierce seaside air whipping at your face, your nose runs without cease. You have been using an endless supply of Frittt brand pocket tissues, having abused Kim’s loaned handkerchief so much so that not an inch of fabric has been left unsoiled. Your nostrils are tingling, threatening to flare with every laboured snuffle.

It really isn’t a terrible cold – but it appears to be a persistent one. You’ve certainly sneezed far more from previous illnesses. One cold in your thirties left you bedbound and sneezing almost like clockwork – you had noticeable abs, then. You remember this, and you remember thinking to yourself that the torso-crunching sneezes that barrelled out of you were just as effective as any targeted exercise.

The persistence is one thing. The suggestible nature of your cold sneezes on the Lieutenant is another. You had both been good-natured about this admittedly comical routine, in which you try not to sneeze, fail, and sneeze anyway – followed immediately by Kim in a near-identical fashion. Today has been a difficult day, however – you are drawing closer to the end of your investigation, and you are both exhausted. Objectively absurd though it may be, neither of you can any longer find much amusement in these twin responses. Neither of you bless each other. The most excruciating (meaning: cock-teasing) thing of all is that Kim has abandoned any attempt at holding back. He is more and more frequently sneezing openly, or in the general direction of his fist – a lazy covering at best, doing little more than dousing his gloves in a delicate burst of spray.

Actually, there is something that arouses you more. As Kim continues to sneeze, his immaculate composure begins to falter. You are not referring to the ways the sneezing overpowers him. It is more so the fact that following each sneeze, the Lieutenant has started to moan. Quiet, shaky sighs at first – now full-blown groans of exhaustion - and what you hope is an element of indulgence at the post-sneeze sensation of relief. They sound practically orgasmic to your one-track mind.

Try as you might, every time the Lieutenant sneezes and sighs, you grow hard. It is perhaps more accurate to state that you have spent more time hard than soft. You wonder if this is enough for you to start worrying about a potential case of priapism. It is rather impressive – at your age and with the recent blood loss you experienced. Perhaps you ought to embrace this as a display of virile masculinity.

Either way, you have very little way of masking this unfortunate physical response. You shuffle awkwardly – you have also tried tucking your cock upwards and into the waistband of your trousers. You are almost one hundred percent positive that Kim has seen you pawing at your responsive genitals more than once but seems to be intent on ignoring it. You understand. You’re not sure how you would address the situation were you in his position. You ought to be more embarrassed but the triple combination of illness, drug withdrawal and injury saps you of fucks left to give.

You have no time to stew in your own thoughts. You are here to ask Lilienne if you can borrow her boat to get to the Islet. You manage to do so and almost leave the interaction unscathed. Almost.

“HAAAAEEEISHHHH!! EISHHHHHhHhuu!!”

The tickle once again renders you helpless and you sneeze twice – loud enough to send a nearby seagull sky bound. You turn away from Lilienne just in time to spare her an unfortunate baptism. The post-sneeze ecstasy leaves the skin of your forearms breaking out in goosebumps, hidden by the sleeves of your Disco blazer. It takes all of your remaining composure to fight off a full-body shiver. You straighten up sheepishly and wipe the result of your sneeze out of your moustache with a crumpled tissue. A blush is creeping over your face. Making a disgusting spectacle of yourself in front of a woman you have attempted at least four times over the past couple of days to ask out on a date (to no avail) does nothing for your morale.

“Bless you, officer!”

You mutter a small thank you from behind the tissue. If your dick hadn’t already been hardening in anticipation of Kim’s reciprocal reaction, that enthusiastic blessing would have done the job. Speaking of the Lieutenant – Lilienne has barely finished addressing you when he spins around – gracefully, controlled and completely balanced, unlike your own frantic whiplash motion – and sneezes thrice uncovered into the cold sea air.

“Hhp’Tsschhh! hHD’Tschh!! Hh! HahHD’Tzshiew!! Ahh, mon dieu…”

They sound like they feel incredible. Before you can do anything to avoid it, you are mentally constructing a detailed visual of the sneezes that the Lieutenant’s expert timing and manners had prevented you from witnessing. What do you expect after committing every sneeze you have glimpsed to memory to then masturbate to with vigorous abandon? Your prick is like iron between your legs. Lilienne turns to Kim with a look of surprise.

“And bless you too, officer! I don’t like the sound of that.”

Whatever Kim is saying to her in response, you miss. Your focus is lasered in on the tip of his nose, moving slightly side to side as he tends to his nostrils with a neat blue handkerchief. You want to be holding that handkerchief for him. Better yet, you wish it was your own hand wiping his nostrils clean. Thought after lewd thought overpowers you. You are painfully hard.

You should really rearrange things down there before Lilienne notices your erection to end all erections. You cup yourself as subtly as you can manage – you’re not sure what you’ll be able to achieve stood mere feet away from the two of them. The waistband trick requires two hands – maybe if you were to turn around?

Before you get a chance to try, Lieutenant Kitsuragi has fixed his eyes on you. You freeze in your tracks, as if paralysed by his gaze. A distinct feeling of combined shame and guilt overcomes you, not unlike the way a child feels when caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Except you are not a child – you are a 44-year-old man, with his hand on his cock. His eyes flash down to your crotch almost imperceptibly before returning to your face, darting about as if in attempt to locate any visual cue that may implicate whether you have indeed gone batshit insane. It is likely a matter of seconds, but it feels like an eternity as you watch the subtle shifting of his facial features through a spectrum of confusion, shock, disbelief, shock again, and finally – rage.

This anger is unlike anything you have seen pass over the Lieutenant’s face in your week together. It sends a spear of utter self-hatred straight through you. You really have reached an all-time low, Harry-boy.

Lilienne appears not to have noticed the intense stare-off between the two of you – likely because it has lasted approximately 1.5 seconds and is broken by Kim thanking Lilienne for her cooperation and asking that she excuse the pair of you for a moment. His gloved hand reaches out and grips your bicep, hard enough to hurt. Anxiety overwhelms you – he is mad mad.

He marches you the short distant to the shack you have been staying in, shoves you through the door and follows behind you. He does not slam the door, although you can make out enough tension in his slender frame to see that he would very much like to do so. The screech of the rusty hinges is more than enough to amplify your anxiety. He turns to face you, and you shrink in on yourself, feeling naked and exposed within the shooting range of his ire. Your legs are weak – particularly the one in which a bullet had been embedded. You sit on the edge of the small bed and watch him watching you. He looks for a moment like he may be too angry to speak. At last, he opens his mouth.

“What the fuck is the matter with you??”

The Lieutenant’s thick accent and heightened emotions intensify the remark. You are sweating. Shame practically radiates off of you. You’ve truly done it now. You say nothing in response to him, hanging your head in misery. He continues.

“I have been nothing but supportive of your unconventional methods of policing. For all the outrageous things you have said and done, you have genuinely done some excellent work. I have given you the benefit of the doubt for your drug problems, the amnesia, your emotional outbursts - but public masturbation? In front of a female citizen? You really are a piece of work.”

Your face burns. Every word aches, cutting into you like a blade and whittling you down into a hollow receptacle of disgrace.

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t masturbating!” These words tumble out of your mouth before you have a moment to reconsider. The Lieutenant glares at you, clearly not buying it, but he makes no move to cut you off. Your mouth is dry and your hands are shaking. You open your mouth again.

“I was trying to…relieve some pressure. I wanted to hide it. I didn’t mean for you - or Lilienne - to see...”

Your voice sounds reedy, pathetic – incriminating. Maybe if you could stop sweating like a pig, you could actually convince Kim that you are not a sex pest. Shockingly, something in your expression as you look up at him with pleading, frightened eyes convinces him to believe you. He blinks owlishly, then reaches up to massage the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He sighs, a deeply exhausted sound – it seems to physically deflate him, as if the tumultuous anger trickles out of him with the exhale. You watch, clutching your hands together nervously, as he removes his glasses all together and drags a hand down over his face. It rests on his mouth for a few moments longer, and then he is putting his glasses on and looking at you with a mixture of exasperation and pity. His eyes are the first to dart away from your exchanged glance. He clears his throat. You wait.

“I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this, but…Listen, detective, do you-? Need some time to yourself? I’ve noticed you’ve been tense. I thought it might have been your injury, but I suppose I was wrong. At this point…” He hesitates, clasping his hands behind his back. “At this point, having a moment to relieve yourself might actually be pertinent to the progression of the investigation.”

It is your turn to blink, dumbfounded at what you have just heard. Is Lieutenant Kitsuragi actually suggesting you should jerk off? And that your jerking off is of utilitarian necessity? You should confirm this.

“You want me to whack off so that I can focus on the case?”

He looks pained by your turn of phrase; it is much harder to feign professionalism when his own suggestion is bounced back at him in cruder, less obfuscating language. He nods all the same and clears his throat.

“If you think it will help, I will excuse myself and be back in-” He glances at his sports watch. “Twenty minutes.”

Wow. Twenty minutes is probably a whole nineteen minutes too generous given your current state of rampant and unforgiving arousal. The way the Lieutenant falters indicates, however, that he is doubtful of your capability to achieve orgasm even once. You can’t really blame him. He did admit to thinking you were well into your fifties. You nod your head.

“You’re unwell, and injured – I don’t think it would do you any good to continue working this case when you’re also so – distracted.”

He is actively skirting around the issue and choosing his words carefully. It doesn’t change the fact that he is recommending that you pleasure yourself whilst he awkwardly stands outside and waits for you to finish. This makes you visibly cringe. Your own embarrassment only fuels the Lieutenant’s. He clears his throat again, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He takes your silence as an indication of consent.

“Well, then. I’ll leave you to it, officer.”

You watch helplessly as he turns to make an exit. Before the Lieutenant is even able to grasp the door handle, however, you hear a frantic intake of breath. Fuck. There is no mistaking the sound of the Lieutenant fuelling up for a sneeze – but this time it occurs with no prompting on your part. He is clearly very sensitive today.

“hHupt’TSSCH’uu!! Merde…”

You watch it all go down – the way his slender frame shudders, shoulders jumping as he is temporarily unbalanced by the voracity of his own release. It isn’t especially loud, but you can tell that it is powerful. You bite your lip. Do not moan. I repeat – do not. Moan.

You moan. It seems violently loud in the small room. Both of you freeze in response. If you didn’t want the ground to swallow you up before, you do now. Despite the humiliation, the utter mortification of it all, your cock is leaking through the fabric of your trousers. Maybe Kim, still facing away from you, will think you have already started working on yourself, and will simply step outside and pretend he doesn’t share the same planet as you for another twenty minutes. Crisis averted.

Luck is not on your side. The Lieutenant turns around. He is looking at you as though studying a particularly challenging crossword puzzle. Were he a dog, his head would have been tipped inquisitively to one side. You are sweating bullets.

“You know, detective…” He starts, and you do know. It is over. You know he has put two and two together. In a way, it is surprising he hadn’t clocked on sooner, but you imagine this is due to his general acceptance of your sporadic and unpredictable behaviour as a rule of thumb.

“If it didn’t sound so ridiculous, I would think…no.”

He turns to leave again. This should be an auspicious turn of events for you, but for whatever reason, you feel disappointed. Burdened. You realise you want the relief of exposure, like a sinner spilling his guts in confessional. You should keep your mouth shut and wank your miserable cock in peace.

“You’re right.” You groan. You do not look at him as he turns to face you. “I’m sorry.”

Was that worth it, Harry? Was it really worth it to confess? You can only wait for his response in silence. You aren’t breathing. You’re convinced that if you breathe, it will scare him away.

Since you are not looking at the Lieutenant, you do not see the expression of contemplative fondness on his face, nor the sparkle of curiosity in his eyes. He is taking in the sight of you, curled in on yourself like a naughty child. You hold yourself rigid as he starts to speak.

“So you mean to say – that when I sneeze…?”

Just hearing that word enunciated in his soft, enquiring tone is enough to trigger another rush of blood to the face. It is a miracle there is enough left north of your belt to do so. You whimper, which only makes you blush harder, and nod your head in way of response. This is pure torture.

“Hm.” The small sound that leaves the Lieutenant is a cross between a huff of laughter and a hum of consideration. Your eyes swivel up to meet his own. You had expected disgust, reproach – not amusement. He is smiling ever so slightly – the corners of his mouth are turned up as he takes you in, arms crossed over his chest. He no longer radiates waves of irritation and confusion. The man before you exudes confidence and control. Your cock throbs shamefully and deposits another glob of precum into your underwear. You open your mouth to speak, but words fail you.

“You really are an interesting man, detective. I’ve never even heard of this particular fétiche before.” His words must trigger a sudden realisation in him. A look recognition passes over his features, and you know he is connecting the dots – looking back at all your behaviour this past week and re-contextualising it. He snaps a thumb and forefinger together. “This makes perfect sense.”

His scholarly enthusiasm is somehow unsettling to you, as if you are a specimen he is examining. You now regret disclosing this sordid piece of information. What had you been expecting, really? For him to put on a show for you, like one of your sick little fantasies? Stupid. You hang your head.

“Yes, I’m a huuuuge pervert, Kim. Now please leave me alone to my shame.”

Oh god, are you going to cry? You’re actually going to cry, aren’t you?

“I never said that, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” His tone is suddenly overwhelmingly gentle. It only makes your eyes prickle harder with tears, threatening to overflow. “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

He means it, too. He sounds incredibly regretful, perhaps even a little pained. You can’t look at him, but his palpable remorse at unintentionally beating you when you are down seems to open the floodgates. You feel the reluctant confession blurting out of you before you’re even entirely sure of what you’re going to say.

“I forgot about it, like everything else. Until I didn’t. Until you…” You wind your hand through the air.

“Sneezed?” Kim fills in helpfully, though you wish he hadn’t. It goes straight to your cock.

“…Well, I suppose in a strange way I ought to be flattered.”

You do look at him now, and see him smiling at you supportively. He looks a little apprehensive – but who wouldn’t in this ridiculous situation. Your heart beats wildly in your chest. A single tear runs down your cheek as you blink. You’re about to say something really, really stupid.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

God, Harry. Stop. Stop now.

“Thinking about my – my sexuality. And what it means. And you told me you’re a member of the ‘homosexual underground’. I – I think I might be too.”

The Lieutenant looks back at you, wide-eyed. You need to abort this. Kill him. Kill yourself. Anything that stops you in your tracks.

“I mean, I might be a partial member. I like women. I…there was…someone. She smelled like apricots and – oh, god-!”

A wave of sadness engulfs you. You start to sob, uncontrollably, like a little boy, and cradle your head in your hands. Wow. You really nailed it, Harry. You sure don’t do anything in half measures. You told him his sneezing gets you hard, that you have an inexplicable man-crush on him, and you even threw in an ex-woman-person reference to spice it up, all before crying! You should write a book on how to be the biggest fuck up known to man.

The bed dips as Kim comes and sits beside you. He rests a tentative hand on your shoulder. It is awkwardly limp – he is uncomfortable with physical displays of affection. Something tells you he has not touched somebody conciliatorily in a long time, likely by choice. But he is trying, and that is more than you could have ever expected you deserve. You cry a little harder.

“Harry,” he sighs. “You’re overwhelmed right now. Don’t force yourself to think.”

Ordinarily, he would have followed this with some comment about focusing on the case over personal matters. That he doesn’t shows you how much empathy he is affording you in this moment of distress.

Your crying eventually begins to taper off into little gulps and hiccups as the Lieutenant rubs tiny, tentative circles into your shoulder. Incredibly, your dick has barely softened.

“I’m –! Sorry-!” You gasp out. It sounds pitiful, almost hysterical. Kim just continues to rub your shoulder until you run out of steam entirely, before handing you an opened pack of tissues to clean up your face. As you do so, he takes the opportunity to speak.

“As far as sexual fetishes go, detective, this one is pretty tame. Harmless. A little unsanitary, maybe, but not without a certain appeal.”

You pause in your ministrations. He notices and seems suddenly ashamed by his own forwardness. He clears his throat and retracts his hand.

“Khm. Anyway – as for the homosexual underground – or bisexual underground, as the case may be for you…It certainly isn’t a crying matter. It can, at times, even be fun.”

Ooh, the Lieutenant’s got jokes. You appreciate this reassurance. The crying has left you wiped out and extra sniffly. You have to blow your nose in four different tissues before the congestion subsides. Kim doesn’t flinch at the gurgling sounds you produce.

“I’m going to leave you alone for a while, like I said.” Kim utters after a couple of moments of silence.

As the Lieutenant stands, a foreboding sensation of fear washes over you. You do not want to be alone right now. Before you can stop yourself, you are reaching out at lightning speed and gripping his wrist with one huge paw, halting his departure. Kim freezes and looks down at you. You stare back up at him. His face shifts through a series of emotions before solidifying into an impassive mask.

“Officer. You need to let go.”

There is not contempt in his tone, but his voice is firm and commanding. You are compelled to release him. You do not stop looking up at him. You have no idea what kind of face you are making, but it is apparently making it very hard for him to withdraw the way he had intended. His face is relaxed, but his eyes are burning.

He is the first to break eye contact with you. He strides towards the door and opens it in one swift motion, hesitating for just a moment to look back over his shoulder at you, and then he is gone. The door closes behind him with a decisive click.

Well. That was horrible. You are dejected and alone. You have driven the Lieutenant away, finally. Rejection stings in your throat and swollen sinuses. And you are still. Fucking. Hard. The brief respite of a mind-numbing orgasm might give you fifteen to thirty seconds of ecstasy before the pain sets back in. At this point, bereft of narcotics and alcohol, you will take it.

You flip yourself onto your back, pushing your head into the flimsy pillow and opening your fly with fumbling hands. You manage not to injure yourself as you pull your throbbing cock out of your underwear. It is a deep shade of red, almost nearing purple in your desperation, and even as you wrap your fingers around it in a familiar grip, it drools clear liquid from the sensitive head. You cannot help yourself. Now that you have started stroking and pulling, rubbing the copious precum all over your length, you cannot stop. The shame and the sadness recede at the pure animalistic pleasure of it all. Your head falls back and you moan. One of your hands reaches up to squeeze a nipple through the cotton of your shirt, and you gasp.

It will not take you long. You feel the heated pressure building inside of you, your cock twitching as you caress it in all the ways you like best. Pure, mindless masturbation. You do not want to think thoughts, but you are about to. They skim the surface of your consciousness – your fantasies, some memories. They blur together in a miasma, barely comprehensible the way you dart back and forth between them, but they are turning you on all the same. You are so, so close. Your mouth tips open in a pre-orgasmic moan.

The door of the shack slams open, and the shock nearly makes you orgasm on the spot. The Lieutenant is cursing and closing the door behind him, making sure to lock it. You push yourself up and fumble your dick back into your underwear, hissing as you attempt to close the zip of your fly. It is impossible, so you hold your hands sheepishly in front of your crotch instead. Kim watches you, an intense expression of – need? Desire? Surely that isn’t the case. You can barely think straight. You swallow, head spinning.

“Kim, what-?”

Your words set the Lieutenant’s in motion. He all but lunges at you, pushing you back on the bed and partially straddling you. Your hands fumble to grip at his waist, steadying yourself as the bedframe creaks violently at the activity. It occurs to you for a split-second that the elderly washerwoman outside may be able to hear the ruckus you have been making from where she sits tending to her clothes – she may be blind, but she is certainly not deaf. You banish the thought with a rapid blink of your eyes.

You look up at Kim in sheer disbelief. He is breathing heavily – not nearly as heavily as yourself, almost panting on the brink of orgasm – but heavily, nonetheless. His hands grip your shoulders firmly, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth whilst his eyes rove over your face. And then he is leaning forward and kissing you.

For a moment, your mind short circuits. Not in a million – no, a billion-trillion – years, did you think the past week had been leading up to this moment. The Lieutenant’s lips are wonderfully soft as he works them against your own. It takes a couple of seconds for you to relax, shocked as you are, but then it is electric and instinctual and you are moaning against him, yanking his pelvis down against your own. You open your mouth and his tongue slips in immediately, and then it is even better. You both groan in tandem, as if neither of you can believe how good it feels. The kiss is like a practiced dance – you both know when to bite, when to suck, when to pull back and when to dive deeper. It is simultaneously saccharine and downright fucking filthy. You cannot believe the pair of you haven’t tried this before.

Kim breaks the kiss, sucking on your tongue before pulling back with a lewd pop – you chase him but he holds you in place by your chin.

“Do you want this?”

His eyes dart nervously back and forth behind the thick lenses of his glasses, slightly foggy where your activities have steamed them up. You lunge forward, intending to show him just how much you want this with another kiss, but he manages to hold you back. He is deceptively strong.

“I need to hear you say that you want this.”

He sounds so, so desperate. You realise right then and there that you are a fool for him.

“I want it.” You breathe out, and before you have even finished he is kissing you again. Your head reels, and you feel yourself beginning to tip back onto the bed. Kim goes with you, kneeling with a leg on each side of your torso. He presses the length of his body against your own, and you feel his hardness pressing against the soft flesh of your gut. Your hands travel up and down his back, frantically, squeezing his ass one moment and gripping his shoulders the next. Your cock pulses and pulses between your legs.

And then you feel it. The tickle. You have ignored it for far too long. All that crying and snorting has left you vulnerable to future attacks. All it takes is for one poorly timed deep breath through your nose as Kim explores your molars with his tongue, and you know you cannot fight it. You yank your head back, eyes beading with tears and face cringing in pre-sneeze agony. The resulting sneeze is going to be monstrous – more so than usual. Your lungs suck in a desperate inhale, chest expanding against Kim’s and raising him a good inch higher above you. He seems to understand all at once, angling his face as far away from your own as he can.

You manage through sheer willpower to tilt your head in the opposite direction and over the side of the bed. It tears out of you in a cloud of spray - an angry, irritated explosion.

“IIIIEEESSSSSHHHHTTTtt!!!”

Your hands squeeze reflexively at Kim’s hips. The intensity of the outburst shakes the both of you and the creaking bedframe. Fortunately, you have not pulled any muscles as you awkwardly crane yourself away. The Lieutenant scrambles for purchase atop you, reaching out to steady himself with one hand on the wall.

Your head has barely flopped back onto the pillow before you are cringing with a second, even deeper breath. Your nostrils flare wide in preparation, and you do the whole thing all over again.

“HHHAEEEEEESSSSSCCHHHHHhhh!!!”

You do not have enough energy to be embarrassed by the roaring, desperate nature of them. It felt so fucking good to let it all out. The tickle must have been brewing for some time and you had simply been too distracted to realise. You groan a little, reaching up with one hand to rub your tingling nostrils on the skin of your wrist. You mutter an apology under your breath before angling upwards, pressing your lips to the Lieutenant’s and resuming the kiss.

When he pulls back mere seconds later, you are terrified that you have disgusted him with your indulgent display. And then you remember.

Kim sits back, resting his ass on your pelvis and nudging up against your cock. You gasp as he shifts, clutching his hips hard enough to leave bruises. He calms your squirming with a hand to your chest, holding you down on the mattress. His expression is deeply irritated as his own tickle begins to crest – one eye squints against it, and his mouth drops open to take in gentle hitching breaths. Your hips give an involuntary thrust, jostling him slightly above you. The head of your cock, clothed only in your sticky underwear, ruts against him.

Your entire world narrows down to watching Lieutenant Kitsuragi’s building sneeze. You realise you are involuntarily holding your breath, eyes roving from the flare of his nostrils to his creasing forehead to the way his tongue presses just so behind his bottom teeth. He has raised his free hand loosely before his face. Your cock twitches as he fans his face once, twice, and the mere suggestion of it seems to be enough to have him gasping one last time, nostrils flared to capacity, before he is jerking above you.

“hHDT’TSZCHhhh! AhhDTt’TZsCHh’uu!!”

The bed shakes beneath you as he rocks forward twice. Your entire body feels like a live wire of sensation as you watch him through unblinking eyes. Your fantasies were erotic, but being able to actually feel the Lieutenant’s body strain and tremble as the ticklish urge overwhelms him is something else; the unguarded, desperate expressions as he lets loose are painfully arousing. You do not make out any visible spray but you can feel, from behind the pathetic semi-covering of his hand, each burst of air across your collar bone and neck. You shiver in ecstasy.

The Lieutenant pauses for a moment and leans back again, preparing for a third sneeze. You take advantage of his shifting to free yourself from under the press of his palm, pushing yourself up on your elbows and leaning closer to him. You want to feel the next sneeze on your face. It really seems like it is going to happen, too; Kim is so overwhelmed by the tickle in his nose that he appears to look straight past you, focusing all of his concentration on the sensation as it builds, and builds. He shivers, a delicious little trembling motion that you feel travel through him and down to your own hips, before gasping one last time – an audible, desperate “Hahh-!”

At the very last moment, he tilts his face away from your own, raising the back of his hand in front of his face with his palm towards you. It is a poor attempt at shielding you from his sneeze – you can still make out every minute detail of his face as his features draw tight. It is the slight downwards tilting of his head that spares you any real contact, but the proximity and poor covering means that you can see the fine aerosol that bursts from his mouth and nose as the uncharacteristically harsh sneeze overwhelms him.

“hHUPT’TZSCHhh’uuu!! Nnn…”

The cloud of spray glitters briefly in the air beside you before dissipating just as suddenly. Your hips buck again and you cannot help the guttural moan that pulls itself out of you. His own little moan of relief drives you insane. You wish he hadn’t turned away, but you say nothing – the last thing you want is to spook him. One wrong move and you might wake up trembling in the throes of a nocturnal emission. It is starting to feel very much like one of those kinds of dreams.

But ohh, that third sneeze had been wet. As well as leaving the Lieutenant visibly shaken, it has left a tantalising sheen of dampness on his bottom lip. As Kim blinks, taking a moment to recover, you reach out to swipe across the surface of the moistened skin, drying his mouth and transferring the wetness to your thumb. You hesitate for a moment. The Lieutenant is watching you silently, one hand still outstretched and pressed against the wall, a little taken aback by this unpredictable action. Maybe you should apologise.

Fuck it. You lick your thumb clean, moaning a little in both arousal and shame at what you have just allowed yourself to do. It was a stupid thing to do. If Kim walks out of this room with immediate effect and refuses to work with you any longer, you have only yourself to blame. This time, for sure, you have taken things too far. You brace yourself, awaiting the Lieutenant’s reaction. You force yourself to lock eyes with him.

You were not expecting to see an even more intense look of desire boring back into you. You watch as Kim removes his gloves before using his own forefinger to finish what you started, wiping away any residual spray.

“You really do like this, don’t you?”

There is a hint of amusement in this question, which is not really a question at all but a damning statement. It does not sound manipulative or sadistic, however; he seems to be genuinely enjoying your lascivious responses.

“Sorry, god, sorry,” You mutter anyway. Once again, his enthusiasm has had an adverse effect on your own sudden brazenness. You do not know how to do this. The dreamlike haze of arousal has up to this point protected you from the sobering reality that you are now engaging in sneezing fetish sex activities. With a man. With Precinct 57’s Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi. Your life has been full of ‘what the fuck’ moments, but this has to be waaay up there, man. This was so much easier in your fantasies where you alone had control.

Kim shakes his head. His smile is heated, but kind.

“Don’t be.” He murmurs. “It’s intriguing. You’re intriguing, Harry.”

He reaches towards your face as he speaks. Your mouth is already hanging slightly open in gormless disarray, so it is with little resistance that he slips the middle and forefinger of his right hand – yes, Harry-boy, the very same one he used to tend to his mess – between your teeth and onto your tongue. You start sucking on them almost immediately, flushing with pleasure at the sensation and the compliment. Kim’s breath hitches and he moans, a deeply satisfied purr of a sound that goes straight to your throbbing cock. Your underwear is now drenched, sticking to the head of your cock in the aftermath of his most recent nasal display. You are painfully hard and entirely desperate, sucking on those fingers like they’re the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

“Ahh, detective…” Kim sighs. His voice is low and thick with arousal of his own. You shift underneath him so that he is no longer straddling you with a leg on either side, moving backwards slightly and manoeuvring one of your thighs – the uninjured one - between his own. He goes eagerly, enthusiastically. You press up and between his legs with purpose.

There is no lack of certainty as he bucks back down onto your leg – Lieutenant Kitsuragi is hard, and he is rubbing that hardness against you whilst you suck on his fingers. You have no idea how you have managed to pull this off, but there is no point in overthinking it – especially when every drop of blood in your body feels as though it has pooled exclusively between your legs. You clamp a hand down around his wrist for leverage and start to increase the intensity of your oral stimulation. Your head bobs slightly as you suck the digits in and out of your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tips of Kim’s fingers. His breath catches, and your eyes dart up to his face. Your cock twitches at the sight of his glittering brown eyes, heavy lidded and pupils blown as he follows the motions of your ministrations.

A swell of pride fills your chest. You realise that all you’ve ever really wanted since meeting the Lieutenant is for him to like you. He has stood by you despite the fact that you’re – well, you. And he actually does seem to like you, as inexplicable as this may be. You intrigue him. He said so himself. You don’t want to disappoint him – you want to make him feel good. Allowing yourself to acknowledge this desire for Kim outside of your own one-sided, pornographic fantasies fills you with a burning determination to do just that. Operation ‘Make Kim Orgasm’. Fuck the case, fuck this stupid murder, fuck police work – this is what you were made for. If that sounds dramatic, then so be it. You’re a dramatic kind of guy.

Kim rolls his hips against you as you press your tongue between his fingers, taking just the tips back into your mouth as you pull back up and suck hard.

“You’re a tease.” He says this in approval. You moan, and the hum this produces seems to please him very much.

A moment later, you regretfully pull back, another sneeze teasing your sensitive sinuses. This frequency and persistence would be irritating under ordinary circumstances, but with the promise of triggering a sneeze (or three) from the Lieutenant, you embrace it. You take a deep breath through flaring nostrils to stoke the subtle itch into an all-encompassing tickle. It is so effective that you sneeze immediately, on that inhalation alone.

“AEESSSSCHHHHHhhh!!! Hh…”

It shakes you so violently that you slump back against the pillow, bereft of all energy to remain partially upright any longer. Your back was starting to ache anyway. Your hands return to the Lieutenant’s hips as you look up at him expectantly.

“À tes souhaits,” he offers, even as a look of distinct irritation begins to cloud his features. You moan, and your cock jumps in your pants.

You only have to wait a matter of seconds before Kim’s breath begins to hitch. An irritatingly strong gust of wind from outside causes the entire shack to creak. You strain your ears in a valiant attempt to drink in every little inhalation over the sound of it.

What the Lieutenant says next could have been taken directly from one of your dirty little fantasies. As you gaze at him, your own breath hitching for notably more dick-related reasons, he raises a loosely-curled fist up to his face – or rather, just beneath it, leaving you plenty of room to watch – and begins to speak.

“Hh-! Ohh, Harry, you’re going to m-make me-! Hhdt-!!”

You almost cum on the spot. By sheer willpower you manage to hold back. Your forehead beads with sweat as Kim inhales definitively, bucking forward with four shuddering sneezes, supporting himself as before with a hand to the wall. You are certain if he had not done so he would have been thoroughly unbalanced.

“hhdt’Tszchhu! hHUpT’Tschu! HDT’Tzsshh! hH-!! Ahh’TSshh’uu! Ahh, mon dieu…”

You do not miss a single detail, intent on committing this painfully erotic performance to memory. The way his fine eyebrows draw together, contorting his brow in desperation. The way his nostrils flare with each contraction to almost double their resting size. The way his jaw flexes as his teeth clench together. It is a sight to behold, and you lose yourself in it.

You have been unable to keep your hips from bucking upwards, rubbing yourself against the surface of the Lieutenant’s thigh. He blinks, looking utterly drained for a brief moment, and it is one of the cutest things you have ever seen. No grown man has any right being that adorable. Once he has recovered, he presses his thigh firmly between your legs, binding your balls up and against your cock. You gasp, and he smiles, rutting against you.

“Excuse me.” He sniffles as you writhe. “That felt wonderful, I must admit.”

Fuck. You really must be dreaming. He has taken to this like a duck to water. How can he possibly know exactly what to say, and when? It is just as good as you imagined it could be – no, it is better. He is playing you like a god damn fiddle.

The Lieutenant shifts atop you, extracting his slender thigh from between the squeezing grip of your own as you dry hump him like your life depends on it. Your resistance forces him to pinch the meatiest section of your uninjured thigh – you jerk in shocked pain and release his leg as intended. He rubs the tender skin through your trousers, then squeezes into the space between you and the wall, lying on his side next to your supine form and swinging his right leg over your thighs. Your arm instinctively reaches under him to encircle his back.

“Sorry.” He apologises, smiling at the small frown on your face. “I’ll make it up to you.”

And just like that, he is reaching past your open zipper and into waistband of your underwear to grip your cock. You whine his name, embarrassingly loud and high-pitched. Your captured shaft throbs and leaks onto his fingers. His hand reaches up to collect the moisture, pulling back your foreskin ever so gently – and then he is pumping you in a steady rhythm. It is intentionally slow; you are close, and he knows this.

“Tu as une bite énorme…” You hear him mutter. Your chest swells with masculine pride. That’s right, baby. You are huge.

But holy fucking fuck, this feels – it feels – it’s so good. You wonder if he does this often – whether he touches himself just like this, or if this particular technique is reserved for other members of the homosexual underground. You groan, your head pressing back into the pillow and allowing him to work you. The skilful motions of his hand slowly build the pleasure until it sends small waves of ecstasy through your extremities, like miniature orgasms in their own right. When you do cum, it is going to be mind blowing. Your hand claws at the fabric of his bomber jacket, the other clutching the bedsheets.

“Kim…” His name rumbles out of you, a warning of the explosion to come.

Suddenly, his fingers encircle the base of your cock in a cruel, tight O. Your orgasm is halted in its tracks. Your cock throbs valiantly against its bondage, trembling as though in hope that the mimicry of orgasmic convulsions will trigger the real event – but no dice. A strangled groan tears its way out of you.

“Nooo…! Why…! You said you’d make it up to me-!”

You turn your head to face him. The look you flash him with your baleful green eyes would put the cutest puppy dog in the world to shame. They are glossy, wet with tears of betrayal. He looks at you fondly, but you can tell he is enjoying toying with you like this. Kinky bastard. You should have known.

“There’s no rush.” His voice is a seductive drawl. “I don’t want you to finish yet, Harry. I want to ask you some things.”

He is serious. The ring of his fingers does not loosen in the slightest. You sigh. You’re the questions guy, not him. You don’t much like the idea of an active interrogation whilst your swollen dick quivers dejectedly in his grip, but the promise of eventual orgasm softens the blow. You will humour him.

“Do your own sneezes turn you on? Do you remember that from before?”

Okay, wow. Straight to the meat and potatoes of the issue. Your cock twitches to hear the word ‘sneeze’ in his lilted accent again. You look to the ceiling for a moment of silent contemplation.

“I’m – not sure. They feel nice.” Your eyes swivel back to the Lieutenant’s face. “I like the effect they have on you more.”

Kim is softly biting his bottom lip. His eyes look heavy and heated – you imagine he might look the same after several glasses of wine. Except he’s somehow drunk on you – on this insane coupling.

“I can see that.” He shifts slightly, pulling himself partially atop you. He releases your cock from the grip of his right hand for the briefest of moments before replacing it with his left. His right hand begins to roll your balls in their sack, tugging at them expertly. You don’t doubt you could come from this sensation alone if he would only release your cock.

“You poor thing…” he murmurs against your cheek. “I must have been torturing you all this time.”

Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and filthy.

“Kim, please-! Fuck…”

You could go insane. You cannot remember the last time you have been so intensely turned on for so long without the release of orgasm. Your entire body is an exposed nerve ending. Kim just sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the dimple on your chin.

“Tell me what you like about it. Explain it to me. Try your best.”

He isn’t going to let you cum until you divulge this information to him. You could easily overpower him if you wanted – you are a hulking beast of a man compared to his compact frame. You could flip him over and rut against his ass like a caveman. But you won’t. You will do as he asks. You swallow audibly.

“I like – thinking about the way it feels, for you. About the t-tickle,” You are blushing like a maniac, tripping over your words. You cannot look him in the eye. “…And how good it must feel for you when you finally sneeze.” You pause, screwing your eyes shut in mortification.

“Go on.” Kim encourages you, making his way to your earlobe and nibbling on the sensitive flesh.

“I like the faces – and the noises – you make. When you lose control.” You swallow again. “You’re so put together. It’s a…nice contrast.”

It is simultaneously humiliating and invigorating, hearing in your own voice a comprehensive explanation and breakdown of your sexual deviancy. Kim pulls back from your ear and rests his cheek on your shoulder, fingers still plucking lazily at your sack.

“You know, I’m not all that put together.” He smiles. “I have my moments.”

Lies. He’s the most put together man that was ever put together. Granted, the amnesia hasn’t left you with much of a frame of reference for this, but still.

“I’m not very put together right now, or when I barged in here knowing you would be – touching yourself.”

He actually looks a little bashful when admitting to that. It’s cute. You kiss the tip of his nose.

“Could have fooled me. You quite literally have me by the balls.”

Kim smirks and squeezes your sack with considerable pressure. Your eyes roll back into your head with a throaty groan of appreciation.

You cannot take much more of this – this constant thrumming of arousal. You could have orgasmed any number of times by now, but either through your own or Kim’s suppression, you have not. You want to cum. You need to cum. You want the Lieutenant to cum, too. You want him to know how badly you want it. Say something, or you’ll go mad with desire.

“I want to make you cum. I want to fuck you ‘til you scream my name, and then I want to fill you with my cum while your writhe on my cock.”

Umm…Okay, then. Good god, Harry. You’ve only just had your first homosexual kiss. Reel it in.

Luckily, this pornographic confession seems to have been an entirely appropriate thing to say. The Lieutenant looks at you with a downright predatory expression of hunger. Your cock gives a frightened little twitch.

“We don’t have time for that,” His voice practically rumbles, both in your ear and vibrating against your palm where it rests on his back, sending a heated shiver through you. “But we can definitely do something else.”

He moves to sit back up, but it is poorly timed with an emerging tickle in your nose. You frantically pin him against your chest in a sudden bear hug – he initially squirms in your grip before the rise and fall of your torso against his own clues him in to the fact that you are going to sneeze yet again. He relaxes against you, pressing his face into your neck. The frames of his glasses dig in a little uncomfortably, but the closeness is thrilling and intimate.

You do not have time to enjoy the feeling of the Lieutenant draped over you – the sneeze rushes out of you, shaking the bed, and you, and Kim. You try to aim it so that your spray doesn’t just rain down on you both, but also angle it up enough that you aren’t sneezing all over Kim’s jacket. You imagine he would be less than thrilled if you did. You manage to avoid making a mess but the fabric of his jacket still ripples with the force of your release.

“EEEISSSHHHHHUuu!!”

Luckily, it is just the one - it leaves you trembling in equal parts exhaustion and hedonistic pleasure. The motion of your body bucking against the Lieutenant’s felt especially nice in this position. You loosen your arms and wait for Kim to pull away. You are confused when he doesn’t do so immediately, and then the sound of a wavering inhale freezes you in place. All sensation in your body seems to subside apart from the heated skin of your neck where the Lieutenant’s breath hitches, preparing to sneeze. You feel the tip of his nose pressing against your jugular, his glasses digging into your jaw. Time seems to stand still as Kim’s ribcage expands under your hands, and then he is shuddering against you, smothering his sneezes against the column of your throat.

“HH’Dtsshh! Hh’Mptschh!! NGx’tsshh!!”

You arch your back, gasping, each little sneeze sending a shivering wave of warmth through you. It is one thing to watch Kim sneeze, but to feel him sneeze against you, pressed as close as he is – your brain feels as though it is short-circuiting.

He gently shakes your arms off and sits up, wiping his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. He casts you a sheepish, almost embarrassed look that lets you know he had not intended to sneeze against you, but one glance at the dumb, almost drunken expression on your face and he looks a lot less sorry.

“Pardon,” he mutters, reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket. You watch as he takes out - a condom. Wait - he carries condoms with him on police investigations? Perhaps he carries them everywhere he goes. You should be more prepared yourself, quite honestly.

He rips the packet open skilfully with his teeth. You think he is going to slide the condom down your own length – it won’t fit, you want to say - but the sight of the Lieutenant opening his fly with one hand in expert timing and whipping out his cock leaves the words dead in your throat.

You stare at Kim’s erection. It’s not as big as your own, but it’s definitely a decent size. It’s pretty, too – a nice thickness, a neat head, curving a little off to one side. It’s fucking beautiful, actually. Your mouth waters at the sight of it resting in his loose grip. He watches you watch him, pumping the length of it a few times before teasing the head, making himself gasp. Your own neglected dick spits a jet of precum onto your lower stomach.

You reach greedily for his cock, but he gently slaps your hand away. When he rolls the condom down his length, panic hits you like a freight train. Is he going to fuck you? In the arse? Oh, god. You want him to fuck you up the arse. You think you might want that more than you want to fuck him up the arse. You gape at him, fingers flexing and eyes roaming his face.

“Listen, Kim, I- I’ve never done this before, and don’t get me wrong I – I want to, but I’m not – I don’t think I can-!” Kim silences you with a finger to the lips.

“Harry, I just said we don’t have time for that.” He laughs a little, and your entire body slumps back onto the bed as every muscle relaxes at once.

“Ohhh, thank god…” You hear yourself mutter, like a total asshole. Kim just laughs.

But then what is the condom for? Your brows furrow in confusion. He picks up on this immediately and sighs, still massaging his cock in a leisurely fashion.

“This is just a precaution, detective. I mean no offense, but I’m not sure I can trust your sexual history in light of the amnesia and unpredictable behaviour.”

It’s a totally fair point, but you still don’t entirely understand the point of it if you’re just giving each other hand jobs. Don’t ask. You have a feeling it’ll all make sense in a moment. You look up at Kim, and whatever expression you’re making seems to melt him, leaning forward and pressing a sweet kiss on your chin. He seems to really like the dimple there.

“Don’t worry. This is going to feel great, I promise.”

Kim shifts on top of you, hovering above you with a hand planted either side of your head. He pushes your shirt up over the expanse of your stomach then aligns your hips together until – fuckkkk. You toss your head back in pleasure. The Lieutenant begins to thrust against you, reaching between you for a moment to smear your wetness all over his sheathed cock, and you are sliding together with the most delicious friction. You buck up against Kim, arrhythmically at first before finding the perfect complimentary motion to his own thrusts. Nothing could have prepared you for how good it feels to have his cock sliding up against your own. Your toes are curling in an instant, and you are making embarrassing little mewling sounds.

Kim leans closer, hovering above you on deceptively strong arms. Your hands grip his jacket as his breath tickles your ear.

“I think I’m starting to understand, Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor,” he murmurs, drinking in the sound of your groans. “The way you shuddered against me when you sneezed – it’s always wonderful to feel the physical result of somebody losing control. A good sneeze is like an orgasm in its own right.”

Ohh, fuck. He’s too good at this. Or maybe you’re just easy? Either way, your balls are starting to draw up and you can feel the pressure building as your cock gives a heavy, pre-orgasmic throb against Kim’s. And still he talks.

“Just now, you said you wanted me to fuck you. I can do that. I can make it so that it’s all you think about. You’ll dream about it every night, and wake up wishing my cock was inside you…”

He purrs into your ear, a continuous stream of dirty promises, and you’re imagining it all, imaging him fucking you, then you fucking him, images flood your mind and your cock is throbbing and everything tenses before –

Release. Pulsing, gyrating release. The pleasure is monumental – all you can do is submit to it, washing over you in waves and pulling a shuddering moan out of you. Your weakened heart flutters as the sheer magnitude of sensation incapacitates you. You had been denied for too long, and now it seems as though the orgasm is actively trying to kill you out of revenge. You do not care. It feels so, so good. The best you’ve had since god knows when. It feels like it could go on for an eternity. In reality, it is over in a matter of seconds, but when it finally releases you, twitching and gasping in the aftermath, you feel almost reborn.

As you wind down, you are aware of Kim murmuring gentle words of encouragement and praise. You feel him kiss your cheek. He is handling you carefully, like you are a delicate flower and not a muscular slab of a man. You are enjoying it immensely. You let yourself be soothed, sinking into the mattress as the afterglow leaves you floaty and relaxed.

It dawns on you, as you come back to earth, that Kim is no longer thrusting against you. Well, he is a little, but only minutely, barely enough for you to make out. He has shifted his hips slightly so that he is no longer pressing directly against your sensitive cock, but against your hip bone. His cock is rock solid against you, and you realise in a sudden wave of shame and disappointment that he hasn’t had an orgasm of his own.

“You didn’t cum,” You manage.

“No.” Kim confirms, resting his face in the crook of your neck and shoulder. He seems to like it there. You like that he seems to like it there. “I’ll need a little more time than that.”

You wince. You were so turned on and came so hard you barely had time to reflect on the fact that your orgasm had taken a whopping 40 seconds to crest from the moment Kim’s dick slid up against your own. You’re not even a minute man. Teenage boys last longer than you. You are unable to prevent yourself from letting out a pained, reedy whine as these thoughts consume you.

“S’rry…” You mutter, and to make it all worse, a couple of tears begin to spill down the sides of your face and into the burning shells of your ears. You focus on a patch of discolouration on the ceiling and attempt to astral project your body out of there. It does not work.

Kim pushes himself upwards and positions himself in a seated straddle above you. You offer no resistance. You do not look at him until he forces you to do so with a firm grip on your chin, pulling your face towards him. Even then your stubborn eyes only swivel to look at him once he compels you with an authoritative “Harry.”

He is looking at you fondly. You’re not sure how much more you can take of his relative kindness. It’s probably just the post-orgasm loopiness and raised temperature, but you swear you can make out the faint glow of a halo around his head.

“Don’t apologise. You held out for a very long time – an impressively long time, given how worked up you were.” He gets up off the bed then, taking the few steps over to the small basin and wetting the washrag lying beside it. You turn your head to watch and see that his erection hangs insistently in front of him, though it has wilted a little. The surface of the condom is slippery, covered in your semen and pre-cum.

“This was never about me, anyway. I got…carried away.”

He sounds…pained. You wonder if he is feeling a regret similar to that of an unsuccessful one-night stand, once the orgasm has cleared his mind. Only he hasn’t even had an orgasm. You feel a pang of guilt in your chest, not only for him but faint memories of various drunken affairs. You have a feeling a lot of women have slammed the door of your apartment behind them, their own orgasms neglected as you lay there in selfish completion. Fuck. Say something before you ruin things even more.

“I like when you get carried away. I want you to get carried away.” You push yourself with no small amount of effort to sit up against the wall, legs swung over the side of the bed.

You watch Kim’s profile. He says nothing, but he’s smiling. He slips the condom off of himself and flicks it into the nearby bin. You watch with a sinking heart as he tucks his half-hard cock back into his underwear. It feels like rejection. This is totally harshing the mellow of your earth-shattering orgasm, man. He turns with the washcloth in hand, takes one look at your face and smiles at you with such naked adoration you almost swoon with it.

“What’s that look for?”

You shrug, eyes darting around like a desperately guilty dog.

“Officer.” You look back at him. “We are still in the middle of an ongoing murder investigation.”

He is such a square. How he can be this level-headed and persistent whilst he’s still at half-mast is beyond you. You snort out of your nose like a petulant child. That was a bad idea – your forgot that you have a cold. You scramble around you looking for a tissue, but before you find one Kim is cleaning up your mess with the washcloth. Your ears burn. Having your nose wiped for you like a child should not be this arousing, but it is. Kim folds the washcloth and works downwards, cleaning the semen from your skin and the trail of hair that covers the length of your torso.

“Don’t look so disappointed.” His face is so close to yours. “If you still mean everything you’ve said when we’ve closed this case…” He whispers against your mouth. “You can do whatever you want to me.”

You lunge forward too quickly and awkwardly crash your teeth against his own. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, sinking to his knees in front of you and craning his neck upwards to maintain contact. You lean forward, clutching his shoulders with flexing fingers. He is such a good kisser. He does amazing things with his tongue whilst his hand still works on scrubbing your torso clean, working its way to your crotch, and –

Kim breaks the kiss and looks down your body. He is wearing an expression of utter disbelief, which you would find incredibly amusing if it wasn’t aimed at your person.

“What? What’s wrong??” You ask in horror, clutching his shoulders tighter.

He doesn’t answer you. He reaches one hand between your legs. You cannot help the obtrusively loud moan of pleasure that rakes its way out of you as he squeezes your cock.

“Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor.” He says despairingly. “You’re still hard.”

You look down. The swollen head of your cock peers back up at you, twitching happily within the constraints of Kim’s fingers. Huh.

“Oh. Uhh. So I am.”

The look of bemusement Kim flashes you is objectively too funny for you to not grin back at him, so you do. He raises an eyebrow.

“Is this normal for you? Do you remember?”

“I’m. I’m gonna say no.”

“No, you don’t remember, or no, this is not normal?”

“Yes.”

The Lieutenant blinks. He sighs heavily, releasing your cock. It throbs angrily at the sudden absence of his expert fingers. If a cock could pout, yours would.

“Harry.” He places his palms on each of your thighs, making sure to keep his touch light on your injured leg. “The entire reason I suggested you take care of things is because I thought it would provide you with some relief and mental clarity.”

The Lieutenant doesn’t seem angry – maybe a little concerned. You get the distinct impression that he is beginning to think you may actually have a medical issue of some kind. Your regard your stubborn erection. It doesn’t hurt – you hadn’t even noticed its persistence because you are still enjoying the buzz of your afterglow. Are you still aroused? You ought to test that. You picture Kim leaning down and sneezing all over your crotch. When your cock gives a heavy throb in response to this thought, drooling more clear liquid down your shaft, you relax. You’re not suffering the early stages of priapism; you’re just insanely horny.

Kim has been watching you think. He also watches your cock bob in the air with poorly feigned disinterest. You think, despite it all, he is secretly happy with this outcome. Perhaps a little flattered that he has managed to work you into this rabid state despite the multiple factors of injury, illness and drug withdrawals working against you. You are hyperaware of the grip of his hands on your thighs. He has very nice hands - angular and masculine, but delicate in their motions in a way your own huge paws are not. You should tell him to get to work with those hands of his.

“It’ll go down soon?” You offer instead.

Spoilsport.

Kim looks up at you like he doesn’t believe you in the slightest, because he doesn’t.

“Humour me, officer. When might that be?”

You shrug noncommittally. He sighs again, eyeing your cock. It twitches a little under the scrutinization.

“Do you need to have another orgasm?” He asks you. It is a sincere, almost clinical question for which he would like a straightforward answer, almost like a physician consulting with a patient. That doesn’t stop your hips from squirming in response.

“I…don’t know if I can.” You admit.

And you mean it. Earlier this week you may have suffered a genuine heart attack. You were shot in the leg just over 48 hours ago. Another orgasm of that magnitude may kill you. You ponder this a moment longer. There are definitely worse ways to go, and you trust Kim to take good care of your corpse should your petite mort just become…mort. The Lieutenant is patiently watching you, still crouched in front of you. You could do worse that Kim Kitsuragi, Harry-boy. Just blow your load like a man and enjoy the ride.

“…Fuck it. Sure.”

You stroke your cock experimentally. It feels as intense as if you’d never come in the first place – the only evidence to the contrary being the floaty, rejuvenated feeling your previous orgasm bestowed upon you. Once you start touching yourself you can’t stop. You groan and tip your head back against the wall. Yeah. This probably won’t take long either.

You realise after a moment of passionate self love that Kim has made no move to either offer a helping hand or leave you to handle yourself alone. He’s watching you work yourself with naked interest, eyes heavy-lidded and bright. When you groan in response to your own teasing fingers rubbing gently over your frenulum, you hear his own moan of appreciation and feel the flexing of his fingers on your legs. It is his own sigh of arousal that seems to break him out of this intense observation. He stands up, and you look up at him, meeting his heated gaze with your own.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” He says, pushing his glasses up his nose but otherwise unmoving. His own erection tents the front of his cargo pants.

“Don’t go.” You say. “Stay.”

He smiles down at you. It makes your breath hitch.

“You want me to watch?”

“I think you want me to want you to watch.”

“I want to get back to the murder investigation.” He teases.

“Please. Don’t talk about murder right now. I’ll never cum that way.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” He smiles at you. He is finding some enjoyment in this – standing over you while you masturbate yourself furiously. You find yourself enjoying it as well – so much so that it takes you a moment to take offense.

“I’m not! – not that fucking weird, damn.” You mutter. He just laughs.

“I want to make you cum.” You offer after several beats of silence. He fidgets in response, a small movement that would have otherwise signalled a routine shifting of weight from one leg to another, were it not for the obscene tent in his trousers.

“You should focus on yourself.” He breathes out, sounding almost as out of breath as you.

“What does it – look like I’m doing?” You get out between moans.

You’re getting close. It feels good to stroke yourself with your own practised hand, but you can’t help but feel like you need more. The Lieutenant is the entire reason you are in this position in the first place, and now he’s not even touching you. His sneezing was the catalyst for a whole new world of never-ending arousal and homosexual revelations.

You should ask him to sneeze for you. The thought is simultaneously thrilling and mortifying. It is one thing for Kim to barge into the room and start kissing you, and sneezing all over you because he can’t help it – yet another thing entirely for you to request his active participation. Perhaps you don’t need to ask. All you need to do is sneeze again, and it will certainly trigger a reaction of his own. You sniffle experimentally, but all you get for your efforts is an uncomfortable burning sensation. It is just your luck that the second you actively want to sneeze, you cannot. Fuck.

Why do you find yourself hesitating like this? You couldn’t have imagined a more positive response from the Lieutenant before. He called you intriguing. He dirty-talked you. He rubbed your dicks together and compared sneezing to orgasm. What’s the worst thing that could happen?

You regard the Lieutenant. Sexually charged energy practically oozes from him as he stands before you. His pupils are blown and his body bows towards you with a subconscious desire for closeness. All physical signs, not least his solid cock, point towards his want for sex with you, and yet – he’s just standing there. Watching. It occurs to you that he is potentially holding himself back now because his uncharacteristically enthusiastic advances have spooked him into a form of cowed paralysis. For a rigid professional like the Lieutenant, niche fetish sex with a fellow police officer is a huge deviation from his usual composed behaviour.

You take this all into consideration, and open your mouth to speak.

“I want you to sneeze for me. Please, Kim. I’m desperate for it.”

Your voice is steady, if not a little strained, but you have said it. It is out in the open. Your face heats in anticipation, heart fluttering in your chest, and your arousal seems to amplify at the thrill of voicing these most erotic desires out loud. Kim makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and you are worried for a moment that he is going to bolt out of the door, but then he is stepping closer, standing between your legs and cradling your cheek in his palm.

“Okay.” He smiles at you, and the relief is overwhelming. He looks excited– it is as if he had been waiting for you to put into words what you really wanted from him. You have a feeling that you had been dead on the money about the source of his reluctance. He had taken too much control of you, far too quickly. He didn’t want to look desperate, or lecherous in his handling of you, even though you went easily, enthusiastically. He had said you could do whatever you wanted to him – granted, he had meant this for a time in the future when you had more blood in your brain than your dick, but. Either way. Perhaps all you had to do was use your fucking words.

The Lieutenant is suddenly glancing round the expanse of the shack as if looking for something. When you ask him what he is doing, he looks at you as if it is obvious.

“I can’t just sneeze on command, but there doesn’t appear to be anything dusty in here for me to use. Isobel is clearly a fastidious cleaner.”

That last part expresses a deep respect for the old woman’s neatness despite her visual impairment. He says it so matter of factly that it takes a moment for the sheer eroticism of what came before to wash over you. Your cock drools down your knuckles at the thought of Kim willingly inducing an allergic reaction in himself, proposing he do so as if it is the most normal thing in the world. You picture him again with a feather duster, teasing his flaring nostrils until he cannot take anymore. He seems pleased with your immediate physical reaction, running his hand through your hair. You thank this morning’s Harry for the decision to shower despite the pain in your leg.

“Don’t you need to sneeze? That’s as effective a method as any.”

You sniffle again, but it is the same result as before – which is to say, nothing at all.

“Fuck…” You tilt your head back against the wall in disappointment. Perhaps you had better let this idea go and just think about tits or something.

You remember then, in a flash of foggy memories, a certain fool proof method for inducing a sneeze. A small, twisted piece of coated wire – the kind you might use to seal an open bag of food. You remember using it, tickling yourself into a relieving, shuddering sneeze when the urge refused to crest without external encouragement. God. Maybe you like your own sneezes more than you previously thought. You feel another stubborn memory, just on the periphery of your consciousness that refuses to reveal itself to you. Nevertheless, you have a hunch – no, a suspicion - that you are not the only person upon whom you have used that little tool. This confuses you. You had been so convinced this was a secret you had never shared with anybody, but now you are not so sure. But who? It wasn’t…her, at least. You decide to bury this troubling thought before you develop a headache or start to cry.

Anyway. This tool. You have a feeling. A feeling that in the lining of your blazer, through a small rip of the fabric…You reach inside, and moments later, you are staring at the small twist of wire pinched between your thumb and forefinger. The Pavlovian elevation of your heartbeat at the sight of it only confirms its intended usage.

“Umm. I think this should work.” You hold the small tool up to the Lieutenant, your expression a confusing amalgamation of sheepishness and excitement.

He takes the tool off you and brings it closer to his face, squinting a little at it through his glasses before a look of recognition spreads across his features. His lips quirk up into one of his small smiles. You swallow audibly.

“I’m assuming this is intended for internal stimulation?” His smile widens as you nod, squeezing your cock for good measure. “Very resourceful, detective.”

He twirls the small piece of wire between his fingers as if testing his grip. You are giddy with anticipation, practically vibrating with it. Kim uses his knee on the outside of your leg to push it inwards – you instinctively move your legs closer together, out of the wide spread you had adopted as you slumped back against the wall. He hums in appreciation at your quick understanding before kneeling in a partial straddle atop you, knees pressing into the mattress. It squeaks in protest anew at your combined weight, but neither of you pay it any mind.

Kim rests his left hand on your shoulder, twirling the wire between thumb and forefinger of his right and watching your reaction. You swallow thickly.

“Please,” You whine. “’M so close…”

“Okay.” He leans forward to kiss you for a moment, and you almost reach up to pull him back into it before you remember that more kissing means less sneezing. “But if you’re still hard after this, I’m driving you to the hospital.”

He isn’t joking. You nod obediently, trying your best to look innocent and failing spectacularly. Kim hesitates for the briefest moment, as if it dawns on him how ridiculous his current position is – how every decision and success he has undertaken in his career and life in general has led up to this bizarre turn of events – before slipping the tool into his slightly flared right nostril.

Almost immediately, he is pulling back with a look of pained irritation, but it is not the kind either of you were looking for. He coughs a little before rubbing at his nose frantically with the heel of his palm, eyes scrunched shut.

“Kim - shit, are you okay?” You ask him, concern overriding the way your cock twitches at the sight of him roughly manhandling his nose.

“Ahh, sorry, sorry,” The Lieutenant apologises, slowing the motion of his hand. He lowers it again and smiles bashfully at you, eyes watering ever so slightly. He looks so cute in the moment you barely suppress the urge to gnaw on his glasses.

“I think I was a little overzealous. I didn’t expect that sensation.” He moves the tool back into his nostril, trying again.

You watch in fascination, eyes roving over his face, taking in every little detail as he tickles his nose for you. His nostrils are your favourite thing to watch, predictably. They are incredibly expressive, and the shape of them lends to a wonderful flare. Each little twist and thrust of the tool triggers another series of uncontrollable twitching. The eroticism of this moment cannot be understated – you feel so good, so unbelievably turned on that your hand has paused on your cock for fear you will come before he has even succeeded in initiating a build-up.

Suddenly, the Lieutenant’s breath catches. You hold your own involuntarily, as if any sudden movement will scare his budding sneeze away. Your eyes wander from his flaring nostrils to his furrowed brows to his mouth as it falls open. His tongue cups itself, pressing slightly against his full lip. You briefly imagine the feeling of that tongue wrapped around your cock as he sucks it down. You resist touching yourself, intent on enjoying every moment of this. The second you do it is game over.

“Oohh, I think-!” Kim manages to gasp out before the sneezes are tearing their way out of him – a desperate little triple that leaves him shivering in your lap.

“hHUPT’Tschh’uu!! Hhdt’Tszschhh’uu! hHADT’TSCHhhtt!!”

He aims them at your chest, but mostly catches your neck and chin with the light spray. Your skin feels electric with sensation. You swallow your groans to avoid drowning out the sound of his releases, cock throbbing heavily with each one. It is hard to imagine that you could be more turned on than in this current moment, especially as Kim sighs heavily, orgasmically when he has finished.

“Ahh, my god. That felt so good.”

It doesn’t matter if he is only saying it for your benefit, or if it really is the case – you’d put money on both – and you allow yourself to groan openly at last. Your free hand reaches up to clutch at the front of his shirt, more to tether yourself to him than anything else.

“Did you like that?” He purrs, knowing full fucking well that you’ve probably never liked anything else quite so much in your life.

“Yesss…” You manage, hesitating for a moment before offering a “B-bless you” that you stumble over as if it is the naughtiest, dirtiest phrase known to man.

“Thank you.”

He sighs emphatically, delighted to see you squirm and blush. The Lieutenant rests the hand still clutching the inducing tool on top of your own where you are crumpling his meticulously ironed shirt into a wrinkled mess. He leans forward, holding his face just in front of your own. He sniffles, then smiles smugly at the flicker of your eyes to his flaring nostrils.

“Harry.”

You murmur an affirmative, unable to do much more as his deep brown eyes seem to stare into your soul. It makes you feel a little drunk – the fun, relaxing part before the anger and shame sends you into a spiral of self-destruction.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself?”

The Lieutenant could read a phone directory aloud and that voice would probably still have the same effect on you. Soft, but deep and commanding. It sends shivers down your spine. Before you can answer him, he is murmuring against your lips again.

“Touch yourself for me. Be a good boy.”

You can be his good boy. His best boy. You sigh against him, fingers moving to firmly encircle your cock before his words even fully sink in.

“Yes,” you breathe out, beginning to stroke yourself obediently. Your other hand releases the front of his shirt and moves to grip his waist instead.

“Good.” He smiles, leaning back once more, hand gripping your shoulder firmly whilst the other slips the tool back into his waiting nostril. “Here’s your reward.”

You watch in what can only be described as adoration as the Lieutenant starts to tickle his nose again. You are trying to hold out, keeping the squeezing rhythm on your cock as slow as you can manage, but the longer you touch yourself the harder it is to do so. A few moments later, Kim’s nostrils give a definitive twitch. You hear him suck in a shuddering breath. This time was much faster – he is figuring out the best spots to tease in an impressive display of aptitude.

The Lieutenant’s face freezes in pre-sneeze agony for a beat, and then he is tilting forward with another round of sneezes, hand squeezing your shoulder tight.

“hHPT’Tsschh!! HdDDZT’Tzshieww!! ‘TSCHhh’uu!!....HAHd’tsschht!!

These, too, were aimed in the general vicinity of your upper torso, though the last one – a straggler – seems to catch him off guard. You feel the delicate spray that bursts out with it settling over your left cheek, some on your lips. You shamelessly lick them clean. It wasn’t a particularly messy affair, hardly even wet enough for you to feel it, but a thrill rushes through you all the same. Kim doesn’t notice, pausing for a moment to scrub at his itchy nostrils with his knuckles and scrunching his eyes shut as he does so. It is both endearing and erotic that he makes no effort to hide just how much these sneezes tickle and tease.

“Bless you-!” You all but growl at him.

“Thank you, detective.”

He is enjoying this immensely, which only makes it better. You doubt, despite the lax and forgiving nature with which he has approached some of your more…unpredictable behaviours, that he is the kind of man who does anything in bed that he does not want to. He wears his arousal well – he doesn’t blush so much as he seems to glow, radiant and healthy.

“This is fun.” He admits, out of the blue, returning the tool to his nose. “I wonder why I’ve never thought to try this before.”

Because you’re not a huge fucking pervert, you do not say. You imagine he finds a certain appeal in having some power over when he gets to sneeze. He can enjoy the release when the reflex is triggered by his own hand and following his own decision to do so. It is an entirely different ball game to when his allergies or suggestibility render him helpless in environments he cannot control. Now he has an opportunity to indulge in the sensation – and it certainly does no harm that he is reducing a large man like yourself to a quivering mess whilst doing so.

Before you realise it, your muscles begin to tighten in pre-orgasmic tension. Your hand is stroking your cock mercilessly, doing everything it can to drive you closer and closer to climax. It is working on autopilot, for which you are grateful – you don’t want to miss a moment of this thinking about anything that isn’t the Lieutenant.

“Kim…” You whine. You mean to say more – that you’re close, you’re going to cum, something to that effect. You don’t manage to, but the desperation with which you utter his name is enough for the Lieutenant to understand.

“Are you going to cum for me?” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb in small circles against your clavicle.

You sure fucking are. Your hand is a blur over your crotch, your frantic efforts almost sending vibrations throughout the protesting bed frame. You try not to think too much about the expressions you’re making. Kim has already been witness to your O face and certainly doesn’t seem to have been deterred by whatever he saw. He’s watching you with a hungry look even now, working his own face into a different but not dissimilar mask of desperation to your own.

Suddenly, his hand is squeezing your shoulder especially hard, thumb digging into bone and muscle.

“I think – if I -!”

He is trying in desperation to communicate something between hitching breaths, but it is futile. He inhales hugely, audibly gasping at the intensity of the tickle he has inflicted upon himself. He makes no effort to remove the tool this time.

“AhHH’TSchhTt!!-‘TSSChhh!-‘TSSh’uu!! – god, I-! AESSCH’uu! Hhp’Tzshieww!*

A wave of heat consumes you, the eroticism of the moment almost unbearable. You realise that Kim has found a sweet spot and deduced that simply holding the tool in place will result in an endless barrage of sneezes. Your cock throbs, drooling down your knuckles as you caress and squeeze yourself stupid. The hand resting on Kim’s waist grips him more firmly, a kind of anchorage, though for whose benefit you are not entirely sure.

“IhHd’TSsch’uu!! aAHDd’TszchhT!!-TTSChh’uu-ttschht!! Fuck, it’s so -! HahDD’TZSCHHhht!!”

The bed shakes under your combined efforts. You moan loudly, wantonly, almost out of your mind with desire. You wish you could shut yourself up – not out of any kind of embarrassment or shame. You’re beyond that now. But your own noisy exclamations are beginning to drown out the sound of Kim’s relentless sneezing. They have been increasing steadily in pitch as his body fights to mollify the tickle. There is no relief to be found, however – as long as he presses that little piece of wire against his sensitive spot, he will sneeze ceaselessly.

“Hupt’CHShh’iew! Hhdt’CHhhssh!! Hh-!! HhGG’TSzsch’uu!! TZSSCHh’iew!! Hhd’TZSCHshhtt!!”

They have been spraying your chest, neck and face indiscriminately, as it is all the Lieutenant can do to keep himself upright and find enough air to breathe between each convulsion. That most recent sneeze is also the most productive yet. You blink reflexively against the spray misting over your cheeks and nose, tangibly more wet than the preceding baptisms you have received. Kim’s pink, flaring nostrils are beginning to glitter with moisture. You almost feel envious that it has taken him such an intense series of sneezes to develop a bona fide runny nose. You can only imagine the mess you would have made by this point.

Unable to clean himself up throughout the continuous onslaught, you notice the tiniest string of saliva drips from the Lieutenant’s bottom lip. You want to lick it off, but all you’re capable of in the moment is fucking your own fist and moaning low and loud like a cat in heat. Your orgasm is mere moments away – it is building so intensely that your earlier fears of simply cumming yourself to death reemerge. You couldn’t stop the frantic motions of masturbation if you tried, however. You are a wanking machine, operating purely on animalistic impulses.

The Lieutenant, it appears, has reached his limitations. He looks dizzy and breathless, glasses askew and eyes streaming in irritation. He removes the tool from his nostril and drops it between you, realising much the same as you have – the cruel little press of that wire would have made him sneeze and sneeze until he passed out.

He clutches your shoulders with both hands now. You stare, utterly and totally enraptured, as his breath hitches towards yet another release. Removing the direct source of irritation seems to have stoked some kind of residual tickle – and by the absolutely miserable twist of his features, it is perhaps the most intense of them all. Your cock shudders with the first pulse of your orgasm.

My god, you might die. You might actually die, you think, as the steadily cresting pleasure curls your toes and begins to pulse through you in luxurious waves. It is so overwhelming that you are unable to make any noise at all. You manage to watch through unblinking eyes as Kim tips forward with a punishing double.

“hHAhdt’TSZCHhh’uuu!! HhHDT’TSZSChhst!!”

They spray across your chin and neck, deliciously wrenching and wet. The Lieutenant gasps, head shaking almost imperceptibly as the tickle grinds vindictively against his sinuses – one final ‘fuck you’ - before he is lurching forward with a definitive, body-crunching explosion.

“hhHAHPT’TTZSSCHHhtt’iewww!!!”

It is the loudest and wettest sneeze you have ever heard from him. More importantly is the fact that he has managed to aim it down his body, chin squeezing against his collar bone. It drenches your cock in a teasing cloud of spray, the cooling sensation of it settling onto the delicate skin and elevating your orgasm beyond anything you thought imaginable. You are reeling with it, trembling pitifully.

Completely without means to control your own shuddering, you are helpless to fight it as your head drops back against the wall, thunking hard enough that there is pain even through the tremendous pleasure. You feel Kim slip a hand between your skull and the wall, cradling it protectively as you continue to shiver. The jarring movement seems to have triggered you to find your voice again and you moan stupidly, eyelashes aflutter.

Unlike your first orgasm, when the pleasure finally releases you this time, you slump as though dead. You have never come so close to losing consciousness from orgasm; you didn’t know it was something you were physically capable of (falling asleep immediately after the fact or passing out from drugs not-withstanding). Your breathing finally regains some semblance of consistency. Your eyes fell closed at some point and you make no move to open them. As you twitch with the occasional aftershock, wilting dick in hand, you feel Kim disembarking and hear him moving round. Your lascivious cock gives a few appreciative twitches at the sound of him blowing his nose.

“Harry. Harrier.” Kim calls your name softly from above, and you realise that you have started to doze.

“Mmf.” You grunt. You wish he would leave you to your peaceful oblivion.

A sudden cool sensation against your face makes you jolt slightly, eyes fluttering open. You look up at Kim, who is watching you with undisguised fondness and amusement, pressing a damp cloth to your cheek.

“Hi.” You manage.

“Hello.” Kim replies, before moving the cloth over your face and neck with a mechanical efficiency.

You grunt a little in indignation at being jostled here and there. You imagine this is what a milk drunk kitten being groomed by a fastidious and overbearing mother cat would feel like. Kim ignores your protests, wiping your dick clean with several quick strokes.

“Sorry.” He slows down just a little when you hiss and jerk as he works over the head of your cock, rubbing the over sensitised skin with tender care.

Your sticky hand is the last to be cleaned. You offer a lazy smirk as he wrinkles his nose at the sheer amount of mess you have made. The cloth, which you realise had been one of his many clean handkerchiefs, is tossed into the bin without a second thought. When you continue to sit there, arms hanging loosely at your sides, he clears his throat and looks pointedly at your crotch. Oh, right. You tuck your cock away, finally and blessedly flaccid.

“Do you normally make such a production of orgasm?” Kim asks in faux irritation, pulling his gloves back on.

You know he liked what he saw – he just likes to tease you. You ignore him, unable to formulate a witty or biting remark in response. Your brain is still jelly. Evidently your legs are, too – the second you try to stand, they are buckling under you. Kim steadies you, supporting your weight as best he can, until you are able to stand on your own. You swoon a little from the sudden rush of blood.

“You okay?” He asks, patting your back as you wash your hands in the basin.

“Fuck, man. I’m better than okay. I’m the living embodiment of Disco, baby.”

You giggle a little, loopy from the rush of endorphins. Your head also feels about a thousand times clearer, your morale at an all-time high – which gives you all the confidence you need to follow through on what you have been dying to do for days.

You turn to Kim, some variation of ‘The Expression’ plastered onto your face. With one fell swoop, you are scooping him up and depositing him roughly onto the bed, pulling a startled and rather undignified squawk out of him. Before he has time to stand up, you lower your mass over him, pressing a thigh between his legs and up against his cock and balls. The moan that escapes him is an unexpected and embarrassing to him as it is intoxicating and motivating to you. His hands reach up to grip your shoulders.

“You’re hard.” You mutter, before leaning forward and pressing a series of kisses to the exposed column of the Lieutenant’s neck.

“Astute observation, detective,” he breathes out, using his grip to pull you closer and arching himself up against you.

“I still want to make you cum. Will you let me now?” You nose along his jawline, careful to avoid pressing too hard and ruining the moment with a poorly timed sneeze. He shudders and bucks up against your leg, squeezing his thighs around it.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

That’s as clear an affirmation as you’ve ever heard. You reach between his legs, balancing over him on one arm. As nice as it felt for the position to be reversed, you can’t deny that your present arrangement is reaffirming to your masculinity. You spit into your hand, then manoeuvre his rock-solid cock out of his pants and hold it for a moment in your palm, getting a feel for the weight and thickness of it. You look down the lengths of your bodies in appreciation at the pretty head, beaded with moisture. You swipe over it with your thumb, spreading the wetness around and pulling a shaky sigh out Kim in response.

Before you can begin to stroke the Lieutenant, he is gripping your chin with one hand and forcing you to look at him.

“One thing before you start.” His brown eyes burn into your own. “If you ever pick me up like that again, I’m breaking both your arms.”

He is only half joking. He appreciates your wanton displays of virile masculinity, but he does not appreciate being caught off guard and thrown around like a toy. You nod within his grip, and he releases you, pulling your face to the crook of his neck and moaning in appreciation as your hand starts to pump him. He temporarily lets go of your shoulder to reach down and pull his t-shirt up to his nipples before resuming his hold, gripping you almost possessively.

“Is that an appropriate way to speak to your superior officer, Lieutenant?” You tease. There are times that you are especially grateful for the heavy timbre of your voice, and now is one of them.

You work your way over Kim’s neck with tiny kisses. His jugular flutters under your lips with each frantic beat of his heart.

“I believe it’s warranted when you’ve made your superior officer orgasm twice by sneezing on his person.” He murmurs, intoxicatingly breathless, into your ear, making you shudder involuntarily. You feel the smile on his lips as he nibbles gently on your ear lobe. Oh, god. He’s a monster. He’s going to eat you alive, and you’ll happily let him.

“God. You can’t be doing that. I’m serious, Kim, you’ll make me hard again.”

You don’t want him to stop. You want to lie there and let him tease every inch of your body. But this is no longer about you. You are overflowing with endorphins and post-orgasmic rejuvenation, and it is the Lieutenant who has brought you to such a state. He deserves your total and undivided attention.

It feels wonderful to stroke his cock, and you seem to be very good at it, if Kim’s increasingly enthusiastic moans and gasps are of any indication. His skin is velvety soft in your calloused palm, and everything feels perfect and grounded and right. A sudden wave of emotion overcomes you as you realise this is the happiest you have been in a very long time. You blink the traitorous tears away before they threaten to fall, but there is still a lump in your throat. You’re beginning to suspect you are just a regular sex crier.

“I can hear you thinking,” Kim gasps out.

You lift your head out of the crook of his neck to look into his face. He looks amazing like this, as though he can barely believe how good it feels, eyebrows furrowed and teeth worrying his bottom lip.

“I’m thinking about you.” You murmur, pressing your thigh even harder against his balls and squeezing his cock with a purposefully slow upstroke. He writhes under you, and the half-strangled sob he makes as his hands scramble for purchase on your blazer is possibly the best sound you have ever heard in your life (sneezing aside).

“Harry-! Plus fort, comme ça…!”

You obey, increasing the force of your grip as you squeeze him, a steady and punishing rhythm. His closed-mouth groan of approval spurs you on.

“I meant it all. Everything I said. And I’ll still mean it tomorrow, and the day after that.” You know this, with the strongest sense of clarity you have experienced since the start of your amnesia. “I want to fuck you. I want you to fuck me. Do you want that?”

You omit the ‘do you want me’ part.

“Fuck…” Kim mutters. “Fuck, yesss.”

Your heart is overflowing. You feel hope, real genuine hope, for a better future. One where maybe you don’t hate yourself, and happiness isn’t something reserved for the rest of the world while you stand on the periphery looking in. You watch his face, his head thrashing from side to side on the pillow. He grits his teeth, eyebrows furrowed in ecstasy. He’s done for. Push him over the edge.

“I want you to cum all over yourself. Make a mess for me, Kim.”

The Lieutenant gasps, tossing his head back as his entire body tenses underneath you. His cock spits in your grasp, painting his torso with white stripes of pleasure. He is certainly making a mess; the sight makes your mouth water. You rub him through it, drinking in his soft whines and hitching breaths. You’re impressed by the amount of semen that spurts out of him – you wonder if he is as disciplined with his orgasms as with his cigarettes. Maybe he’s in the middle of a dry spell. Or maybe you’re just that good. It is probably an amalgamation of all three reasons.

You stroke him until he reaches down to tap on your wrist, signalling over-stimulation. Your movements cease and you loosen your grip, cradling his twitching cock like a delicate treasure. Your eyes haven’t left his face. The serene look of satisfied blankness makes him look youthful and handsome. Your heart aches to look at him, but it’s a sweet, gnawing agony that you would rather endure.

When he opens his eyes to glance at you, a shy little smile playing on his lips, you are unable to stop yourself from leaning forward and pressing your foreheads together. The frames of his glasses dig into your face, but you do not care. Still, you make a mental note to do this again sans spectacles. He reaches up to wrap both arms around your shoulders. He is much more affectionate post-orgasm than you would have expected, but you have learned a great deal of things about him today that have equally surprised and delighted you.

“Good?”

“Very,” He presses a small kiss against the side of your mouth. “I need a moment. Fuck.”

You cannot help it. You beam like a moron. You can add ‘Sex God’ and/or ‘Certified Orgasm Donor’ to your extensive list of talents. Let yourself have this moment before you must return to the cruel world of responsibilities and capital. You lower yourself onto Kim, soft gut resting against lithe stomach, closing the gap between the two of you entirely. You remember the copious semen a moment too late.

“You’ll ruin your shirt.” Kim protests weakly, but his heart is not in it. He sounds half-asleep.

“Whatever. I have a spare.”

Several spares, actually. A veritable wardrobe of bold fashion statements just waiting to be made as you limp around Martinaise.

The pair of you lie there in satisfaction until the threat of impending sleep urges Kim to shove your uncooperative mass off of him. You sigh, sitting up on the bed and removing your blazer and shirt. You use a dry section of the shirt’s fabric to clean Kim’s torso and cock before it is unceremoniously balled up and tossed in the bin, alongside the equally as tarnished washcloth and handkerchief. Sorry, Isobel. The room is muggy with the smell of your sex.

You look through your things for another shirt, pulling yourself together, and in time Kim stands and rights himself too. He wets (and wastes) another handkerchief going over his cock. The pair of you dress and clean in relative silence.

“Well.” You offer up to the air after several minutes, wincing only a little as you lean carelessly on your bad leg.

“Well.” The Lieutenant echoes.

The two of you wear matching expressions of smugness. That was some ground-shaking sex, and you both know it. You don’t need to say anything – following a successful conclusion to the murder investigation, this will happen again. It will probably even happen again following an unsuccessful outcome, unless that outcome entails significant maiming and/or death.

The Lieutenant lets you lead the way, and as you step out into the waning afternoon sunlight, the world seems just a little bit brighter.

#the sheer number of CWs lol #lmk if there's anything else I ought to mention - I tried to cover it all #this is extremely self-indulgent and got away from me but I hope some of you get something out of it!#RIP to everyone in the fishing village subjected to the noises coming out of that shack #nametakenfic #d/isco e/lysium #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz fet #snz kink #snz fucker #snzblr #sneeze fucker

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