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ofcarnvge · 1 year

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Unarmed

@annalis-e--shadowofpanem

Ninja. The word still touched Amy in a way that made her laugh. “There’s so much attached to the name now that it makes me cringe to even hear it. But accepted it. The tactics Scarlet Ink used were in homage to the ninja of old, but they were no longer around to christen my work as an extension of their own. But this compliment, and others, feel just as good. I just hope I've earned I."

Amy studied her hands as the knife passed between her fingers. It was a miracle of dermatology that kept them as smooth as they were....but she wouldn't hesitate to ruin them for a smither's hammer. “Lux Hall is getting bigger every day," she mused. "If it hasn't made room for a smithy yet, I'll commission one. If my name still carries any weight, I'm sure your hammer will be the first of many requests. But, alas, the first." She winked.

Amy stowed the knife and looked out the window. "Most of the journey is behind us. We'll be over land soon, and after that, it'll only be about two hours. I imagine Floss is already on the move, getting everything she needs for her solution--"

Amy's phone buzzed with a message: ....about that.... txt me at this number. --amber. Her brow furrowed. "And the plot continues to thicken," she muttered. She began to type away a response but managed to divide her attention for Go Go.

"I will ask a favor of you, however," she said. "Leslie's spent the better part of a year trying to set herself apart from Agnes and Saga. If she is successful in any measure of that goal...it would ease a lot of her pain to know it. I imagine hearing it from you would mean quite a deal. It may even lead her to use that gift of hers for more good. I imagine it would do wonders for therapy. Anything other than simply sticking needles in her neck daily."

Amy hit send. "Just a thought."

---

Amy: Not even tapping phone calls anymore. youre just flat-out listening.

Amber scoffed into her straw as she drank the last of her soda. She tossed the can, opened another, and wrote back.

Amber: its not all that hard.

Amy: Can I help you??

Amber: Floss's solution involves a synthesizer. She's cast a net for one in the area around her.

Amy: Yes. and?

Amber: Someone in Texas cast the same net. I was gonna let it go, I figured it was maybe one of you, but...its bothering me.

She'd never admit that these strangers across the sea were the only "friends" she had. Eventually, the data on her screen boiled over into action.

Amber noticed that Amy's response was slightly delayed. No audio from her phone tap either.

Amy: There was an inquiry into air traffic that may have involved the Eboncry just before we took off. If I give you the plane's old transponder ID, can you see if there's any correlation?

Amber: No need. Already got it. one sec.

Amber turned to her left, pulled up the data, and ran a brief cross-reference. After seeing the result, Amber sat her can down.

Amber: Two terminal users in different locations, one searching for the synthesizers and another who ran the search for the Eboncry's last known. They've been in constant contact with one another.

Amy:...so we are being tracked. But only by two people?

Amber: Yea. Both PCs are personal terminals. One of them is a laptop.

Again, there was a pause in Amy's reply.

Amy: What would it cost me to convince you to keep a quiet eye on this and report back?

Amber: I'm already on it. Don't worry, I'm sure I'll think of something.

Amber moved across the table to the screen on her right where she performed a series of commands for a remote hack. It was simple... but doing it with enough grace to not be detected took a degree of patience.

Patience that Amber had in droves. Half an hour of commands later and she found herself smiling at two remote access feeds, complete with device data, MAC addresses, and more. She had them dead to rights.

"Hello Mallory," she cackled. "Hi, Milo." She reached for her can again and took a sip. "Hope you don't mind me sitting here."

The smile stayed on Go go’s face at the thought. To just be able to train for the pleasure of it, it was a gift.

“You’re on, and I’d take any tips on the kunai - I was never any good with them.” She replied amicably. Amy’s phone snagged at her and Go go wondered what she’d meant when she said Agnes had her hand in a far worse crime; the Shadows existed in a complex web, one she was only just starting to get any understanding of.

She unfolded her arms and stood from her perch on the back of the chair. “When I get a moment with Leslie I’ll try to have a talk with her, I’d like her to know. For now I’ll be sitting with O-ren. let me know when we’re landing.”

Go go departed for the makeshift infirmary where the once Yakuza Queen still lay serene and still, apart from her steady breathing. Go go reached out to brush the few stray strands of hair away from her forehead.

“Not long now.” She said quietly. “And then we’ll have you back on your feet, we’ll deal with everything else after that.”

That smile came back to Go go’s face. It hadn't just been violence and manipulation that had driven her to her occupation. She remembered, with both the wince of immaturity and a twinge of tenderness for her younger self that being a skilled martial artist was just, cool.

But since there was no one to see in the solitude of the room she took O-ren’s hand and leant down conspiratorially, looking for just a moment like the weight of the world had never broken her spirit, never turned her into a weapon, never created the need for the painful but necessary growth on the other side of those events;

“...And get a load of this...Amy’s a ninja!”

The genetic laboratories at Cambridge University had always been in the basement. Initially it had been a space issue - the machines were large and the department was new. Not so much these days, but the little scientific eco-system of researchers and PhD students clung tenderly to their subterranean habitat.

When Lillian Evans, a visiting researcher from a few years back turned up in the staff room with Danish pastries everyone was pleased to see her. She had a way of being generally liked. And they certainly asked no questions when she asked to borrow their machines for the day. It was, afterall a favor for a student she was supervising, and they’d all been there.

The genetic data streamed into the machine from the hard drive Lillian hooked up to it and promised she’d be back the next day to check up on it’s progress. Once the sequencer had done it’s work the synthesizer would kick into life automatically, generating a completely unique code for a vaccine.

Lillian walked out of the building and got back in her car, the Italian she’d ordered would be ready to pick up by now.

There were three sequencers at Cambridge University; Two were old dinosaurs, two decades old without so much as a usb port. Lillian had walked past those to the one at the end of the row, the recent model the university had splashed out on, it could sequence about a third quicker than the others...and it had a small bundle of ethernet cables connecting it by hardwire directly to the university’s computer infrastructure.

The progress bar on the screen moved along gradually but steadily.

When it reached forty percent, a laptop in an apartment in Texas gave a high pitched jangle of a notification and Mallory Llewellyn ran over from where she had been preparing dinner in the kitchen.

She was so excited she picked up and hit speed dial on the phone, ignoring the pan that was threatening to boil over on the hob.

“Milo! We got it!”

“That was fast, where??”

Mallory left the phone on speaker on the kitchen island as she ran around frenetically, shoving everything she’d need into a case.

“My instinct was right -” She finally ran over and turned off the rice pan. “-I’m getting the next flight to England, probably have to fly into Norwich since Heathrow is long gone. I’ll hire a car to get to Cambridge.”

“And then what Mallory?”

“This is just surveillance for now.” She paused after she said that. The contacts she would have used for arms had disappeared with London, and getting a weapon through a commercial airport unseen was always a hassle, but perhaps necessary. “Lets find out who we’re dealing with.”

#annalis-e--shadowofpanem #Unarmed

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husbandohunter · 3 years

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Mermaids exist in stardew, yes? So imagine a mermaid farmer for Zhongli, Kaeya and Diluc it could be in Yandere setting or not. I just wanna know their reaction when they found out and how it’ll effect their relationship. Will it brew angst, love, or both

Part of your world [Genshin x Mermaid!Reader]{Stardew Impact series}

Synopsis: You came from the sea and he takes you through a journey of what it was like to live on land despite your differences.

Genre: Fluff

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli

"I threw in Childe because I had an idea for him xD It's fluff month so everything is going to be happy from now on >.>"

=============================

{Diluc}

It was a hot summer day when Diluc first found you lying unconscious ashore. You had just swam far and wide from the ocean world, the climate deemed unideal for your case. With no one else around, he took the initiative to help you out of your situation.

He shortly found out by the slight appearances of scales gracing your legs that you were neither a human or someone coming from the town nearby. As legendary as mermaids are, Diluc wanted nothing to do with you. His beginning plan was to find your relatives and send you out of his house (Additional work isn’t welcomed when he has so much already). However, you latched onto him pretty quickly since he was the one who saved you.

Here stands a human, a creature that you always wanted to interact with, in your perspective he may look a little stern but he must have plenty of knowledge to offer based on all the antiques he owns.

The only problem was that you two had no way to communicate. Different worlds meant different languages. Whenever Diluc told you that you couldn’t stay, all you did was tilt your head and whenever you tried expressing what you wanted to say, well, normally bubbles would come out of your mouth since they were an indication for your words.

He gave up on trying to kick you out and simply allowed you to take residence as long as you stayed out of his workaholic life. You would tend to his farm while he was absent on other matters and feeding animals in the barn (a lot to do but a win-win situation now that you were able to discover what it was like to live on land at the same time). Though you were also a handful, most of the time Diluc had to excuse himself from his desk when you thought the rake was some sort of hair brush and he forbade you from using the bulldozer. Quite honestly you caused him a lot of stress. He spent most of his hours teaching you and before he knew, it was already a habit of his.

The only words you knew were three words. If you wanted to eat you would say ‘fish’. If you were thirsty, you would say ‘water’. If it was anything else, you would say ‘Diluc.’

He allows you to take long baths since he knows how hydrated mermaids must stay at all times. Orders a pool to be built in his front yard (at least this way helps him save his costly electricity bills). Diluc also borrows books from the library museum for you to read, anything that you would find interesting, (mostly they were about alphabets and picture-based stories (it felt like he was raising a child).)

Easily gets worried when you step into town with him, he keeps a watchful eye in case you collapse and extra bottles when you need a drink. Most of the time, he had to keep an eye on you since you had the natural instinct to waltz into whatever interested you, such as dancing in annual festivities (which you dragged him along of course). It was how he grew attached to your presence because you truly knew how to appreciate the world around you when he himself was too busy to do so.

Two worlds merged and he was learning how to live in yours too, how you perceive things. Building sandcastles, collecting seashells, listening to the echoes resounding within them. Activities he thought were unnecessary suddenly gained the meaning he had lost long ago. Diluc grew too fast at maximum speed, trying to get as many things done as he could, until he was pulled back by the emotional waves of your kindness and compassion, onto the shore he failed to live on. How ironic reality can be.

{Childe}

Everyone knew how much Childe loved to fish. He sets out at sea every evening to capture a batch of flounders, hopefully stumbling upon a legendary one.

In a way, he did. Just not what he expected. What he pulled out of the waters seemed to be a human-sized fish sitting upon the other residues caught in between. ‘A mermaid…?’ he thought, still digesting the fact in front of him. (No wonder the net felt so heavy).

At the same time he wanted to take you with and sell you for a good price but knew how mad Tonia would get when she found out. So he lets you go free. The thing is, you swam behind his boat and followed him back to land. This was how your relationship with Childe started, to this day he continues to jest upon that memory.

Tonia took most of the responsibility to coach you about human life. One of them was table etiquette, before you ate with only your hands which caused a mess. Childe would laugh hysterically at it until Tonia reminded him, “This is also what happens when you use chopsticks, big brother.”

Teucer invites you to basically anything since you have so much patience. Childe shortly realizes that he was soon going to be replaced as the eldest caretaker and you couldn’t even talk at that time. So it was only fair that he included himself in the circle while interacting with your way of communicating: sign language (Surprisingly, he was naturally good at it. Though his movements are rather exaggerated and...ungraceful).

You were nice enough to accompany him to his fishing tasks and soon enough became your daily activities. Childe takes the lead as you follow him from the side, sometimes he lets go of the steering wheel and allows you to push the boat instead (he kept a note to himself that in your mermaid mode, your strength multiplied by a large number). Other times he felt a little risky and decided to jump in the ocean with you for a swimming session. It worried you immensely but your anxiety subsided when you saw how much fun he was having and for the rest of the time, you both explored what the ocean had to offer.

Childe used to be a fish-cook enthusiast. Not anymore (since that day you cried when glancing at the flounder dish he placed on the table). He had to stick to seaweed or any other plant-based meals with a little bit of meat but too much would cause your stomach to churn. Since his siblings complained at the sudden change, he had to make a separate meal plan for them. With a mermaid in the house was certainly high-maintenance indeed.

Cuddling with you in front of the cracking fire blazing under the chimney was one of the calmest moments indulged himself in. He often chooses the life where the waves crash constantly, anticipating a thrilling storm that comes ahead. But you were just a lull at the sea, the mediator he needed in times where his siblings needed a mother-figure. Sometimes he fears that you would leave him and return to where your true family lives but he was grateful that you chose him above all else. He was grateful that by chance, he captured you at sea. One thing he loved about life was the unpredictability the future brings, including the blessings. Even if you were a creature from far away, in your presence he felt like he was truly at home.

{Kaeya}

When the tides rose above his head, Kaeya was sure that he was done for. The surfboard he recently stood upon slips off beneath his feet and he falls into the ocean’s merciless waves. No oxygen, no time to catch his breath amidst the impact, his eyes were slowly closing and the last thing he saw was the sun’s light beyond the heavy surface, along with the murky visual of someone swimming in front of it.

Although he almost drowned, the idea of being saved by a pretty mermaid makes up for the fact (He has a natural tendency to flirt at anything eye-catching even if you were an outlandish being). You on the other hand was confused by his advances as you couldn’t understand a word he was saying, hence you swam away.

Those beginning days when you chose to explore the land, Kaeya remembers how much trouble you had with walking using your new legs. He had to hold both your hands while leading you forward, he found it rather cute when you tighten your grip the moment you felt that he was going to let go (he was only bluffing of course but you still hissed at him). Still, Kaeya ensures that you don’t fall to the ground, he catches you in time when you collapse while laughing, “You’re doing great sweetheart.”

In return you teach him how to read the ocean’s movements so that he won’t drown again. Kaeya spends more time around the beach since he knows that the water bodies are where you were most comfortable with. He tells you that you always smell like saltwater whenever he buries his face in your hair, perhaps that was how he grew attached to the ocean as well.

In summer seasons there were several days where you had to sleep in his bathtub because the air was so dry. As a mermaid, he had to tolerate many of your unique quirks, in this case he had to deal with showering in cold water since you took up all the electricity. Another case was your wine tolerance, no one could challenge you to a drinking contest when your body could sustain large amounts of liquids. Kaeya sometimes jokes if you could turn him into a merman like those in fairytale books so he can have the same experience. You take it as a joke while he was also being half-serious.

When you have to take a temporary trip home, Kaeya visits the dock every evening and waits for you to come back, trying to see any signs of your colourful tail. He glances at the ocean he grew to love, knowing where he stood is as far as he could go and anywhere beyond the boundary was out of his reach. So many people left him in his life and even though he knew you wouldn’t do the same, he still worries. Uncertain if you would abandon him too.

Your existence became the center of his life the moment you chose to walk upon land with him. Side by side, through small hurdles the seashore and hurdles as big as the wave that almost killed him the day he met you, Kaeya keeps them all as if they were the most precious treasure a pirate could find. It didn’t matter if you were different from everyone else because despite your tail, all he could see was you.

{Zhongli}

While Zhongli strolls along the sandy beach, he follows the alluring sound of your singing voice. You sat upon the rock while humming along what seems to be an old folk tune, similar to what Guizhong once sang. The man folds his arms and closes his eyes. Many years have passed since he last heard something like this, “Your voice, it’s very lovely.”

He was a geologist who worked by the museum, collecting different types of rocks and seashells that would wash up shore. You became very familiar with his daily routine that before he pays a visit to the beach again, a pile of interesting rocks would be waiting for him by the docks. It was a gift. And Zhongli would bring snacks like seaweed soup as an accommodation for your kindness.

Unlike Kaeya, when you couldn’t walk because your legs were too weak to be used, Zhongli helps you with every step along the way even if the trip was a slow one. He even offered to have you carried when he saw you were having too much trouble but you insisted on trying. The whole trip that usually took ten minutes was a three hour walk.

Even though he knew many things, your language was not one of them. However he was willing to learn. Both of you have study sessions regarding each other’s culture. For you it’s the way humans drink with cups because of Zhongli being a tea fanatic himself, he even showed you how to hold a tea cup properly. You taught him how to swim since he had been so occupied on land that swimming never crossed his mind. Thankfully he was naturally good at it due to his tall stature (albeit a little scared when diving into an environment unknown and different to him).

Zhongli loves the way you sing and he would ask every time he wanted to read a book. Either under the tree on a warm spring day or on the couch when it was storming outside. Although he intended to get some reading done, Zhongli can’t help but fall asleep. You didn’t want to wake him up (and you could carry him if you wanted to thanks to your mega-mermaid strength) so by morning, you’d find yourselves in the same spot and your lap feeling numb.

Earth and sea were separated for a reason so that the creatures may stay upon the place where they belong. That wasn’t enough to separate you from him though. Zhongli would travel to the sea to see you and you mustered the courage to walk upon the hard surface of land. The two were only parts of the world but together they are part of the world, connected to form a whole new life.

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mochikeiji · 4 years

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Kinktober Day 7: Baby in Pink

↠ Pairing: Suna Rintarou x Reader

↠ Warning: SMUT! Cry baby reader, Ballerina AU, fingering, cunnilingus, ahegao faces because he's THAT good, riding, creampie, Suna being soft but meanie dom.

↬ Word Count: 3k

⇢ Day 7: Manhandled (Riding)

Everything felt so magical; elegant. The way you were on pointe made him suck in a breath to every performance he has witnessed from you. Even if he's seen them many, many times in repeat, you were as graceful as a butterfly, as taunting as a little fairy in baby pink. To see how effortlessly you were lifted by your partner during daring performances made him clench his fists of how close those pesky fingers of a stranger were to parts only he was allowed, yet his mind in wonder of how easily handled you were in stage.

How easily you were being handled in so many ways corrupted delicious, arousing day dreams in his calm features, but buzzing head.

He's never been vocal about it, but he adores how tight your ballet clothing were. He especially loved the camisole leotard dress; each time you wore them, he catches a glimpse of your perfectly shaped bottom from the flowy, see through clothing. Thanking the dark, and captured audience to the people on stage and not notice the growing bulge in his pants and his harsh breathing through his nose. The baby pink tone of your attire made you glow of innocence and cuteness he so wants to carry you out and throw you to his bed to snuggle you away from the eyes of the world.

To take your dainty, little self in the cold sheets with the baby pink article of clothing ruined by yours and his cum splattering messily.

The times your eyes would get caught with his pretty ones after your search for him in the sea of the crowd, you would smile brightly st him, eyes forming the adorable crescents he recognizes even from afar. The former, emotionless middle blocker would be in love struck, as if Cupid had shot multiple arrows to his heart just by your glowing form.

You were so precious. His little ballerina.

And he was your prince. Big and strong, beautiful in every way, fit from his previous and present time in volleyball, too good for anyone in this world. He was yours.

"R-rin.."

Too good.

Too good enough for you to be trembling, and just by grinding yourself on his flexed thigh. He couldn't hold back anymore after seeing you present yourself with your new outfit. It was still the same color, but the fabric was thinner than usual, either it was to make your movements more easier or it was just to test his patience. The length of the flowy skirt had been shortened with your legs no longer covered, naked and soft looking, the chest area emphasized your bust too much for his liking.

Oh, you were so delectable.

He groans your name when he felt your juices seep out from your clothed pussy. It was almost as if you weren't even covered well with it. Big, rough hands at the sides of your hips, guiding your shy movements against his thigh to bring you to your awaited heaven. You whimper when he dug his fingers onto the skin, the sounds you were making muffled on his shoulder only making it hard for him to tame himself. Having enough of it, he easily hoisted you up from his thigh and settles you down in bed. God, did he love having a place all to himself with you in it. He gets to do whatever he pleases.

"Pretty."

It came out like a harsh whisper from his lips as he stares at the damped spot of your center. The skirt pushed up and your legs spread out for him, he gets a little closer in between them and drags his digits down your clothed slit. Eyes immediately gazing up to see you biting your fist and your legs quivering in sensitivity. He hums in delight and began pressing in his index on the slick clothing, his thumb rubbing lazy circles on your clit, relishing the sounds of your soft moans and his name being chanted like a prayer.

"Shit, baby."

Cursing he pushes the leotard to the side, inserting two of his digits in and curls them quickly, wanting to see and hear your squeals as your grabbed his wrist and propped yourself up pathetically with your elbow.

"W-wait, sensitive.."

Glossy eyes meeting with his blank, but lust clouded ones. He'd take mercy whenever you would warn him at times like this, afraid he might've hurt you in the process, but this, you weren't hurt or anything. You were just being his little cry baby. Instead of listening to your plead and your small hands tightening around his wrist weakly retraining him, he pulls his fingers out slowly, licking his lips at the sight of the transparent, coated digits before plunging back in roughly. You sobbed as your body gave out and laid back down, with his other hand pressing down your stomach, he delivers precise piston of his fingers inside you. He knew you can take it. You can, and you will.

"Rin!! A-ah, Tarou..please.."

Legs trying to slowly shut with his head still in between, he hums in approval before getting a taste of your sopping cunt and lapping his tongue up to your clit. He loved getting crushed with your thighs, they were so soft and jiggly when they shook. It boosted his own ego to have them at that state because of his meek minitrations. What more can he get from you when he snaps?

He suckles on the bundle of nerves, your toes curls as your hips arched up, eagerly grinding to his mouth while pleading for him to stop since his fingers were reaching too deep into the right places inside. Suna was in his own euphoria, never really pegged himself as a man who would get drunk into the taste of you and a man who has his dick prodded up to the air just by seeing you in such princess-like clothing. Writhing beneath him, you lowered your hand down to his hair, tugging the long, luscious brown locks of his as he won't let go of the erected nub, slurping and nibbling at it like a pro.

His own arousal begging to be freed from his black slack, the infuriating fabric getting compacted uncomfortably, making his cock ache painfully. Removing his hand from your stomach, he unbuckled the belt off of his trousers swiftly, shrugging them down and kicking them off with his legs and feet, finally releasing your nub with a pop and mercy left for you.

Your legs automatically closed themselves to soothe the sensitive regions. Gripping the pillow on the side of your head as your clouded eyes gaze elsewhere into a short subspace, panting with small drool slipping from the corner of your lips. Suna sees this and gets up from the floor to hover over you. He shouldn't be so rough; shouldn't take advantage of this state you are in, not when your such in full daze of your own world, not when you looked already so fucked out when he hasn't gotten to the good part.

"You okay?"

The tip of his nose nudges your cheek softly, like a cat, he nuzzles himself on your flushed skin. It was out of character for him to display such affection, but over the years of being with you, oh how his heart softened and crumbles at the mere presence of you. He peppers your cheeks with little kisses, swiping away the drool with his thumb, murmuring praises and love confessions to you.

"You're cute."

"I'm here, baby."

"Mmm.. You're still dripping."

His voice made you dizzy, strum like a string of tantalizing melody as you inhaled his musky scent that made you dig your nose at the crook of his neck. Whimpering a little when you felt something slide outside your folds, warm and hard, Suna grunts and pants out small puffs of air onto your ear. You were so slick and wet that it was tempting to just dick you down right now. But you were his little baby, he had to take care of you first. He wouldn't want to hurt you.

"Will you let me take care of you?"

Your blown pupils lost the clouds that has surrounded them as you moaned out, his teeth sinking in the tender flesh by your neck with your hips jolting up, meeting with his twitching cock. Hands flying to clutch onto his shoulders, you wished you had kept your legs closed as now your flower was being teased to death. Suna groans when he feels you twitch a little, how adorable, he thoughts.

"Well?"

He bites on your lower lip, tugging it whilst keeping the eye contact with you, like he was ravishing you with his pretty eyes as sweat slid down to your face.

"I'm waiting."

He grabs a hold of his cock, you expected he was going to pump a few jets, but instead he began slapping it against your weeping cunt. Squealing at the sound of wet skin slapping and the small waves of pleasure kicking in, you whined beneath him when he chuckles darkly, looking up to him with puppy like eyes.

"Rin, please.."

He stops, leaning forward so that his forehead was pressing to yours, exhaling out softly when he felt himself release a few pre cum jets out from his cock.

"Please what?"

Even though he was getting as needy as you were, he was still Suna Rintarou, a guy who loves to be in control and manipulate what he can. Loves to endlessly put you on edge to have your small hands scratching his skin, your body trapped from his bigger structure. He was addicted.

Frustrated, tears glossed over your eyes with some slipping down a little. You would've screamed at him for being a big meanie, but now you were stuck pouting and crying when you felt him rut against you once more.

"Please!! Need your cock, Rintarou!!"

As those words escaped your plumped lips, Suna cages you in his arms and quickly switches positions with you in a blink of an eye. Confusion written all over your features as you gasped a little when you were now laying on his chest, Suna adjusting his head on the pillow, enough to see you shaking above him and gives your ass a soft smack, rubbing the soft, globe flesh and squishing it with his hand. Your leotard still pushed to the side, allowing his finger to tease the slit up and down, watching you start to lose yourself above him and push back, hoping to get more friction.

"You said you wanted my cock, right baby?"

You couldn't make out what he was saying, too busy rubbing against the knuckle of his index, clawing his chest to ground yourself. The veins in his arms and hands were noticeable, you can really tell he had been keeping himself together. With you above him, arms pressed to your chest, letting your tits be a show for him, hair fanning your features like some kind of princess as the uniform you were now wearing stuck to your skin from the sweat that had built up. Good thing you had spare ones.

Lining himself up to your cunt, he removes his hand away from you as you cried from the lost. Both of his hands found their way back to your bottom, lifting you up with is before slamming you down to his hard cock with a loud moan erupting from his chest and you left with wide eyes and mouth agape.

"Take it, little girl."

The sudden thrust of his cock stung, but it didn't hurt much. No, it made you shocked, panting as if you were in some sort of heat, tongue sticking out at the feeling of his dick stretching you deliciously, the length and thickness making you feel so stuffed. He felt so deeper in this position, you couldn't move. You felt that if you were to try and thrust up and down, you would break. It was all too much.

Suna felt the same way. His head burnt, spinning like a spell was cast upon him when he was engulfed by the warmth of your cunny. Fuck, your walls kept fluttering and tightening around his cock. Every muscle on his body was flexed as he breathed heavily. You were so heavenly right now, he could cum on the spot inside of you.

"R-rin...So big.."

Covering your mouth with your hands, you tried raising your hips up a little, the lewd friction creating a pleasurable wave to your spine as you sunk down immediately, choking out a moan behind your palms and crying. You couldn't move.

Suna licked his lips at the sight before prying your hands away from your mouth and sitting up against the headboard of the bed, pushing you from the small of your back to his chest closer, his hands roaming around your hot, flushed body and cupping your breast through the fabric. Before you knew it, you squealed loudly when you heard a ripping sound from the chest area.

He had finally ruined the skimpy camisole leotard from you, letting your breast free with his face nuzzling into them and taking a nipple in his mouth. His hands went back to your hips, finally guiding you to a slow rhythm as he thrusts back carefully. Moaning softly, you cradled his head in your arms while he suckles on your nipples. Relishing the soft, yet deep thrusts given to you as each second passes.

"Y-you a-ah..Had to r-rip it, o-oh my—"

Tugging his hair from his roots when he moved to the other breast and bit harshly. He tugged the nippled with his teeth softly before lapping his tongue to soothe away the sting.

"You have spare ones. Besides,"

Pushing away from you, his eyes raked to your entirely new look. The ripped fabric hanging loosely with your breast on display, your cunt being stuffed full with his cock, you and your entire form within his control.

"You look so precious right now."

He delivers one hard thrust that made you fall to his chest, only then do you realize that you were not the one moving, but him all along. His pace quickens, the moans and cries from you onlt fueling him more. Suna shuts his eyes as his senses heightened by you.

"U-unf, hah— I'm sorry!!"

Your tears falling to his chest made him shiver and worry, he tried slowing doen his pace, but he feels your hips move around cutely trying to meet with his movements.

"I-I'm sorry, R-in...Ah— I couldn't mo-move!"

You were apologizing just because you couldn't give him the exact treatment and pleasure he was giving you. Normally, guilt would eat you out at this second, but you were far more succumbed by feeling stuffed, the thought of him cumming inside you blocked all other thoughts away. Precious, absolutely precious.

His hand cupped your cheek, giving it a small pinch of adoration and wiping away the tears that had still been falling from receiving his cock.

"It's okay, let me handle you, sweetheart."

Screaming, he began ramming himself inside of you. It burned, it burned so good it hurts, like your insides were being rearranged. His balls smacking up to your ass that was shaking and being squeezed and slapped by Suna's other hand in repeat. You could only stick your tongue out as you tried to make a sound, but it was all too good all that was left is you sobbing dumbly on his chest with Suna grunting and whispering praises beneath you.

"S-so fucking tight.. God, princess, I feel like ah— 'm gonna break you."

Petting your hair, he doesn't stop his pace. They weren't lying when they said this man uses his entire body to use. Was he so strong and flexible to be able to do this to you. Your balled fist went to grab his hand from your hair, lacing your fingers with his and held his hand, weakly raising your head up.

"A-ah, ah, inside.. Please.. Rin, 'm g-gonna break.. need you. Ngh!! INSIDE!!"

Your voice came out louder at the end when his tip reaches your spot. Moans turning into those you'd hear in pornography feeling your cunt get abused.

"Shit—"

He looked so nefarious; head thrown back, his mouth opening and closing, trying to silent out his own moans to his embarrassment and his hand holding yours tightly. He was to drool for, a real life incubus.

"I-I'm cumming..fuck, take it, baby."

"R-RINTAROU!! N-NO, NO MORE HAH— SLOW DOWN! R-RIN!!"

"SHIT, (Y/N)—"

Your cunt convulsed around his pulsing cock. The rush of adrenaline wrapping themselves to every fiber of your bones as you sobbed loudly, feeling yourself cream for what it's worth around his cock, his own hot, load shooting inside your womb, holding his breath as both your hands gripped each other with toes curling.

"F-fuck, you okay?"

Finishing the last drop, he doesn't pull out immediately. Not wanting to suddenly knock out some oxygen from you, he gives the crown of your head kisses with his thumb stroking the back of your hand. You puffed out breathy pants, body tired and throat scratchy from what happened seconds ago. The redness of your cheeks and the baby hairs the stuck to your forehead made you look so adorable to his eyes, that he leaned forward to kiss your temple.

"T-thank you, Rin...Love you so much."

He can make out the small hearts in your dazed eyes, mewling softly when he accidentally thrusts in while moving his position. Your eyes scrunched up closed, burying yourself on his chest with a small voice,

"Sensitive.."

"I know."

His other arm wrapped around you tightened, rubbing his cheek on your head affectionately. He loved moments like this in doors, just you, him, your bodies as one together in bed. His beautiful, little ballerina in his arms with the soft, baby pink and look on her features and body. It made him smile secretly from you.

"I love you too, my ballerina."

And he began moving again inside of you.

3K notes · View notes

h2obased · 2 years

Text

Another Word For Surveillance - Part 7

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You asked Bucky out. He said no. Cool. So how do you move on from that? Ha! You don’t.

Notes & Warnings:

DNI if under 18 | Fluff, swearing, canon typical violence, medical procedures, angst, lotsa pining, mild sexual content

I don’t give permission for my work to be copied/reposted/translated anywhere.

Word Count: 4,751

Series Chapters || Masterlist

Another Word For Surveillance - Part Seven

He never thought about inflicting lethal harm on pepperoni pizza, but the greasy brown box taunted Bucky as it sat between you and him on the couch. It was begging to be tossed out of the window, quite frankly.

Meanwhile, you took measured bites, barely glancing at the box when you reached for a second slice, and kept your eyes on the TV.

Bucky was a ghost.

This implicit truce - you were both tired; you were both not the yelling kind anyway - was worse than arguing with you. When you snapped at Bucky, at least your frantic eyes laid upon him. You uttered his name with an exhausted sigh, and it still tickled his belly. He’d rather be in that sphere of wrath than outside the bubble, where it was cold and lonely.

Bucky has a thorny relationship with being put on ice - in every sense of the word.

He eyed the box with resigned contempt. He didn’t deserve your patience, and it was a brazen move, desperate too, to ask for one more drop when he’d wasted so much of it trying to avoid entanglements.

He thought he was taking it slow to keep things simple, but the helpless look on your face when you told him this wasn’t going anywhere crushed him. He took a chest punch once from Stark wearing the suit and Bucky thought his heart exploded from the hit. It’s not the pain that scared him; his chest tightened to the point that breathing was impossible. It’s the dying part that bothered Bucky.

Making you cry was a hundred times worse.

Bucky would be fucked if you asked him this moment to explain exactly what “this” was in the first place. Words terrified him, mostly because of their absence when he needed them most. He didn’t want to put his faith in words but maybe he should’ve tried harder to tell you - not just show you - how he felt.

It deserved to be said, how the thought of you moved him; it stirred feelings from depths he’s long forgotten. In his experience, being emotionally stunted can be a good thing. They couldn’t hurt him if he couldn’t feel anything already. He’d trip and stumble the entire time trying to explain it to you. It wouldn’t be a graceful revelation, but he wondered, if he could tell you, he could bring life to those words.

Because if this ended, then he would be truly fucked.

There has to be more to this .

And if you were tired of waiting or scared of his shortcomings, then he’ll just have to be strong and brave for the two of you.

Because this can’t end like this - two people with nothing to say to each other.

He didn’t know how much time had passed earlier, when you stayed in his arms until you stopped crying, and he hung onto you like a lifeline, whispering your name, vowing to make it up to you.

As he uttered promises into your ear, Bucky considered the gravity of his words. How was he supposed to convince you that the rarely addressed yet undeniable bond pulling you to each other mattered just as much to him?

Could he even guarantee that he wouldn’t hurt you again?

After a while, you looked up at him and with a weary voice, told him you were ok, but the pizza had gotten cold by then, and you don’t know how many times you can put it back in the microwave without the crust falling apart.

How many times were you supposed to let him in before you crumbled like nuked pizza?

Bucky reluctantly released you from his arms and returned to the couch, while you reheated dinner for the third time this evening.

He made quick work of the remaining slices. He didn’t think he had an appetite but the fourth slice went down like nothing. You hummed in reaction to the TV once in a while. It was the giggle of someone used to watching shows alone with no one to trade inside jokes with.

Bucky tried to concentrate on the program but now and then his eyes would dart around the room and zoom in on features of your home. Ten minutes into another episode, he decided the apartment was sufficiently secure, but he’d feel better if you had a bat lying around.

The final slice lay in the box, awaiting its fate.

A few seconds later, the box spun and you lifted the lid for him. Your eyes remained on the screen before you. Bucky couldn’t help but smile as he took the last slice. Heat spread across his face now that he’s been accepted back inside the circle. He sunk into your couch, allowing himself to breathe easy for the first time since leaving the city for that botched assignment.

“Pay attention. This is one of my favorite shows.” You nodded at one of the characters on screen. “She’s the reason I call Claire Chavez, CC.”

“Cece reminds me of the HR lady.” Bucky surprised himself by making the connection. Maybe he’s enjoying the show more than he thought.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” You carried the empty box to the kitchen and rushed back to the couch. You landed next to him with a bounce and folded your legs under a blanket.

You were still a little far for his liking but Bucky considered this an improvement. The mood in the apartment lightened. The magic of pizza. He almost felt bad for having violent thoughts toward oven-baked dough moments ago.

The edge of the blanket lay not more than 20 centimeters from his hand. Bucky decided against pulling on it. Not until he could figure out just how much trouble he’s in. Things were far from settled between the two of you, and you haven’t exactly confirmed he could stay the night. One wrong move and he could get himself kicked out.

He really wanted to stay.

Bucky slid his left hand under a leg where it would not get him in trouble.

The characters on screen drank beer, ran around the room, and climbed furniture. There was a lot of pointing and shouting. He caught you mouthing “JFK FDR!” to the TV twice. He couldn’t make sense of the chaos. He suspected nobody was supposed to understand why those people had pillows taped to their bodies.

“Bucky.”

He whipped his head in time to see you discard the blanket and inch closer. The couch dipped and for a split-second he thought his fortune had turned.

You caught him watching and the visual contact put him in a trance. It took him a couple of seconds to catch the anxiety in your features.

“You’re bleeding.”

He tracked what you were eyeing and carefully checked behind him. A splotch of blood appeared over his left shoulder blade. “Oh that. It’s fine.” He remembered the last time he told you something was fine, so he added, “Should have put the plaster on before I left. Was kinda in a rush.”

He grabbed a kit before sneaking out of his room earlier that night. Bucky figured he’d change the dressing at some point, his only concession to safety.

“Are you sure you didn’t rip anything open?”

“It’s fi-“ He paused. Stitches bled all the time. It would take a lot of more blood for him to panic, but you weren’t used to that. “Fine. I’ll check it out. And by that I mean you have to check and help me clean it up.”

You lost the color on your face.

“What?” Bucky reached for your knee before he remembered he was supposed to keep his hands to himself. You seemed to be fixated on his wound and didn’t even notice.

“I’m not… it’s just…” You stuttered and your eyes remained stuck on the dark patch on his shirt. “I cut my arm on glass. I was ten. It was a lot of uh, like a lot of gushing blood.” You showed him the scar. It wasn’t a scary gash - he’s seen more nasty wounds - but from the stitches alone, Bucky could tell it had been a serious cut. Enough to frighten most adults, let alone a child.

Bucky studied the telltale mark on your skin and recalled how upset you were to learn he’d been bleeding out in surgery.

“Sorry.” He apologized. For your decades-old injury. For his recent brush with death. For being careless with you. Regrettably, he couldn’t travel back in time and warn himself about not being an asshole. “I can take care of it in the bathroom.”

You sat up. You resembled someone about to eat something dreadful but you gave him a firm nod. “I want to help. I can do it.”

When Bucky didn’t respond right away, you nudged him and the added physical contact made him want to pin you down right there.

“I’m not gonna pass out. Give me the um, thing. Thingies? Should I google how to - like stop the blood? I should google it. Should I wash my hands? I’ll wash my hands.”

Oh god, maybe he was better off letting the wound fester, Bucky thought as you ran to the bathroom. He contemplated the times he’d had to patch up lacerated skin and deal with through and through bullet wounds with filthy hands. It’s a miracle he and his friends were still standing.

Was it too late to take you off bandage duty? Looking at the ceiling, Bucky waited and listened to your returning footsteps. “Jacket pocket.”

You read the small notice on the pocket-sized kit on your way back to him. “Do not take this bag off premises.” You turned to him with a smirk. “Hardly the worst thing you’ve done today.”

A guilty smile escaped his lips.

You coughed to stop the smile from occupying your whole face, a futile gesture because Bucky already saw the glimmer in your eyes. With a mock serious expression, you asked, “How do we do this?”

Bucky looked at his shirt. “Ah-“

“Hmmm. Let me.” You reached for the hem of his shirt and lifted slowly. “Don’t raise your arms too high if it hurts. Pretty sure I can figure out how to get you naked in my living room.” You maintained a deadpan appearance, something you likely picked up from hanging out with him, and it only heightened the tension Bucky had been ignoring since you entered his space.

It would be ridiculous to deny you were both thinking the same thing. You’ve pawed at his clothes like you’d die if you couldn’t touch his skin. You kissed him with the intensity of someone who knew how to fulfill a starving man’s needs. And you certainly knew how to leave Bucky wanting more.

His skin pricked as it was exposed to the air in the room. He lifted his head, feeling strangely timid. You’ve seen him without a shirt on before, but never in the privacy of your apartment. Back at the hangar, your hands explored his body hurriedly, because those moments were fleeting.

Tonight, despite the medical nature of his nakedness, the intimacy was comforting.

Clearing his throat, Bucky moved to give you a better view of his back. “Just, uh, check the stitches are still in place, please. I mean, ah, they should be, because, well, it doesn’t - I didn’t feel anything.”

You propped a knee on the couch. He felt you stiffen but the moment dissipated and you shifted closer to examine the bleeding. “Yeah um. Stitches look ok but it’s uh… is leaking a medical term? Oozing blood?”

Nothing about what the two of you were up to was normal, but a steady, calming force settled in him. “Happens sometimes. Now we just clean it.” When you became quiet again, he added “Unless you want it to get infected? Guarantee you there’ll be pus and gangrene and the skin melts-“

“Alright, alright, I said I’d do it, so let’s do it,” you quickly said, blowing air through your lips.

Bucky coached you through the steps and the whispers of “Buck, Bucky, Buckyyyy,” “Christ there’s blood on the… thing,” and “I swear to God, get shot one more time, I’m going to lose it,” didn’t even bother him. All he could think of was how warm your hands were, and everytime you smoothed his back, your gentle fingers skimming over his imperfect skin, marked by years of torture and recklessness, Bucky closed his eyes and held his breath to stop himself from moaning.

He thought you were focusing on the task at hand, choosing to work in silence, until you asked, “How did you get my address by the way?”

His eyes opened immediately. Bucky scratched his head. “Not from your file…?”

Your right hand dabbed gently; he could tell you were afraid of hurting him. But your left hand, he wasn’t quite sure if you even noticed what you were doing. It rested on his back, spreading warmth everywhere you touched.

“Ok I… Natasha helped,” he admitted.

“Why? Like I’m under surveillance?”

He snickered. “You really don’t know what surveillance is.”

“Maybe.” You mumbled as your hand moved lower, tracing mind-blowing shapes just above the band of his jeans.

Bucky inhaled. Some field agent he was. “It’s for - it’s for when - in case I feel like dropping by one day.” Like today. He closed his eyes again, savoring the tender touch.

You pressed the plaster, evening out the edges. Sam would’ve just slapped it onto his back. “Done.” Your breath tickled the back of his neck. “The other stitches seem ok. Based on zero years of medical training.”

Bucky nodded, somewhat miffed your hands were back to caressing surfaces that weren’t his body. He reached for his shirt but you stopped him.

“Um, I’ll find you something clean to wear.” You left the room, taking his shirt with you and mumbling about getting the stain out before it settled. A couple of minutes later, you re-emerged with a black t-shirt and helped him put it on.

“It looks better on you than it ever did on me,” you said with an annoyed frown before disappearing into the hallway again.

Bucky cleaned the mess in the living room, moving slowly but deliberately. He caught his reflection on the window. The shirt was like everything else he owned but it’s a clear favorite because it smelled like your clothes and the concept of your scent mingling with his and settling into his skin, filled him with deep satisfaction.

By the time you returned, he had nearly slipped into a dream. It wasn’t easy walking out of a high-security floor. Steve had charmed the hospital staff, which meant Bucky had more eyes on him than he cared for. Getting to your apartment wiped him out.

“Bed’s yours.” You gestured for him to follow you. You raised a cautious eyebrow, in case you misread the situation.

Stay the night?

You’re in the baggiest sweatshirt he’s ever seen; his back was a war zone; the air smelled distinctly of greasy pepperoni and warm cheese. Bucky thanked his lucky stars.

You were the best thing to happen to him, and you didn’t even have a clue.

Bucky gulped, nodding too quickly. “This here’s more than fine.” He patted the cushion by his leg.

“Maybe, but guess who makes the rules in this house? Bed’s better for your back anyway and I already changed the sheets.” You jerked your head toward the bedroom at the end of the hall, the room that captured Bucky’s interest way before he planned tonight’s unannounced visit.

He followed you, staring at the back of your head, thinking about how he already let you call the shots most of the time anyway. Heck, Grid 5 was yours for the taking; you can already come and go as you please and no one would stop you.

It’s only a five-second walk to your bedroom, but his mind stalled. He’d been dropped in a bizarre fantasy and everything seemed to move at a slow pace.

The night lamp cast a soft light on the single bed. He immediately surveyed the space, his mind mapping details and matching them with his perception of you. A work desk with the candy jar that used to be in his hospital room. A monitor with a cracked screen. A vanity with assorted products lined on one side and a framed Skittles wrapper on the other end.

You stood by the door. “I wish I could tell you I didn’t stash all the mess in the closet.” You pushed off the doorframe. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.”

Bucky scooted in front of a coffee-stained map of Bucharest on the desk. The edges curled and colors faded but the ballpoint x’s and arrows dotting landmarks remained legible. “We’ve never spoken about you siccing Steve on me.”

He remembered the Romanian capital fondly. He lived in a tiny flat, old and shabby, very much like him, but for the first time in decades, Bucky could finally close his eyes at night and just sleep. He was alone. He endured nightmares. It wasn’t perfect, but he was free. It was only after Steve found him that Bucky realized he longed to come home, he just didn’t know how - or even where home was.

He faced you from the middle of the bedroom, slightly dumbfounded because he just realized home might not even be Brooklyn, or his current apartment. It’s you.

“I did not sic-” You stopped mid-sentence, recognizing the mischief in Bucky’s eyes. “I just helped him figure out which doors to kick down.”

Bucky read the reports. Steve and Sam would have tracked him down eventually on their own, but it would have been a matter of years. “Thanks anyway.” Words weren’t enough, to be honest, but he wished, not for the first time that evening, he knew what to say during moments like this.

The gratitude he sprung on you out of nowhere confused you, but you welcomed it with a happy nod, almost like you agreed.

Yeah, Bucky, you’re home .

You woke up earlier than usual. You weren’t tall, not like Bucky Barnes with legs for days, but the couch was not a bed. Your eyes adjusted to the daylight but the bedroom door opening made you sit up so fast, you nearly fell out of the couch.

You rubbed your face and made a two-second effort at luxe bedhead.

His hair was half up, the tiny bun cuter than it should be at this hour. Bucky stretched your shirt out in the best possible way. His jeans hung low on his hips. You couldn’t believe you were ogling a man before you’d even had coffee.

“I could hear you eating M&Ms when you said you were going to sleep.”

“It’s called a midnight snack and I would’ve offered but you’ve been told to lay off candy,” you retorted.

There’s also the matter of you almost crawling into bed with him the night before. You stood in the hall leading to your bedroom, repeatedly telling yourself two people can share a bed and just sleep. Nothing had to happen. That went on for half an hour, before you convinced yourself that even if something else were to happen in addition to sleeping, or if sleeping were entirely replaced by some other bedroom activity, well, maybe both of you could pretend it wasn’t a big deal and sweep it under the rug like you’ve always done.

You found chocolate in one of the drawers eventually. Munching on candy probably saved you a night of regret. But it had been a close call. Very close. Like standing outside the door with your hand on the cold steel knob kind of close.

Bucky just blinked at you. Maybe super soldiers need a few minutes to reboot in the morning too.

He borrowed your phone to call Sam. While Bucky was on the phone, you sneaked into the bathroom to splash water on your face and check for eye boogers. You made yourself a bowl of cereal, leaving the box and milk on the counter next to a bowl for him.

He scrutinized the box of low-fat oats and honey cereal and then turned you, his face wooden, almost like there’s a stranger in the kitchen. You felt obliged to clarify that you found Froot Loops to be too sweet.

A smile lingered on Bucky’s lips but you could tell he’s slowly retreating again, getting into the safe space in his head, having all these thoughts you would probably never learn about. He chuckled when you told him about the old married couple two floors up who occasionally invited you to join their Tai Chi class during weekends, but the shifting Vibranium plates on his forearm, and the one-word comments, told you he’s wrestling with something internally again.

Sam arrived shortly after breakfast. He took one look at your sweatpants and the beddings on the couch, and he gave his friend a commiserating pat on the back.

“Where’d you park?” Bucky barked, not caring about pleasantries.

“Three blocks away, like you told me too and no, I was not followed.” Sam gave you a “can you believe this guy” eye roll. He ate an apple and told you about the time Bucky stuck a finger in his own leg to stop the bleeding.

“You didn’t want to do it!” Bucky replied from the living room where he was putting his jacket on, in painstakingly slow fashion. He shook his head when you moved to help, rolling his eyes at Sam again.

You sipped your orange juice in silence and watched the two men bicker. It’s all a front, entertainment for everyone in the compound. When a floor freed up at their building on Grid 5, neither of them wanted to move into a private space.

In a few more minutes, Bucky was ready. He waited patiently in the living area, staring out of the window.

“Don’t mind him when he gets like that. He’s making a mental list of ways ninjas can get inside the apartment,” Sam said.

Bucky ignored him and you smiled at Sam without saying anything further.

The newcomer muttered something about dropping by the store across the street. He’ll wait for Bucky downstairs. Sam pointed at you with a warm smile. “Don’t leave town at least until his stitches heal. I’m serious.”

You shrugged. “I’ll see you, Sam.”

He shook his head at the two of you and left the apartment. The door shut, the thud punctuating Sam’s brief visit.

And then it’s just you and Bucky facing each other in the entry hall. He still wore your shirt and he did not ask where his own shirt was. Even if you wanted to remind him about his clothing - you didn’t - you had a list of other slightly more significant things to tell him, and your racing heart knew this was the moment. You didn’t even know when you’d see him again.

Speak. Get it out in the open. Now.

In moments like this, your mind spun back to that evening outside the bar. You’ve romanticized the hell out of that night; you’re aware you should stop doing that, but in many ways, before Bucky’s almost sweet way of declining to go out with you, it had been a beautiful setting. Cool air brushed your cheek. Neon lights flickered against his firm jaw. His expressive eyes convinced you that lawnmowers might be the coolest thing in the compound after the Quinjets and the Iron Man Mark 34 replica displayed in the lobby of your building.

“I’m really glad you’re back.” Your voice echoed in the narrow hall of the apartment. You brushed hair off your face. “You and Steve. And the jet. The engineers cheered louder after Wanda confirmed the Quinjet was fine. No offense.” Fumbling, rambling, as usual.

Bucky stepped closer and now you had to look up to catch a glimpse of his baby blue eyes. Vibrant. Wide open. Too alert for someone who hasn’t had coffee yet.

More importantly - why did he smell so good?

Seconds passed. Neither of you really cared about Sam loitering downstairs.

Did Bucky want to kiss you? Because that would be a terrible idea. Kissing was not going to fix what was going on - or not going on - between the two of you. It’s the same speech you gave yourself the night before. But that didn’t mean you wouldn’t think about his pretty lips curling when he’s trying not to laugh, or about how your brain short circuited when he latched on to your neck with his mouth.

He exhaled slowly and dipped his forehead, not quite touching yours. Bucky lifted your chin.

“Barnes.” It was a warning, which was the opposite of what you really wanted.

“Just wanna see you.” His jaw twitched as he studied your face. The crease between his brows deepened the more he struggled with whatever was on this mind. His voice cracked when he whispered “I do everything you tell me to.”

Following your lead on team tasks. Ordering salmon from the deli on Tuesdays. Caring for the plant. Trying on all of Steve’s clown suits.

It was true. Bucky demonstrated a willingness to accommodate you, a privilege he extended to only a few. To a certain extent. “Sometimes.”

The trademark smirk appeared and he shook his head. “That’s a whole lot more than what Steve ever got.”

His easy, nonchalant grin pulled a smile out of you. It was impossible not to be affected by Bucky. Not when he’s so close, he warmed you with his body. His thumb caressed your bottom lip idly.

“Tell me what to do to make things right.”

You’d lost count of the number of times he’s said this since stepping foot in the apartment. It wasn’t desperation that ringed in your ears - yes, he was pleading - but the determination in his voice was unmistakable, the resolute confidence that he’d toss Kit into the Hudson river without a second thought if you wanted to test him; he’d give Sam a hug - a real one, one that would shock Sam Wilson to silence - and tell him how much Bucky valued their friendship - if you wanted him to suffer just a little bit.

Bucky held his breath, awaiting your response.

There were plenty of things he needed to hear; none were about telling him what to do or making him jump through hoops.

He released your chin, anticipating what you’d say. “I-” You closed your eyes and looked at your feet. You fought the temptation to grab Bucky and kiss him until both of you forgot about the past few days. There was still a raging part of you that believed dragging him back into your bedroom was the cure.

Bucky brought you happiness you honestly believed you’d never find from another person. But the same man could ruin you without even trying.

The most horrifying thing about all of this wasn’t that Bucky would hurt you; it’s that you would absolutely let him, the guy who you’ve never even been out on a date with. At best, you and Bucky were canoodling co-workers, an incident away from being summoned to an HR intervention.

You wouldn’t even see the end coming until you’ve been gutted. You couldn’t even let him leave the apartment without drifting in his periphery, like a balloon tied to his wrist.

When you glanced at him again, you could only shrug. If you understood any of this, you would not be in this situation at all.

Bucky tilted his head for a better look at you. His unrelenting gaze held you to your spot. After what felt like an eternity, Bucky nodded and straightened up. He stepped back, wincing, as if it physically pained him to do that, or maybe he finally tore a stitch this time.

He reached the door in a flash, white knuckles gripping the handle. “I’m an idiot most days, but I think you’re wrong, you know.” The door swung open. “About this-” He motioned to the space between you. “Not going anywhere.”

With that sentiment, Bucky left, not before giving you one more searching glance. It wasn’t just longing, not entirely; his eyes carried a pledge, like he wanted you to know this isn’t over, not by a long shot.

Or maybe it’s just you hoping that was the case.

Find the other parts here.

Masterlist

Taglist

@enchantedbarnes; @justab-eautifulmess; @eclecticwitchtrash; @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass; @hawsx3; @anth0ny-stark; @ghostpepper21; @kawaii-origime

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #h2obasedfics #bucky barnes fanfiction #another word for surveillance #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #marvel fic #mcu fic

59 notes · View notes

bizarrebaby · 3 years

Text

Untouched

Pairing: Pero Tovar/Virgin!Reader

Work Count: 3.2k

Summary: You and Pero spend your first night together, which is your first night with anyone.

Warnings: you guys have penis in vagina sex. Some descriptions/mentions of violence, reference to painful loss of virginity, but we all know Pero’s too good to do that to you

You were a walking contradiction. Nothing was more confusing or intriguing to Pero Tovar than how you managed to exist in these times.

When he’d been introduced to you (it was generous to call it an introduction, seeing as Tovar more or less refused to acknowledge you at the time) he saw you the way he saw most everyone: an annoyance at best, a punishment from god at worst. When he glanced at you, he saw just a little thing, a girl who ought to be at home, out of her depths.

He first beheld your beauty through a veil of bloodshed. On the battlefield you had no equal. People throughout his travels often equated grace to beauty, but in observing you, Pero found that simply wasn’t so. You did not dance with the blade, like twirled silk. What you did was not akin to dancing. It was heavy and destructive, you took to you enemies with the crushing force of a mortar and pestle. You wielded the heavy and challenging kanabo, the force of which caved armor and shattered bones, man and beast alike. When you swung the heavy bat, you looked as a healer pounding medicine. The force itself was destructive, but it was delivered with the righteousness of someone who was preserving life.

You could not always use the kanabo, and you most certainly could not spar with it, for your opponents would be crippled by even a sporting blow. So Tovar sometimes saw your prowess with the sword, the staff, anything nearby. You made many an arrogant man eat their words.

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of flowing locks and fair skin wrapped in silks. He saw sword-cut hair, an oversized tunic, the loosening laces on leather armor.

And beyond the fighting, you did not often make with revelry. Tense in the company of most others in your band of mercenaries, you kept away when they became excited. When you approached him, scowling as he wolfed down his food alone, he dreaded having to endure niceties, persuasions, and prattel from you, and had already decided to be as disagreeable as possible. To his utter surprise, you said nothing to him at all as you kept a couple of meters distance and ate your own meal. You did so day after day, and at first he had been paranoid that this was some plot at inching your way closer, that one day you would ruin this silence and reveal your true intentions. Until one night, Tovar found himself doing something unthinkable: initiating conversation. Or at least, speaking unprompted.

“You do not chatter like the others,” he stated almost mindlessly, not knowing what he was expecting by saying so.

“I try not to talk when I have nothing to say,” you admitted. You looked towards him, half illuminated by the distant, flickering fire.

He found himself studying every detail of your face from the corner of his eye. It was terrifying, for once wanting to observe and actually caring if he was noticed doing so.

“And,” you continued quietly, “they say you do not like to be disturbed.” That was a very kind way of rephrasing how he was often spoken of. In all likelihood, what you were actually told was probably more along the lines of ‘he’s a mean, miserable bastard who doesn’t like anyone’. Tovar didn’t know how he felt about your twisting such words into something that sounded… reasonable.

Understood.

“I don’t like being disturbed either.”

Now, when he was to imagine a beautiful woman, he did not think of lip rouge and silent, unnoticed steps, or curled, dark lashes, of coquettish smirks. He thought of a split lip, and the uneven pace of worn leather kicking at stray pebbles, of tired eyes rubbed with the back of the hand after looking into the fire too long, of the struggle to hold back a wide-mouthed yawn.

Through a few well placed miracles and the incessant meddling of others (William) the two of you had ended up together. And this was when Pero discovered what a contradiction you were.

You knew death in every facet… except for la petite mort.

While other girls snuck off with their paramours in experimental forays of intimacy, you were studying the blade, the staff, the bow, the kusarigama. Raised by a father and uncles who loved you, but did not know how to raise a young lady. Only how to raise a fighter.

When you didn’t scare off any potential suitors, they certainly did.

While younger than Pero, you were still fully grown, and had yet to even kiss a man until Pero had claimed your lips in a passionate fury on the night of his confession.

Pero did not fancy himself a teacher, he saw himself as a taker, one with no patience for uncertainties and incompetence. But for you, he would be anything. And regardless of what he was, what you deserved was a gentle touch. Subtle, comforting, patient, and understanding.

All words that had never been used to describe him.

Over time, the kisses grew deeper, the touches flirted further beneath the clothes, until the night came where he held you against him in his bed, eyes begging for more as you looked to him for guidance. Never had he been so frightened at the thought of bedding a woman. He was a scoundrel with hands only fit for killing, and he was terrified of hurting you somehow.

But he’d be damned if anyone else took this honor.

With every piece of clothing he stripped your body of, you looked at him with such trust. He felt your heart beating in his rough palms, like the flutter of a bird’s wings. Never before had he been responsible for something so pure, so delicate. His relations before you were intimacies he had paid for in coin, encounters that didn’t require any gentleness on his part, where he cared little about any pleasure or pain besides his own. If he were to do one thing in his life with tact and delicacy, it would be this, he promised himself.

“Tell me again, hermosa, how many before me have seen this beautiful body?”

“N-none. You’re the first, Pero.”

He hums in satisfaction, running his hands up your stomach to cup your breasts. His thumbs stroke over the hardening peaks, causing a hitch in your breath as you shudder.

“Oh, mi conejita, so sensitive,” he descends, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking almost harshly for just a moment before pulling away, admiring how your breast shines with his spit. You squeak out a shaking moan. “I wonder if you’re this sensitive everywhere else? Don’t tell me. I’ll find out myself.”

You feel your cheeks heat at his words, feeling the urge to curl in on yourself and hide. But Pero keeps you bare to him as he lavishes eager attention on your breasts, enjoying the whines half-caught in your throat. By the time your nipples are perked and wet from Pero’s hot mouth, your blush has spread down to your collar. He pulls away slightly, gently guiding you to lay down. He takes your thighs in his strong hands and spreads them further apart. His thumbs spread your lips so get a good look at your pink, silky hole twitching with a need you’ve never known before.

Your breath hitches as one of his fingers traces along your sensitive lips, brushing against your clit briefly before beginning to sink into you slowly. He rocks it back and forth gently while admiring the rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyelids flutter as you go between wanting to watch and being too bashful to. His thumb gently strokes your clit as he works to ease in another finger, and you tense harshly at the new intrusion. He leans down to press a few reassuring kisses against your neck.

“Relax, querida. Let me in.” He whispers, moving his lips to your mouth in an effort to distract you as he coaxes you open. His cock was heavy and hard against the laces of his trousers. You would see it soon, but Pero doesn’t want to overwhelm you. Not yet, anyways.

You breathe deeply in an attempt to relax your muscles as Pero’s fingers reach farther than yours ever could, and it feels as if he holds all of your bodily feelings in the palm of his hand. He continues to coo endearments against your neck to comfort you.

“Bueno, bueno… you’ve gotten nice and wet for me, cariño, so good for me,” a smirk spreads across his face as he feels you tighten with his words. “Oh, you like it when I talk, niña?” He teases, increasing the pace as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, the tight circles he’s rubbing into your clit on the verge of driving you mad.

He parts from your neck to take a look at your face in pleasure, and finds himself enraptured by the slight furrow of your brows and the way your eyelids flutter when he strokes the right part of your insides. Your quiet huffing and mewling, combined with the way your cunt is gripping at his fingers, has him more riled up than he’d like to admit.

“Pero, I-I I think I’m gonna cum,” you whine, looking at him with pleading eyes. He bristles with pride as your hips move to meet the palm of his hand while chasing the pleasure he gives you.

“Cum then, muñeca. Cum for me.”

The coil in your belly winds so tightly it snaps, and white hot pleasure floods your system. Pero groans as you cream on his fingers, feeling his cock throb harshly for the umpteenth time tonight. A tremor wracks your body as the mercenary continues rocking his fingers gently to help you ride out your climax. When they withdraw, he doesn’t hesitate to lick them clean, much to your embarrassment. The sight of his tongue against your slick on his hand gives you… ideas. Ideas that will have to wait until another night, maybe.

He leans down to plant a chaste kiss to your lips before bringing you to sit up. He wants to see what else you’ve never done. Wants to know how curious you are.

Pero places one of your hands (which feel so small in his) against the tent in his pants, encouraging you to explore his body the way you’ve so graciously allowed him to explore yours. His tunic is already off, but of course, you’ve seen men shirtless before. His cock feels hot and hard through his trousers, and the apprehension is probably clear on your flustered face, but Tovar finds this entire situation incredibly arousing.

He’s no stranger to sex, but most of his previous sexual encounters had been paid for and, thusly, were with experienced (and sometimes jaded) partners. Though the size of his cock may have impressed a few, it had never been the first they’d seen, touched, or taken. This was different.

His eyes never leave your face as you bite your lip, occasionally looking to him for approval as you move to undo the laces on his trousers. His eyes are lidded and dark with desire, and a smile crosses his face, a little more genuine than the usual smirks he throws in your direction.

“Go on,” he urges, more gently than he knew himself capable. You finally slip down his waistband and smallclothes, and his cock lands heavy against his stomach as he reclines just slightly. You try to contain your startled gasp, attempting to seem less like the blushing virgin you clearly are. The way your lips part ever so slightly as you examine his red, leaking cock with nervous interest sends the mercenary reeling.

Pero almost takes your hesitance as fear, which he’s determined to quell, before you finally reach your hands out to run them along the hard length, drawing a ragged groan from him.

For a moment, Pero feels the strongest compulsion to take charge of you. To guide your head down and order you to get his cock nice and wet before he takes you, to see tears prick at your eyes while you struggle to take his cock in your little mouth.

But, somewhat regrettably, he remembers his first time with a woman well. He remembers the nerves burning against his skin like a thousand needles, the fear of performing well and doing things he’d never even imagined doing. He can only imagine that fear to be tenfold for a girl. You’ve spent years in the company of brash mercenaries, uncouth enough that they brag of their rough, bruising conquests. He knows the type. And what women you do meet often speak of intimacy with dread, or reflect on the pain of their first times.

You are one of the few things in Pero Tovar’s life that he has ever really cared for. And his greatest wish is to make you feel cared for. He has never known patience. But for you, he shall have it in spades. You’ll have plenty of time to play rough later. Or never, if that’s what you want.

Not to mention, he’s just about as hard as he’s ever been in his entire life, and he doubts he would last in your mouth, not with the passionate stare you’re giving him. You have, after all, always been a quick learner when it came to the sword. The way you start experimentally moving your hands along his cock confirm this, as he sighs in pleasure from the light pressure you’re giving him.

“This the first cock you’ve seen up close, hermosa?” you nod, and that teasing smile is once again set on his face. “What do you think of it?”

Your eyes widen just slightly at the question. He takes one of your hands and spits in it before letting you continue to stroke his cock, still patiently awaiting an answer.

“Are they all… like this?” Pero has a feeling he knows what you mean, but he wants you to say it.

“Like what, preciosa?”

“Big.”

He chuckles quietly before cupping your chin in his hand and bringing you towards him for another bout of fervent kisses. In these moments, and most others, he looks at you and sees everything he’s ever wanted. He presses his forehead to yours when he finally parts from your lips.

“No, amor, not all,” he pauses in thought, somewhat uncharacteristically. “Are you worried?”

“...Yes.” The mercenary appreciates your honesty. For your entire life, you have had to be brave. He doesn’t want you to have to be brave with him. He’s never been trusted with something as precious as you. He calls your name with the same softness he feels for you.

“I will never hurt you,” he promises. “And…” his need causes him to struggle with the next part. He’s still not used to being sensitive, not used to caring so much. “We do not have to do this.”

Pero can see the fire ignite in your eyes, that same passion he sees when you get up right after being knocked down.

“I want to, Pero, I want to. Will you take care of me?” his eyes have their own fire now. He guides you down onto your back once again and leans over you. His cock leaks against the soft skin of your belly as he kisses up your neck, sucking in marks as he goes.

“Forever,” he swears.

Pero hoists himself up to look into your eyes as his cock catches at your entrance for the first time. He pushes himself in just barely, giving you a little more each time as he shallowly rocks into you. He watches, feeling lovestruck, as your breasts rise and fall with each short breath you take as he eases himself deeper into your heat.

When Pero Tovar met you, he didn’t exactly respect you, but he wouldn’t have called you soft. You proved quickly that you were a better warrior than most men he’d met, and despite the roughness and inconveniences of mercenary life, you didn’t complain. In those early days, he’d have scarcely called you a woman at all.

But here you were beneath him, soft and warm, and everything he’d never imagined he could be trusted with. Long ago you reached your hands into his hardened chest, with all of its armor, and gripped his heart with all of the hope and reverence of a devout finding comfort in a rosary. The vice of your wet cunt on his cock was an extension of that. An inescapable binding that he had no desire to leave.

“You feel so good, querida, so tight and perfect against my cock.”

And so you pant, looking cherubic against the sheets with your splayed hair and flushed cheeks, lips plumped from Pero’s incessant kissing. The wet noises coming from between the two of you are obscene, and you love it.

“So good for me, amor, taking everything I have to give you.”

He wouldn’t last long. Not waiting as long as he has, not with you looking, sounding, and feeling the way you do. His thrusts aren’t punishing, but they sure as hell aren’t gentle, as he can only restrain himself from wrecking you for so long. And from the way he’s hitting that place inside that makes you sing, you won’t last either.

“Pero, I’m gonna— mmm I’m gonna cum again!” You keen, calling him back from his animalistic fervor. Pero stares into your eyes with a fire roaring behind his gaze.

“I want you to soak my cock, hermosa. Cum. Give me your pleasure, let me make you mine!”

“God— oh, fuck, I love you—“ you pant as he feels you clench deliciously around him. Any hope he had of holding on has fled now.

“Mi amor, let me cum in you, please, querida—“

“Please, do it Pero,”

You can feel the skin of his hips slap against yours as he pistons himself in and out of you, babbling about how beautiful you are and how good you feel until he can’t stand it anymore.

“Te amo, te amo, te amo!” He growls, ceasing his hips as he fills you with everything he has. You jolt at the sensation before relaxing again, his hot cum painting your walls. His elbows stop him from collapsing right onto you, but he can feel your breasts brush against his chest with every breath the both of you take.

He basks in this moment for a while longer before pulling himself out gently, resolving to clean the both of you properly later. Pero lets himself fall beside you in bed, still breathing a little heavily.

“Come here, querida.”

Pero stares at the ceiling as your weight comes to rest against his chest, warm in ways he cannot describe. The arm around you tightens, as if he wishes to pull you further into him.

“Are you… do you feel alright, mi amor? I didn’t hurt you?”

“Never, Pero. I feel wonderful. Was it ok? For you, I mean. I know I’m… you’re probably not used to being with someone so inexperienced,” you trail off, feeling palpably insecure. He gently puts his hand beneath your chin to coax you into looking up at him from his chest.

“You don’t have to be anything more than what you are to be perfect for me, amor.”

Taglist:

Pedro Pascal: @auty-ren

From the preview post: @josepedropascal @tintinwrites @computeringturtle @kiwi-the-first

#nsft #writing #drabble #the great wall #pero tovar #pero x reader #pero tovar x reader #tovar x reader #tovar the great wall #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Thanks to @jenoramaca @gryffindorhealer and @secretkeeper13 for the quick beta work!

A gift for my beloved @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey.

CW: Language and domestic fluff

______

Trying

From the second he walks through the door, Harry can sense that something’s changed. It takes him thirty minutes to suss out why.

In retrospect, the smells coming from the kitchen probably tipped him off. Or maybe it was Ginny’s distracted hum, followed by the tinkling of plates and cutlery. Perhaps it was the fact that she prepared a full dinner, long before he even got home.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t worry about it too much as he greets her with a kiss, his hands cupping her chin. When he sits across from her at the table, there’s something furtive and curious lurking behind her eyes, but their meal is so peppered with normalcy that he doesn’t bring it up. They banter and laugh about Luna and Robards and wonder what they’ll bring to the Burrow on Sunday.

But when they’ve reached the stage of chasing stray noodles around their plates, Ginny finally clears her throat… and just like that, the nearly imperceptible shift he’d sensed earlier turns into something very perceptible, indeed. “Can I erm. Talk to you about something?”

He pauses, mid-bite, and takes her in. Her lip’s worried between her teeth, her hands fidgeting. Even her hair, normally strewn about her shoulders or parted to the side with a sort of effortless grace, is tied back and resting low at the base of her neck.

Ginny’s not normally this… serious. And he’d be lying to say it didn’t frighten him.

So he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Who died?”

There’s a half-second pause in which his chest clenches, his stomach churns. Could it be Molly? Or Arthur? George hasn’t been great either, not that—

But Ginny just reels back, confused… and it’s not until then that Harry realizes he’s really, really misread something.

“I… w-what?” she stammers, brow furrowing. She peers at him for a pained moment before her face relaxes into a look of understanding. “Oh. Oh! For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. “I guess I’m thicker than usual, should’ve known you’d read it that way.”

Harry snorts. “Erm… darling, as many things as I legitimately don’t understand, I’m fairly sure this one isn’t on me.”

Ginny ignores this. “Did you seriously think that something dreadful happened and I’d just spring that on you in the middle of your bolognese?” Her lips twitch into a smirk. “Here’s some pasta. By the way, a fire burned a puppy orphanage to the ground. Could you pass the salt?”

He gives her a plain stare. Nice try. Years ago, he might’ve taken the bait and chased her down that rabbit hole. They might’ve had an hour-long, spirited debate on the existence of puppy-specific orphanages. But after three years of marriage, he knows better.

And she knows he knows.

Ginny finally draws a resigned breath. “No,” she says slowly. “No one died, ok? Or is even… I don’t know, sick or infirmed or threatened.” She waves her hand and continues babbling. “Last I checked, even Muriel’s still going strong, somehow. I’m jealous of that, you know— being old enough to just say whatever the fuck you’d like and have no one question it because—”

“—Ginny,” he cuts across on an exasperated sigh. “As chuffed as I am to chat about Muriel all night, I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. Please?”

There’s another pause as she bites her lip. Then, in one swift motion, she attempts to rise to her feet and push her chair in on her way over to him.

But somewhere along the way, something gets crossed— and Harry watches in bewildered horror as her foot catches on the leg of the chair. Then, right in front of his eyes, she lets out a startled gasp, her arms flailing, before she lands with a thump.

He’s out of his seat and on the floor beside her before he even realizes she’s cried out in pain and surprise. “Are you ok?” he demands, pushing her jeans up around her ankle… her tricky ankle, the one she hurt rather badly at the playoffs last month. Hm. It's a bit red.

Honestly, she hasn’t been this clumsy since she was 10 years old and near a butter dish. This does nothing to alleviate his fears that there’s something Very Wrong.”

“It’s not even my ankle that hurts,” Ginny grits, pushing up on her palms. “Wait— Harry, what are you—”

“Need to ask Gwenog,” he says urgently, running to the other side of the table for his wand. “She said that if anything happens to your ankle to tell her straight away, remember? Better safe than—”

She scoffs. “Seriously, Harry, I’m fine! I didn’t even land on my—”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you suddenly forgotten the Puddlemere match? When your ankle broke clean through the skin?” Even now, the memory makes him shudder. “You heard Gwenog— without magic, you might not have walked again.”

“But there was magic,” she says, almost pleading. “And seriously, I’m fine!”

Harry finds he has limited patience for her heroics, though, while she’s sprawled out on the floor and nursing a bruise on her arse. “Gwenog’s instructions were quite clear,” he says firmly. “Having a pro athlete as a wife is a group task. It’s taxing on your body. I’ve got to make sure there’s enough of you left to enjoy our lives.”

Ginny clears her throat. “Erm… but what if you… haven’t actually got a pro athlete as a wife. Technically speaking.”

Harry swallows. He’s sure he’s heard her wrong. “What?”

With a wince, she adjusts herself against the wall. “I’m sorry… this isn’t how I’d planned to tell you. I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

Normally, Harry might press a bit harder. Normally he’d demand answers— and now. But as he peers at her on the floor, there’s something soft and uncertain behind her eyes… something timid. So he decides to do something he knows he’s good at— something she doesn’t let many other people do: take care of her.

With a sigh, he scoops her from the floor and brings her to the sofa. Then he props her against the pillows, putting her legs across his lap.

And he waits.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, peering at her downcast face, before she finally says it in a rush.

“Iwanttohaveababy.”

It comes on a whisper. A breathed admission. He knows, just from her expression, that she’s never said it aloud.

But he must have misunderstood. There’s no way he’s not projecting, inserting the reality he wants instead. “Could you… could you repeat that?” he manages, his voice gruff and shaken.

Ginny just sits up straighter; her cheeks as red as her hair. “I want to have a baby,” she repeats, the confidence building with every word.

Oh. Looks like he was right after all.

Harry blinks at the carpet, his head spinning, mortified with the tears that have sprung, unbidden, to the corners of his eyes.

A baby. Their baby. A smile plays at his lips as he stares at her ankle in distracted bliss. He’s been ready for ages… longer than anyone he knows. It’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t want a family with her. When he didn’t want to watch her grow and change. To become more beautiful with every passing day until…

He swallows back another round of tears; he’d never forgive himself if he forced this… if he swayed her, in any way, despite what he wants so badly it squeezes his insides.

“But what about quidditch?” His voice cracks; he clears his throat to cover it. “Honestly Ginny, I’ll wait, as long as you’d like. We’re young. Think of what you’d deal with, loads of assumptions and press and comments.”

She turns to him with an arched brow. “And since when have I ever cared about comments? Since when have you cared about comments?”

He spreads his palms in resignation; it was a particularly weak argument. “I know. I just… don’t want to make your life more difficult.”

“Well...” She draws a deep breath and peers down at her nails. “I’ve erm. Actually quit the Harpies, all by myself.” Her cheeks begin to redden again. “I’ve already sent the owl and everything. Resigned. No intent to return next season.”

Oh.

That’s what she meant, then, about not being married to a professional athlete. Harry blinks a few more times as she plows through an explanation that could honestly be something from a dream.

“I’ve… I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot,” she adds, focus returning to her cuticles. “The Harpies are out for the rest of the season— that fucking Puddlemere match and that bullshit ref.” She glares at the pillow to her right. “Nothing like blind favoritism. Fucking prick should’ve been fired!”

All Harry can manage is a feeble chuckle, his hand moving to caress her knee. This time, he can’t bring himself to stop her spiral.

“Maybe it’s not just that match, though,” she admits, rubbing her ankle. “It’s also just… so much bloody work. I’ve been at it three whole seasons, you know? I’m a bit tired of missing birthdays. And family events. And only dreaming of bludgers and snitches. And attending the mandatory press interviews to avoid getting fined, and then giving polite answers to personal questions when I really just want to hex them, and—”

Harry laughs. “I think Sandra Richardson might disagree about the polite answers bit, darling.”

Ginny gives a dignified sniff and continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “Annnyway,” she says, toying with a piece of lint. “I… feel like I’m ready to move on. So.” Her face splits into a grin as she gestures to the corridor. “On with it.”

He clears his throat. “As much as I’d love to take you up on that, I’m confused about how this relates to quitting your job. You could’ve kept playing. Or—”

“—Why is it so hard to believe this is something I want?”

There’s a beat. He doesn’t have a good answer.

“What if I wanted to quit before I got pregnant?” she continues, her tone growing more demanding. “What if I was done with playing, regardless — and genuinely wanted to have children? Your children.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh, tossing her hands in the air. “I have to say, Harry, this feels an awful lot like you’re doubting what I actually want to fit a narrative of what you think I want.” Her eyes narrow again. “Is that really respecting my wishes?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. He’d never thought about it like that before… how it might be insulting, really, to question what she’s ready for. He laces their fingers together, feeling properly chastened. “I’m sorry. I never meant to… suggest you don’t know what you want. Or something.”

He hears the timid smile in her voice as she squeezes his hand back. “Do you still want a baby, then?” she asks. “Or are you just in it for the practice?”

A smile creeps across his face, his eyes still focused on her hands. “I… think you know the answer to that one.”

“Well, I’m not sure I do,” Ginny says flatly. “Because I just told someone who wants two million babies that I’m ready to carry his first child. Forgive me if I expected a bit more excited fanfare than acting like I drowned your kitten.”

“What’s with you and baby animals today?” he murmurs, inching her pant leg a bit higher.

“Wonder why I’ve got babies on the brain,” she quips, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe because I want one.”

Harry releases a resigned sigh. She’s clearly done playing. “Honestly…” He bites his lip. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’m obviously on board. Obviously.” His eyes flit to hers. “I just… I don’t want to be responsible for something you end up regretting.”

It’s the truth of the matter, really; the thing that tugs at him the hardest. The fear he’d ever burden her… the worry he’d ever make her less than happy.

Ginny gives him a small smile, her hand coming to cup his jaw. “I’m going to take that as a weird, sad Harry thing instead of an attempt to remove my womanly agency.” She narrows her eyes. “But that’s your final warning.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet in a split-second, gathering her into his arms with the stupidest grin he’s ever worn. Trying. Is that what they call this? Are they actually properly trying now?

“Get used to this,” she says as he strides into the bedroom. “Because once you knock me up— on purpose, mind— I’m going to request a lot more transportation.”

“I think I can live with that,” Harry murmurs against her lips, draping her across the bed.

And to avoid a well-deserved slap, he doesn’t say the final bit: As long as you can live with me.

#harry/ginny #harry/ginny fanfic #hinny #harry potter #harry and ginny

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effeminateboyninja · 3 years

Note

hi!! can I request shikamaru coming home to find a gn!reader listening to one of his playlists in the shower? fluff or nsfw, whichever is easier!

thank you thank you thank youuuu for this wonderfully self-indulgent request, this is actually my dream, so. anyway, i hope you like it lovely!! 💚

Yes, this one's for you

(Shikamaru x gn!reader) fluff // 1.3k words

🎶 troublesome playlist

What a drag.

Shikamaru sighed to himself and raked his fingers through his charcoal hair, glad to finally be finished with his responsibilities for the time being. The day had been more effort than it was worth, the better part of it spent chasing after Kakashi to get his stamp of approval for a myriad of projects and missions, and Kotetsu and Izumo were no help of course. All he wanted to do was get home and relax to make the most of his free time before he had to go back the next morning.

It's all for a purpose though, he reminded himself, the image of your face flashing across his mind and bringing a small smile to his lips. Coming home to his lover and best friend after such a long day was more than enough reward to put up with the heavy responsibilities he’d so begrudgingly taken on, and if he was going to support you the way he wanted to a few troublesome days at the office were a fair price to pay.

The tiny apartment that you two shared came into view in the distance ahead and picked up the pace of his casual gait unconsciously. It wasn’t anything to write home about, just a drab one bedroom situated above a convenience store. The taps leaked and there was a constant draft but it hardly mattered - it was yours, and it felt like home. You’d picked it out together almost a year ago, eager to finally move out of your parent’s houses and start your independent lives together. Since then the dreary white walls had been covered with polaroids and other mementos that painted the picture of your relationship. Some people might call it shabby, but he thought it was cozy. Finally he reached the door with a relieved sigh, the tension of the day left at the threshold as he practically bounded up the stairs.

As soon as he rounded the corner of the entry way he noticed the faint trickle of running water behind the muffled sound of music and your sweet voice singing along. He recognized the song right away - it was one from the playlist he’d made when you first started dating. Filled with music that the two of you listened to together when he finally realized he was falling for you, confessions littered amongst the lyrics and skillfully hidden between other songs that reminded him of you or your time together. He’d tried many times to pick one to be “your song”, but as important as those songs were to him, not a single one on its own managed to communicate the way you made him feel. You had a few ideas yourself but could never settle on one, indecisive as you were. “A whole playlist is better than a song anyway,” you would say whenever he brought it up. “It just means we love each other twenty times as much.” He’d roll his eyes at that, call you troublesome and change the subject, but the echoes of a smile would tug at the corners of his mouth anyway as he secretly agreed.

Originally he was planning to head to the kitchen for an after-work snack, but the sound of your voice changed his course. So instead he kicked off his sandals where he stood and shrugged off his vest as he roamed through the small space to join you in the shower and relax into your arms under the hot water.

He opened the door to the bathroom gingerly, tiptoeing inside quietly in order not to disturb your impromptu concert for the shampoo bottles. It was rare for him to catch you like this. The only time you ever graced his ears with your singing was in the shower, and too often these days his busy schedule kept him from sharing them with you like he preferred. So rather than disrobe and join you right away he crossed his arms as he leaned against the wall and smiled, cherishing the musical lilt of your words for as long as he could. The song changed and one of his favourites came on. It was the one that was playing the night he’d finally worked up the courage to kiss you for the first time. The two of you were laying in the grass side by side, the sun low in the sky as the song played softly over the blown speakers of his phone. It was something about the lyrics, “I am home wherever you are near,” or the way you put the sunset to shame just sitting there not even trying, or maybe just the way he’d been wanting to for weeks but holding back for fear of ruining your friendship - something about that moment felt right. And so he did it, leaned in before he could overthink it or even make a plan and took your face in his hand as he brought his lips to yours. The memory and the warm feeling that always accompanied it felt brand new despite being just over a year old at this point, reminding him just how much he’d changed in a few short years. Becoming right hand to the Hokage, meeting you - as much as he put on a show of resentment when it came to expending effort, it didn’t actually seem so taxing anymore. He found himself out of his comfort zone more often nowadays, doing things no one would expect of the lazy Nara man.

Like his next action for example, he would’ve shadow stitched anyone who tried to tell him just twelve months before he’d be singing along to a love song in the apartment he shared with his lover. Yet here he was, letting go of what little inhibition he held around you and letting the lyrics of his favourite song fall over his lips without any concern for his natural talent.

"But these things lose all their meaning

And allure

If you're not there to

Witness the grandeur

What could shake my love away?"

On the other side of the shower curtain the gravelly sound of his voice stopped your own singing, and a contented smile spread its way across your face as you picked up where you left off, your voices overlapping in an amateur harmony. The verse finished and you peeked around the curtain to look at the dark-haired man in the ponytail. He was still propped against the wall, his almond eyes soft with admiration and that magnetizing smirk that you loved pulling up the corner of his thin lips.

“Well?,” you questioned playfully, “are you going to join me or not?”

His smile widened as he walked over and captured your lips in a kiss. “Yeah, yeah. Patience,” he joked, earning him an eye roll as he pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out his pants. When he was finished undressing and his toned body was exposed to your wandering eyes he stepped into the tub and settled in under the showerhead beside you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and started a slow sway to the music that was still playing.

“I just wanted to listen to you for a bit,” he explained. “I love hearing you sing, I wish you would do it more often.”

He lifted a hand and caressed the side of your face gently. The blood rose to your cheeks at the compliment and you looked away, a small smile playing across your lips. You gave him a playful shove and laughed.

“Shut up… you’re one to talk. I never knew you could sing!” you exclaimed in reference to the happy surprise from just a few moments ago.

He shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t sing. That was a one time thing so you better remember it.”

“That’s not fa-”

He placed his hands on either side of your face and before you could finish your objection his lips were on yours, moving softly over them as the water fell over your faces. You smiled into the kiss as your hands settled on his chest and you softened into his embrace. He wasn’t going to get off that easily, you were filing away this new delicious knowledge for a later date for sure, but for now just the pitter-patter of the water and the sound of your playlist was good enough. A perfect soundtrack for the moment.

#I WANT THIS SO BAD #shikamaru x reader #shikamaru nara #shikamaru nara x reader #shikamaru x y/n #shikamaru x you #shikamaru imagine #shikamaru oneshot #shikamaru fluff #naruto x reader #naruto imagines #naruto fluff

228 notes · View notes

hes-writer · 3 years

Text

drivers’ license

Summary: harry teaches y/n how to drive

Warnings: angst, a little bit of fluff

Word Count: 1805 words

A/N: the ‘blonde girl’ has no face claim.

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MASTERLIST

_____

There were many milestones that Y/N strived to remember; things that she wanted to embed in her memory because each fleeting moment was a few seconds away from being lost. She was afraid that in a blink of an eye; everything would disappear, that she wouldn’t even remember what had been forgotten.

But she would never forget him. Harry. The best friend who taught her how to drive with the utmost patience, calm correction of her mistakes and gentle voice to ease her worry as soon as the shift went from ‘P’ to ‘D’. He was there with precise instruction, detailing each rule and advice that would help her acquire her drivers’ license. He was tolerant of her constant ability to doubt herself, always assuring Y/N that she could do it.

It was silly why Y/N was scared of driving. It was because it felt so grown up, so adult-like and it bought a sense of responsibility. It meant fully committing to adulthood. There was a shift that everything was changing. And by that, she meant everything.

It seemed like a distant memory now.

Y/N took the leap of faith to start learning how to drive, trusting him to teach her the ways. Harry was her light in a dark day. His smile was bright enough for her to admit that through the haze of her nervousness; it wasn’t just caused by her fear of handling and operating a vehicle.

It also had to do with the way Y/N’s stomach fluttered with butterflies when she had parked in an empty lot, Harry sitting on the passenger’s seat as they talked to each other about anything and everything their minds could conjure up at that very moment. No filter.

How Harry enthusiastically shared his excitement about Y/N’s newfound ability to drive to and fro from her apartment to his place. They would be able to go on drives on the coast with nostalgic songs blasting on the radio, screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs where no one would hear them. The wind sifting through his hair to which she commented on maybe getting it snipped; it was why Harry opted to not trust Y/N with scissors anymore after a close-call with the sharp tool. She didn’t know why he had decided to trust her with it in the first place--she was a clumsy one.

Yet Harry continued to spend each and every second of his free time with her, even when he was booked to the hilt with mandatory meetings and unplanned fan encounters, Y/N stood by his side as an unofficial photographer. The dopey grin on her face must’ve been permanent every time that she was around him. Sometimes she looked through the screen of the phone and wondered just how much she would break if Harry wasn’t around in her life and all she had to remember him by was the captured portrait of his kind aura leaking through the device; almost as if he was there right beside her because Y/N seemed to label her best memories with him around.

Harry was it for her. Even if her feelings were not mutual, Y/N would take being his closest friend over being a stranger because at least she was near him. Luckily, Harry returned her affection. Though, it was humiliating to vouch for a relationship that would have to go through troughs and trenches in order to be rendered successful. It seemed impossible with her stoic life compared to his fast-paced, always moving, always travelling situation.

Y/N was willing to work for it. If she were to make a list of things she wanted most, it would be the unconditional love from the one that meant the most to her. Harry was exactly what she wanted--what she needed. Y/N didn’t know what she did in her past life or even now that caused the universe to gift her with a presence as charming and graceful as his but she would do it every day if it meant coming home to his warm embrace.

But Harry wasn’t so keen on commitment. There was no denying that his thorough discourse of relationships hindered his ability to fully trust any future partners and Y/N understood that. The distance gets to peoples’ heads, even his, admittedly. Loneliness seeps through his fingers, directing his body to strangely familiar bodies. Ones whom he was not currently committed to. Wandering hands.

Despite that, Y/N knew that Harry was a good person. Some may call her a fool for giving him a chance but he truly was a genuine guy. She had seen it when he was coddled up, blankets bunched all the way to his chin, only showcasing his angelic face. The crease of his brows free from any worries. He was simply him. She had seen him when he was the most vulnerable.

Harry was a romantic person. He loved to love. He adored the concept of having someone behind him, beside him and in front of him at all times to catch him when he fell, to support him in any new journeys and to lead him when he was lost. Y/N could understand his shortcomings, aiming to better the other person instead of putting them down. She wanted a dialogic approach instead of having a conversation where all she pointed out was his bad qualities.

What she couldn’t comprehend was how easily he had lied to her.

She wasn’t asking for much; Y/N promised to wait for him until he was ready. Until his previous baggage was deemed easy enough to carry, or at least when Harry was able to talk about it without anointing skepticism to his actions. Though, Harry had blatantly disregarded her purity to be patient towards him. Basically, he had told her that he was not ready for a relationship yet here he was now, holding hands with another girl. The blonde woman had caused insecurities to sprout from deep within her since Harry kept citing her age and maturity, adding that she was ‘different’ from the rest as if he hadn’t mentioned it previously.

Y/N would ask herself from time to time; when a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?

She compared it to the times’ Harry’s voice cracked in the middle of singing songs that embedded itself in her memory and the way his ears tinted a blush pink even under the night sky after Y/N quickly gave a glance in his direction. She reminisced about the times when he would explain any ideas he had about new songs, thoroughly immersing not only himself but her as well, in his art. He would sometimes stop midway as if lost in thought when really he was just mesmerized by the slope of her nose and the pucker of her lips.

He was so passionate. So indulged and fervent in making sure everything he did was one-hundred percent, authentically him. Harry spoke with grit when he was overly zealous and he tended with a soft voice when he felt vulnerable.

It was glaringly loud; Y/N could hear him everywhere she went. But now that he was gone—out of reach—did those conversations ever really happen? Was she even present when Harry shyly played a song he had been working on for her, singing stripped with just his raspy voice, serenading her with a tune describing how much gratitude he felt that she was present in his life. He appreciated her so much for accepting him even when the world criticized his every action. For being there when he seemingly felt lonely.

Life itself was funny to her.

Sometimes Y/N wondered how she could let herself be vulnerable with somebody else other than herself. It was plastered everywhere—love never lasts. Relationships come and go, people leave and never return, friends, drift apart and detaching from oneself was even possible. It was practically the motto of anyone searching for love—looking for a sense of comfort and belonging, yet she was practically crushed by the overwhelming reality that it may never happen.

She hated the way her heart longed for him to be near as if when he was too far away it ached in pain. Y/N disliked the feeling of being out of place because where she truly belonged was in his arms. Harry’s nose nuzzled at the top of her head, inhaling her scent as though it was the last time he would hold her—for a while at least.

And it really was because the next day he had left to catch a flight a mere continent away.

____

The night before was special to Y/N. Harry left with a promise of ‘forever’ and that he would return straight to her after his tour ends. It was a dainty promise but Y/N chose to believe him because it was Harry and he never strayed from his words.

He promised to return and Y/N had sworn to wait for him. They both agreed, after admitting their feelings the night before he left, that a long-distance relationship was not how either of them wanted to begin. Although their friendship had lasted years prior to finding out the bubbling flame between them, crossing the line as seamlessly as possible was the gateway to a healthy relationship.

Y/N could hardly wait for his return now that she was driving alone to where she needed to be. Harry was always at the back of her mind no matter how hard she tried to distract herself. He was attached to the episodic memory of Y/N successfully learning how to drive; that was something she couldn’t really forget.

Y/N unlocked the car doors, breathing deeply as soon as she was situated on the driver’s seat. The beeping of the car ringing in her ears until she was reminded to close the car door shut.

She blinked her lids tightly, feeling salty tears pooling at her waterline. It was a sad excuse of trying to not start sobbing right then and there but she was successful.

Starting the engine, Y/N sniffled as she adjusted her mirror, making sure that she could see through them before driving off. As she focused her eyes on the road, Harry’s voice repeated in her head.

She didn’t know where she was going. Y /N didn’t really have a destination to arrive to because her brain was filled with images of Harry and her. Kissing, hugging, looking at each other as if nobody else in the mattered; not even Y/N.

And it hurt a lot because she kept her promise of waiting for him to return but it seemed like he had no trouble filling the hole in his heart, unlike her.

He moved on.

_____

#harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles angst

255 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 3 years

Note

Can I see bondage and blood (4 and 6) for the bratty goat man that is Lucio. I just got into the arcana and I’m loosing my mind over this brat. I love it.

Hahahaha, welcome to the fandom! Thanks for requesting the goat man lol Enjoy ^^

Bondage - “Darling your such a tease. I’ll give you a taste of what it’s like playing with fire.”

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

There were so many red flags when you received the invitation to the Palace. All these rumors about a sickness spreading through the streets of Vesuvia, yet, the count still requested the likes of you to attend to him and keep him company while people began drawing back and isolate. Sure, tending to anyone who demanded your service was your daily bread, but you’d rather stayed at your home as well.

But he was a paying customer and not a first-timer either. Also, as the count, he was paying very, very well. Once these ‘sickness’ wore down, it would be good money in your hand to have, especially if you wanted nothing more than to leave this place.

That wasn’t all, of course. Every visit you spend at his side was filled with lavish meals and grand festivities. You felt less than an escort and more than an actual member of the high society when you were with him. But all the presents and clothes he gave to you were starting to drown you in guilt and fear that one day, this was something to hold over your head if you weren’t careful.

So, why did you go back?

Biting your cheek, you wondered about your reasons as you put on yet another wonderful, soft and endearing garment that he had prepared for you. Lucio hadn’t even arrived yet, but you knew by his choices that he grew bolder every time. You had told him right at the start, from be very beginning, that you weren’t interested in more than staying by his side and looking nice. That other services weren’t your occupation, and even less were you interested in something personal.

Yet, your hands began to sweat nervously as Lucio got announced, servants rushing to open the door for him, and your bad feeling intensified.

“[Name]!” he called out joyfully, arms open wide to pull you into a hug, entering the room without even a moment of hesitation. Lucio wasn’t a typical noble. Everyone talked about him behind his back of how unfit he was in his position. To greet you first and so casually - in front of servants no less - kind of confirmed that. No one would tell him off, strangely enough, giving him the respect to do as he pleased. Perhaps that was the influence of his wife, but you weren’t unhappy that he wasn��t spitting in your face or belittling you like the others would once they were done with you.

“Count,” you greeted him briefly, bowing your head to him with a small smile you could muster. No second later, you were virtually overrun by him, finding yourself dipped down and in his arms in the blink of an eye. “Finally some good company,” he smirked, reaching for your hand to kiss it. Charm, he had, even if this was one of the few good points you could name about him.

It was a rather typical meeting, minus the grand balls he liked to throw for his ‘friends’. Just you too, a table between you that was smaller than the one he usually filled with food. The menu was just as delicious, even though you two had it in silence, Lucio never losing the smile on his face. He usually was much more talkative, so you let him talk, but today, even if you spoke up, he wouldn’t react with his great stories and even greater enthusiasm. Maybe, it was just a calm day for him. Maybe he was just exhausted.

The time couldn’t run out faster, your eyes occasionally flitting to the small clock on top of the fireplace. Yet, every time you’d be disappointed with how much time was still left. You had been served tea, the servants leaving you alone as soon as the biscuits were placed down on the coffee table in front of you. Only when the door fell into its lock did Lucio finally sigh deeply, as if he was bothered by a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“I thought about it,” he finally spoke up, his words more serious than you had heard from him ever. This voice, paired with his words, rose another flinch of nervosity in you, and you sipped at your cup filled with warmth to hide your anxiety. Lucio walked back over to you, sitting down next to you on the couch and taking an inelegant sip of his own cup. “I want you to stay here.”

Immediately, the tea you just drank left a bitter aftertaste on your tongue, and you backed away noticeable. “My Count, I told you in the very beginning I don’t stay the night--”

“No, no!” he quickly waved off, shaking his head before taking a deep breath and reaching for your hands. You wanted to pull away, but at the same time, you feared upsetting such an important figure in this society by behaving rudely. “I meant forever.”

“Forever...?” you muttered, feeling your expression crunch up in confusion. “My Lord, I don’t think that would be appropriated--”

You really couldn’t see yourself, an escort, stay by his side.

“Not yet, but...” his voice trailed off as you thought to see hints of red grace his cheeks. “I will make you Count Consort. I mean it! You’ll have all the rights that even the Countess has, and you’ll be allowed to stay here.”

His offer sounded sincere at least, his expression giving off the impression that - even if it was foolish - he meant it. It took you a lot of strength not to gasp in his face about what he said, the mere idea of you becoming such a high-ranking member of nobility scaring and appalling you. Maybe this was a dream coming true for many people, but not for you. Not for someone like you who wanted to leave this city for a new start, and especially the Count who was starting to do what you always feared he would: Monopolize you.

“I cannot,” you said firmly, feigning regret in your voice before pulling your hands from his. “Why?” he asked, inching closer, your legs touching while he kept snapping for your hands. “I... I just can’t.”

“That’s not a reason. You can. Just say yes and stay with me.”

Finally, he managed to get a hold of your wrists, squeezing them tightly in his fingers. The golden prothesis always had scared you a little when he touched you with it. It was cold, and not rarely he put on claws on top of his fingertips that seemed more than just dull accessories. You were glad it wasn’t the case this time, yet the sheer strength he managed to bring up with it was only made more painful by the metal.

“No!” you gasped, finally letting your feeling of fear and disgust showing on your face. It was in the gist of the moment, Lucio witnessing your rejection, that he loosened the strength on his grip so you could tear your arm away. You didn’t mean to cross his cheek with your palm. You really didn’t! But when you realized the slapping sound echoing through the room, it was already too late, and you had jumped up, staring at what you did in horror.

The next moment, you ran to the door, slamming into the wood as it wouldn’t budge when you wanted to open it.

You always believed that he was different, but perhaps, you should have heeded the warnings. He treated you nicely, but in the end, when the other escorts told you that he had little patience, yet mighty demands of his partners, you should have heeded their advice to not go agree again and again to visit him. They told you about what he took pleasure in; the colosseum, the wars, bloodshed, and people worshipping him. It should have been enough for you to not return. To see that he was no good man, even if he treated you right.

“Darling you’re such a tease,” you heard behind you, and no second passed that another body pressed up to you, locking you between the door and Lucio. “You want me to fight for you? Beg you? Run after you? If that’s what you want, sure, I don’t mind.”

Exasperated, you turned around, not wanting to leave your back so exposed to him, only to find yourself staring right at a golden key he held in front of you. Hesitant, you glanced at him, his eyes now clearly duller compared to before, where he looked at you as the object of his affection, but the smile playing on his lips was anything but sincere. The mismatch of expression scared you, but you quickly snatched the key from him, fiddling with the door a little until you heard the lock open. Pressed up so close to it, it was no surprise you lost your footing, tumbling to the ground as it finally gave away. In the hallway usually filled with hustling and bustling of servants and guards, dead silence and darkness were all that awaited you.

You faintly remembered the layout as you stumbled to your feet, giving a short glance over your shoulder as you saw Lucio step out of the room as well, his hand leisurely coming up to usher you forwards. “Run, my Beloved. It’s only fair if you have a chance to escape. You always told me how you wanted to escape your life, so here I thought we were under the same impression, but in the end, you’re going to hate me as well, don’t you?”

His words were so sad, yet, their meaning scarier than anything to you. You never realized... that he thought this way. That up till now, he had been looking out for you after all. “But it doesn’t matter if you hate me,” he added, shoulders slumping as he looked at you pitifully. “Everyone does, but that means they let me do what I want. And I want to be with you. Deep down, you know I can make your wish come true. Otherwise, why would you have always come back to me?”

Now, you weren’t waiting anymore. As quickly as you could, with the fabric of the garment rushing by you as you ran, you made your way to what you thought was the exit. There was something mad about the way he uttered these last sentences, and you didn’t want to find out. Not when you heard his steps follow after you.

“That’s a dead-end,” he called behind you as you dipped into a sidearm of the hallway. “Don’t make it easy for me to catch you, Sweetheart.”

But it was already too late; you had to move forward. You’d slip into a room there and jump out of the window if it turned out that there wasn’t any way left to go. But the further in you got, the fewer doors you saw until they only sparsely appeared around you. Every time you thought, “One more, the next I will enter and escape,” but then they stopped appearing completely, and you ran right into a portrait of your suitor at the end of the hallway.

“You went easy on me?” you heard behind you. “You’re such an adorable rabbit. You could have just told me that you wanted me to court you some more! But don’t you worry.”

Eventually, Lucio caught up to you while you pressed up to the wall in your back, eyeing for a chance to escape him. Until it was too late, his face so close to you, you felt his breath against your lips and a cold, uncomfortable grip around your chin. “Hate me all you want, but I finally realize this is what you want too. You got me really riled up now, [Name]. We can play all night long if you want.”

You wanted to say something, do something, slap him again! But you couldn’t. You couldn’t even move a finger, or take a breath, captivated by the glowing silver of his eyes, shining even in the dark. “I’ll give you a taste of what it’s like playing with fire,” he whispered before you felt his lips close in on yours.

“Because that’s what you did to me too and now it’s your turn to get burned.”

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash.

Prologue Chapter 1

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times. Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared, momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now, Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

#creativitwins #logan sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #Roman Sanders #TS: Fall of Romulus #this features #10% more plot but 100% more logan #this is the second full fic ive ever done and the first multichapter so feedback appreciated :o

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years

Text

shy pt.4

-Fatgum x f!reader-

smut drabble with a shy/inexperienced reader that got longer than I expected and my god, I want this man so badly

You should have gone with the pink lace. A simple, wireless bra wasn’t the sexiest thing in the world, even if it had matching panties and little lace decorations. It also gave your breasts a more natural look. Hopefully, Taishiro would like the burgundy color.

You couldn’t bring yourself to venture into the lingerie aisle. There were prettier colors and designs, but it was packed with people- people who could actually pull off dainty chemises and sexy bustiers. And the panties weren’t anything special.

But now that you stared in the mirror long enough, the underwear wasn’t even cute. You should just take it off. He wouldn’t like it and he’d be home any minute. You told him you’d stop by his place to drop off some leftovers. You should stick to that instead.

Tai said your name. You whipped around, holding your chest. “Oh, you’re changing. Sorry.”

“Wait.” You gripped his sleeve to stop him from leaving. A blush showed when he turned. It flooded heat under your skin. Flutters tickled your stomach, shaking your hand and wavering your voice, “This was- is- I was thinking I- I wanted to… Do you like it?” You lowered your other arm, so he could see the set fully.

“I like the color. It’s like velvet. Can I?” He held up his hand to feel it. At your nod, the back of his finger traced the side of the cup, close to your nipple, which was easy to see under the thin material. “It’s really soft… and pretty.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he smiled wide.

“You don’t- It’s not too… plain?”

“It’s beautiful. You look beautiful.”

Still holding his sleeve, you stood on your tippy-toes, inviting a kiss. His tongue lightly sipped your lips while his hands flowed up and down your sides. You squished to his stomach, sensing exactly how ready you were. “I think…” Correcting yourself, you sighed into him, “I am ready.”

He pulled away. Eyes lit up. The blush grew. “Let me take a shower, then I’ll give you all my attention, okay?”

You nodded, matching his smile, “Yeah.”

“Give me five minutes.” He pecked your forehead before hurrying to the bathroom.

You waited on the bed, rubbing, crossing, and uncrossing your legs. The water turning off sent excitement down your spine. Rummaging through drawers jittered your thighs. The door opening made you jump up.

Tai returned to the bedroom, a baby pink towel wrapped his waist. It did nothing to shroud his arousal. The cloth plumped around him. Dark blond hair peeked out from the top, ebbing into a barely noticeable light yellow shade. Purple stretch marks curved upwards past his belly button.

The rousing sight made you realize you’ve never seen him naked. Or even without his shirt. “You are- You’re, um… you- you’re very handsome,” you whispered, looking at the wall painting.

He approached and kissed the top of your head, thanking you. Something was placed in your hand then you were lifted onto the bed. Large, rough hands glided up your waist. Lips lined the side of your face, pressing smiling kisses all over. “You gonna keep staring at the wall?”

“No.” You glanced down. A condom and lube were in your hand.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

Fingers gently tilted your chin for a proper kiss. Pink brightened his cheeks, reaching his ears. “Me too but I’m also excited.”

“Me too.” You reconnected it, feeling the items taken from you and tossed to the bed. Your hands blindly surveyed his body. His stomach moved in steady breaths. Soft marks waved under your fingertips. Scars cushioned your palm. All of him felt excellent.

Fingers returned to your bra, fondling, pinching and squeezing and testing. A heavy moan left your mouth, directly into his. You hugged his neck and pressed snug to him. His tongue slunk over yours. Another moan came at the laden thickness. Your hips responded, humping piteously. Saliva shed. Sounds shared. Sparks shuddered.

The touch of his cold fingers slipping into your panties made you gasp. They gently slicked along you, venturing a roll or two on your clit. “You got this wet waiting for me?”

“Yes,” you whined among the many kisses. One finger eased in, searching. You grabbed his arm, quite breathless after the make out.

“I need to stretch you first, baby. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Where should I?”

“Hold on one sec.” His fingers left you. He licked them plenty, humming and smirking. They moved to your back and unhooked the bra. Straps slowly graced down your arms. He complimented your breasts, leaning in to suck a nipple.

It was nice but you just wanted him. “Tai, please…”

“Alright. Lay down. Just like when I ate you out.”

You did, legs spread plenty. He kneeled. Fingers followed the lace trimming, plucking and snapping it a few times. “This is so sexy.” They trailed the leg openings next, tickling your thighs, smoothing and pressing over you.

You reached for his fingers. He grinned, “You’re that excited?”

“Yes.”

He kissed your tummy and slid the underwear off. They landed beside your head. “Make sure you save those for another time. I want to play with them more later.”

Embarrassment fluttered up but your wants and needs overpowered it, letting you watch him take the first lick. Golden eyes stared back as he tongued deep. “You taste so good,” he groaned, letting his lips and tongue rumble against you.

“Fingers… put your fingers in me.”

“You’ve gotten more vocal. I love it,” he praised and granted you what you wanted. One finger eased in, grooming. Another followed, skimming your front wall, curling for a reaction.

You moaned and held his wrist, “A little more.” They extended and folded. A third finger was added. It was more than the last time. And the single addition made a huge difference. You whined, snagging the sheets.

His hand ran over your stomach to relax you. “You’re doing great. I’m almost done, baby girl.”

The fingers pressed up over and over. Wetness wallowed. Heat sucked your clit. The pressure spilled over. You clenched his hand, moaning, applauding, tensing your back, twisting your hips before all your muscles slumped.

“Damn, you really are excited,” he teased the swift orgasm.

“Stop,” you giggled. “But keep going.”

Copying your amusement, Tai dropped the towel, revealing his entire body. Dark blond hair clustered above his base. A couple of light stretch marks lined the outside of his thighs.

Your gawking was blocked when he worked the condom on and covered himself in lube. It glossed his palm and dripped to the bed. He stroked his fingers along you a few more times, pampering the lube deep, making sure you were wet enough. It sprouted a new itch. You sighed at his gaze and heed. You asked for something bigger, grander, powerful.

Deeming you prepared, he lined himself, poking you ever so slightly. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me if it’s uncomfortable at any point.”

You nodded and braced your hands against his stomach, feeling the invisible hairs. His head nudged in. It was his thickest part and it certainly felt like it. The stretch was fairly unpleasant. Nails pricked his skin.

His hand returned to your tummy, rubbing his thumb. “I’m almost in, baby girl. Does it hurt?”

“No, it’s just-” You gasped as his head popped in. “It’s just a little big.”

“You’re doing perfect.” He leaned down, kissing you. Groans and moans exchanged the farther he filled. Tongues and lips mindlessly explored. You scratched his sides at the overindulgence. Moans softened to whimpers.

“Are you okay?” he whispered between your fevered bodies. You confirmed with another long kiss, running your hands all over him. He was hot and thick and so, so heavy. You wriggled under him to get him to thrust.

Saliva hung, connecting you when he straightened. It broke and dribbled to your breasts. Thumb moving to tenderly circle your clit, he commended, “You feel so warm, so tight.”

Fluster and flurry cut off your response. You could only pant and paw and hang on while he waited for your word. It eventually huffed out, “Keep… Start… please.”

“Of course.” He kissed your wrist and set it back on his stomach. He held your thighs as he slowly pulled out. The weight abandoned you, leaving you cold. But then he gently pushed in, bearing heat. He calmly repeated the action, sleeking in and out, gradually building his pace.

You moaned his name. It spurred a hard thrust. “Again.”

The clutch on your thighs tightened. The force tried to bump you up the bed, but his hold kept you to him.

“More.”

He came down for a kiss, talking messily with the saliva and breathlessness, “I really love hearing your voice. You’re such a good girl.”

Lust filled your next moan. His body, his care, his praise, his patience, his dick, all of it was just fucking perfect. “Please, Tai. I want you.”

He bottomed out. Thighs ground. You scratched his sides. His tongue swept into your mouth. “God, you taste so good, everywhere. You’re so good, baby.”

“Please, please… give me more,” you quietly begged.

He sat up. Your legs were straightened and laid on his stomach. Impassioned hands grabbed and lifted your ass, thrusting, rooting heavily. His head scuffed and stretched. His length tautened and bulged. You cried his name every sink, struggling to swallow your saliva with his body heaving against yours.

Legs and balls slapped louder the faster he went. He grunted, “Touch yourself.”

You didn’t have to. One rampant buck was plenty to send you over. Your head rolled back. Your mouth draped open. Air stuck in your throat as you silently, desperately humped with pleasured muscles and satisfied limbs.

Even when the bliss waned, Tai still held your waist, moving, handling, using you to find his end. His knee rose to the bed, lifting you more. He groaned and rumbled and dropped one last time. The weight shook a deep ache.

You rubbed his sides where you clawed and kissed his shoulder. His breath hushed. Lips smooched your cheek. You sighed as he pulled out and gulped as he lifted you onto his stomach, sticky and sore.

Kisses flushed the top of your head. Hands knead your neck and back. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” you smiled, nuzzling into his chest. “You?”

He chuckled, “I’m great too.”

“Was it okay?”

“It was so much better, baby.” He kissed you. “So much better.”

#fatgum #fatgum x reader #fatgum smut #fatgum imagine #taishiro toyomitsu #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #bnha fatgum #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bnha #bnha imagines

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shutupaboutandraste · 3 years

Note

“Hear this now — I will always come for you” for Fenders? <3

OKAY so like. I saw this and was just immediately inspired and knew exactly what I wanted to write so I hope you like it!

It's more pre-ship, buuuuut still Fenders.

Words: 3203 Pairing: Fenris/Anders For @dadrunkwriting

ACT I

To say Fenris didn’t trust Anders would be an understatement. An abomination through and through, he would never understand Hawke’s trust in him. Perhaps, it was because of her sister-- Bethany always seemed to vouch for him, something else that made Fenris’ head spin. Never before Bethany Hawke had he seen a mage so in control of themself. Yet, there was Bethany who shined in beauty, grace, and kindness all without being possessed or resorting to blood magic. He had only known her for a short time since he was approached by Hawke’s motley crew.

Still, he stuck by them, despite it all. Hawke had become a good friend in the short time he had known her. Even if her taste in women was… questionable. Anyone with eyes could see the tall warrior had affection for the Dalish blood mage of all people. Of course, that did exclude the elf in question. Merrill seemed entirely blind, even when Hawke told her that she was free to call her Aingheal. To everyone else, that name seemed off limits and Merrill seemed content to leave it that way for herself. Strange woman…

There were days he thought about leaving. Danarius could arrive any day on the doorstep of his borrowed mansion any day. The thought of leaving, however, left the taste of ash in his mouth. Little things were what he would miss-- Hawke coming to check in on him, coming back to the mansion to find little plates of food from Merrill, Isabela’s flirting, all of it. Loyalty threaded into Hawke’s group, evident in the way they watched each other’s back in battle to those little gestures Fenris had grown fond of in the past few months. Echoes of his days with the Fog Warriors sang softly within him.

These thoughts tumbled and toppled over each other with each passing day. Fenris took each one in and compartmentalized it within. These were the people that he had thrown his lot in with, for better or worse. Yet, he never knew if Merrill would be possessed by a demon, or whether Anders would suddenly turn on them to fulfill the desires of Vengeance. So, when Anders was still glowing after an encounter with a Tal Vashoth mercenary group on the wounded coast, Fenris leaped into action.

His brands lit up as he reached for Anders. Justice’s glare flashed his way, but he did not flinch. The only thing that stopped him was Hawke’s sword in his way. His heels let him skid to a stop just in time to avoid phasing through it. There was always a chance that phasing through a weapon would just wind up with him impaled.

“What the hell, Fenris?”

Varric whistled, “Easy, Broody! That one is friendly.”

“Hardly,” he snarled, “Why is your demon still active, mage?”

“I AM NO DEMON,” boomed that voice that both was and was not Anders. Still, it didn’t argue further, seemingly releasing Anders for its thrall.

Anders snarled at him, “Justice was fine! You could have killed me!”

Fenris crossed his arms, holding his head high, acting as if he could stand down the taller man, “And you could have killed Hawke.”

Hawke scoffed, “I can fight my own battles. Thanks. Justice doesn’t scare me.”

There she went again, trusting the fool mage and his demon. Even though Fenris had warned her of all he saw in Tevinter, Hawke insisted that she knew better. One day she might live to regret it. Fenris hoped that he didn’t live to see that day. For all his terse nature, he did want Hawke to be right about Anders. So, he let the argument brewing inside him die.

Hawke was a harsh woman. When she spoke, there was no argument, one simply followed. That did not make her unkind, simply firm. It was one of the many things Fenris found himself respecting, all but in awe of. Leadership decorated Hawke like well-fitted armor. There was very little she could do now to waiver his trust in her. The group began heading out, Varric and Hawke immediately taking to counting out the loot as they walked.

Fenris came up to walk beside Anders, “You may have favor with Hawke, mage, but hear this, should you betray her--”

“Why are you so sure of my guilt long before I’ve committed a crime?”

“Should you betray her, hear this now-- I will always come for you. That is a threat.”

ACT II

Putting trust in Hawke was far from misplaced. Long after the Deep Roads, she still remained his friend, helped him when Hadriana came knocking, and trusted him in return. Fenris was a regular member of her party, trusting him even about Aveline whom she had known for far longer. Hawke was a natural, but ruthless in her efficiency. Fenris respected that, even when he wasn’t sure he agreed. Sometimes, Fenris caught Hawke with a wild, angry glint in her eye as she plowed through enemies with an almost sadistic glee. Fighting was the happiest he had seen her bar her time spent with Merrill or after she was permitted a visit with Bethany at the Circle.

Yet, still, Hawke persisted with Anders. The mage had only grown more rebellious and unstable since they had met. Fenris did not despise him, but Anders set his teeth on edge in a way Fenris had not known in some time. Yet, she had left him to deal with the wounded as healer and protector while she fought the Arishok.

Upon the kill, Fenris thought she might cut off the Qunari leader’s head and hoist it up as a trophy. If she was, she never got the chance as she was rushed upon. The word ‘Champion’ echoed about the halls of the Viscount’s Keep. Before Fenris’ very eyes, the city seemed to be turned upside down. In the chaos, he managed to stumble out of the building, attempting to follow Merrill and Varric as they both rushed after Hawke.

Bethany was outside, tailing Orsino under the watchful eye of Meredith-- Shit. Where was Anders?

Templars milled about outside, keeping watch over mages who were working on healing the wounded while Aveline’s guard began lining up the dead, human, dwarf, elf, and qunari alike. There was no mess of dirty blond hair among them. No matter what he thought, Anders did a service in Darktown. Without him, the Ferelden refugees would be worse off. Instead of following whatever parade was forming around Hawke, he ducked down a side street, attempting to search for Anders.

Smoke still filled the air, making Fenris cough as he attempted to plunge ahead. Loud wailing was still echoing in the streets, amid the cheers of victory. Loss had still struck everyone fiercely. While he searched for Anders, he also kept his eyes peeled for Isabela. Wherever she had left to go to, he had a sinking feeling that she was never coming back.

Neither deep black curls nor a dirty blond mop was what caught his eye. Instead, it was Aveline’s flash of bright ginger hair. And, safe from templars, Anders was next to her. Fenris found himself surprisingly sighing with relief. He had worried for nothing. Carefully, he approached them.

“This is your fault,” Anders snapped, teeth grit as he tried to control Justice.

Aveline snarled, “What? Saving you from templars?”

“No! The Qunari attack!” he replied, “Much as I appreciate you getting me out of there.”

“Isabela stole that tome,” muttered Aveline, crossing her arms, “That’s what started this.”

“Isabela stole that stupid book ages ago. Then you let that… that monster get away with raping a girl!” Blue crackled at the edges of Anders’ eyes, which he shut, quickly as he tried to slow his breathing. His self-control after a long day of casting and healing was reaching its limit.

Aveline rubbed her nose bridge in frustration, “Anders, honestly, I don’t know what you expect me to do--”

“Punish the guard?” offered Anders, “Or would that be too much effort because the victim was an elf? I didn’t realize we were in Tevinter.”

“That was uncalled for,” snarled Aveline, clearly close to losing her patience.

Quickly, nearly fade-stepping to get there, Fenris went forward, taking Anders by the shoulders. Justice flashed, but Anders merely looked alarmed at being touched. His eyes narrowed on Aveline, who instead just looked relieved that someone else had interrupted them. He nodded at her slowly.

“Hawke asked me to escort him back to Darktown,” he said, “Go to your guards.”

“Be safe,” she said before turning to leave.

Anders scoffed, pulling away from Fenris and trudging ahead, “I should be out there healing.”

“You can deal with the injured that make it to the clinic,” sighed Fenris.

He crossed his arms, trudging forward, “Did Hawke really ask you to come check on me? I figured she’d send someone else. Varric, maybe, or--”

“She’s too busy entertaining the masses,” admitted Fenris, “I wanted to make sure you did not get caught by the templars.”

“Me?” Anders scoffed, “Why do you care?”

Why do you care about the lives of elves? Fenris wanted to ask. Yet… He knew why. While the Spirit within Anders could ebb and flow between Justice and Vengeance, Fenris knew that the Anders had originally allowed a spirit in him. Anders had stories of Justice and their time with the Grey Wardens as separate people. Letting the guard go unpunished was unjust, no matter who the victim was, but as usual it was elves who saw the short end of the stick.

Despite every notion Fenris had of the other man, Anders continued to prove himself dedicated to the people, even if those people were usually mages. Everyone was welcome at his clinic, from refugees to the Seneschal himself. Many things Anders did annoyed Fenris, but his dedication and passion were to be admired. To see a spark of joy when healing, that was something Fenris could respect. Maybe he even wanted to, if he would just let himself.

Hawke expected his loyalty-- she had it, of course, but she still expected it. When that loyalty was questioned, she made sure you knew about it. When he had run off after killing Hadriana, she had made her position known. If Fenris wanted to do that again, he better damn well wait until they got back to Kirkwall so they weren’t romping across the Wounded Coast without help. Her anger had shamed him.

A few nights later, he had brought Anders dinner. The practice was not uncommon among the group, but it happened when Anders failed to show up at the Hanged Man. Usually, they played a round of Wicked Grace to see who took the meal. Fenris had been the first out, thus the man to take the meal. Anders had been finishing up with a patient-- a little elven girl with a scraped knee. The injury was hardly worth the time of a healer with Anders’ caliber, yet Fenris watched as he distracted her with jokes while healing her knee. Once he was done, he patted it, making her smile before he dug around for a bit, pulling out a sweet. Most of them were stale, but the refugee children hardly cared, always pleased that the healer had candy for them.

When he saw Fenris, Anders had asked him if he was okay. There was no yelling about Fenris’ comment about how magic spoiled everything--though Anders had made a snide remark when he had spoken it. No, concern lined the wrinkles of Anders’ face as he graciously took the meal, double and triple checking that Fenris didn’t need healing or something to help. Once that was over with, Anders huffed, told Fenris he was stubborn, thanked him for the meal, and reminded him to clean the up mansion before he caught something from the corpses.

“Hear this now,” he said, “I will always come for you. That is a promise.”

ACT III

Smoke had a horrible, overwhelming scent. After the Qunari attack, he didn’t have the stomach to even enjoy a good campfire anymore. But watching the rubble of the Chantry smolder before him sent a revulsion through his gut. Why did Anders always have to be such a fool? Why couldn’t he just wait for the conflict to run its inevitable course?

Hawke did not ask for their opinions. Sebastian was furious-- so was she. Merrill had her hands clasped at her heart as they watched Aingheal Hawke walk around Anders like a predatory animal. For prey, he looked remarkably calm, sad, even.

Run, you idiot. Petrify her and run for your life.

Anders didn’t move. He wanted to die. Fenris felt sick.

“I trusted you,” hissed Hawke, “I made you part of my family; I protected you. Then you LIE to me, have me help you do this.”

“The war is inevitable,” said Anders, “Justice and I have done what had to be done. Kill me if you will and be done with it.”

“You put my WIFE in danger! You put my SISTER in danger!” Hawke raised a fist, bashing it across the side of Anders’ head.

“Vhennan, no!” exclaimed Merril, “Don’t kill ‘im. He can help us protect the mages, please.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live!” bit back Sebastian.

Hawke growled, “Do not speak to her that way! Merrill, I can’t. He’s too dangerous. He’s… He’s not the Anders we knew. Not anymore.”

Fenris felt his fist clench at his side. These theatrics were ridiculous-- there was a city to save. And, to be frank, either they chose Anders to die as he pleased or they went with Merrill’s plan. Hawke had seemingly chosen the former. Tears streamed down Merrill’s cheeks as she looked away, her wife hoisting her greatsword high. Fenris felt his insides twist.

He remembered the Anders he thought he knew. Once upon a time, that man had been an abomination, just a foolish mage playing Maker. Then, things had shifted. As much as he wanted things to be simple, Anders never allowed anything to be so. With his manifesto and ranting, came the healing and the gentle touches. Even when he himself forgot to eat, he never let anyone else forget. He would risk hair and hide in battle to protect others.

One night, not long after Hawke had been dubbed the Champion, Anders had admitted to Fenris that he had not always been so selfless. Justice was what brought out the best in him-- that if Fenris hated him now, he would have loathed the Anders of the Circle or the Grey Wardens, all flirt and wit and self-serving. Somehow, Fenris doubted that was the whole story.

Each passing day over the last three years, he found he craved it more. Was Anders really so different? Or was he exaggerating in an effort to self-loathe everything about himself? One minute he was witty and charismatic the next he seemed to gain ten years from exhaustion. Yet, each day, that wit and charisma faded away. A demon-- not a traditional one, but some sort of sickness of the mind-- had taken hold of the healer. Had anyone tried to help him?

Varric, perhaps, refusing to give into such demands like taking a pillow that meant so much Anders. Yet, no one else knew what to do. None of them knew how to cope with this shell of their friend. But he was still there. After Danarius, Hawke had clapped him on the back, asked him if he was alright, and went on her way.

Anders had shown up that night, barging his way in, double-checking injuries he had already healed while Fenris pushed him away. It didn’t work, of course. The mage had always been too stubborn for that. No matter how easy it would be for Fenris to kill him, Anders had never feared him. He treated him like any other friend. Only a week ago, he had invited Anders to eat dinner together… privately.

And then Fenris, cowardly, had failed to show.

Showing up would not have changed this event. No, Anders was too far into this plan, he was sure. Yet, now, he could not find it in him to overthink. Firelight glinted on Hawke’s as it arched its way down. Far faster than he knew that he could run, Fenris found himself knelt at Anders’ side. His hands clutched the other man’s shoulders, before shoving him forward. Lyrium flickered to life.

Hawke’s sword passed through him. Phantom sensations touched him, but did not harm him. Anders looked at him from where he had fallen, gathering himself up as he stared at them all. His feet slid backward, his mouth attempting to make Fenris’ name. Behind him, Hawke seethed.

“Run!” he ordered, urging Anders, “Run! Hear this, I will always come for you! I will find you! Go!”

Anders nodded quickly, life suddenly seeming to spring forth in his eyes. Oh, how long had Fenris longed to see that glint again. He had not realized he had ached for it until he saw its gleam. The mage took off, rushing away and into the chaos of the street. Once he was out of sight, Fenris turned to face them. Sebastian had his bow cocked at his head while Hawke looked disgusted.

“You bastard,” she hissed, “What had gotten into you?”

“What has gotten into you?” he repeated, “Anders was your friend. More-so than he ever was mine.” And yet, his stupid, treacherous heart and all of its longing had found the sympathy to save him.

“You were right,” she sneered, “He was always an abomination. I was blind.”

“Your wife is a blood mage,” snapped Fenris, “Shall you put her to the sword next?” Merrill gasped, but he glanced at her, trying to show her that it was not something he wanted. Hawke looked appalled at such a suggestion, thank the Maker, and lowered her sword.

Hawke did not circle him like a prey animal as she did Anders. No, instead he raised her nose to him. Golden eyes, just a bit hazel and always piercing, cast their judgement down on him. In an instant, without thinking, she saw what he had done as throwing away her loyalty to save Anders. And Hawke always expected his loyalty.

“I loved you like a brother,” she said, shaking her head, “Get out. Get out of my sight. If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you both.” Merril sobbed, Varric quickly tending to her, looking unusually surly at Hawke. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so unusual. Hawke was always funnier in his tales than she was in person. Perhaps Fenris had been blinded to something Varric had always seen.

Fenris did not say goodbye. Instead, he walked away with pride, head held high, a free man who would not be tethered to a woman who confused loyalty with ownership. Fenris owed her much, but she did not own him. And a free man was allowed to walk into whatever fate he damned well please.

Fenris chose Anders, and he knew he would keep choosing Anders every day after. All he had to do was find him.

#dadwc #fenders #da2 #fenris #anders #da drunk writing circle #da

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iworshipkeanureeves · 4 years

Text

A Private Show

John Wick x f!character

Summary: It’s John’s birthday and his wife has a surprise for him.

Words: 2350

Warnings: pole dancing/stripping, smut (bodily fluids, oral)

Exhausted after another grueling, yet successful job, John was getting ready to head back home tonight. Exiting his bathroom in nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips, he felt at peace, leaving his job behind for a while. He was finally getting some personal time.

John was so lost in his thoughts about returning home that he barely noticed a purple envelope lying on the floor; someone must have slipped it under his door while he had the shower on.

Suspicious and holding a gun in his hand, John slowly opened the door, taking a look around the corridor, hoping to see the person who was behind that; however, no one was there anymore. Curious to know what was inside, he had no choice but to open the envelope.

Given the usual, John wasn’t expecting anything good in there. Best case scenario, he thought there could be directions for a new job, meaning he would have to stay here for the weekend. And worst case… he didn’t want to think about that yet.

Holding the envelope in his calloused hands, John carefully opened the letter. He was pleasantly surprised to find a short note written in an immaculate cursive.

From the first glance it looked printed, but no, it was handwritten; the letters so perfectly smooth and so familiar that John was sure about the person responsible for these lines. It was her, it must have been her.

Just as he was to put the letter down and go search for a nice three piece suit, John heard his telephone ringing. He hesitated for a second, thinking he should better concentrate on following the address, but eventually he decided to pick it up, just in case.

“The car is waiting for you, Mister Wick.” It was Charon calling from reception, his tone suggesting that John should not reject the night that was awaiting him.

“Thank you.” His answer was concise, masking the excitement, and, after putting the phone down, John rushed to get dressed.

---

Stepping out of the car, John learned that the address belonged to a strip club. He was not exactly sure what to think of it, but he couldn’t really complain if that was her organizing it. Was there a surprise party awaiting him inside? Had she hired someone to dance for him? John had so many thoughts, but he was rushing indoors to see for himself what the letter was about.

Inside the club he was met by the dim lighting, only neon purple showing the way. John couldn’t see any people hanging around, leading him to believe that there was something really special planned for tonight.

He was burning with anticipation, walking towards the main lounge with shiny poles enlightened on the center stage. Deeper into the club, John noticed that there was a bottle of dark whiskey, his favorite, supposedly waiting for him; he got himself comfortable on a velvet sofa waiting for the show to begin.

As John was putting the bottle down after pouring himself a drink, he heard I Put a Spell on You by Nina Simone starting to play. The lights suddenly shifted, concentrating on a single pole, the one that was closest to him.

Then finally, John saw her. His wife. Slowly walking out of the shadows, wearing just a set of black see-through bralette paired with a diamond lace G-string.

The sight made John forget about the glass he had just poured for himself, forcing him to lean closer to the stage. He even held his breath for a moment or two, admiring his woman sensually stepping on a podium; her scarlet lips forming a sultry smile accompanied by a sinful gleam in her eyes.

Keeping the eye-contact she leaned her back against the metal bar, sliding down in a lengthy, sensual motion, keeping her angles together, but spreading her knees further apart. She kept her one arm up, clenching the pole above her head, while another teasingly stroked her inner thigh, concentrating John’s attention towards her center, driving him crazy with what was only a prelude for the show he was about to receive.

There was already a lump forming in John’s throat and he could hardly swallow marveled by the sight of his wife gracefully standing back up, swaying her hips together with the beat.

She walked around the pole, showcasing her behind, her perfectly round cheeks framed by the shiny jewels forming a string. John’s brain was short circuiting, the heat overpowering his core, as she was arching her back, rolling her body against the shiny metal bar.

Hooking one leg around it, she effortlessly mounted herself up the pole with grace. She was spinning, her free leg flowing in the air. Unbelievably, his wife kept upping her game, flipping over to face the floor, splitting her legs like it came natural to her.

She had the perfect flow, seamless fluidity in her motion. John could only wonder when or where she had learned.

Finally gathering the strength back to his hands, John took a sip of his drink, minding her surprising flexibility, the way she could spread her legs like it was simple for her. He felt his pants tightening thinking about all the things he could do bending her in various shapes, the way his hips could thrust deep into her, keeping her legs far apart giving the maximum access.

It was like she was reading John’s thoughts, sliding downwards with her body upside down, inverting the last second before reaching the ground. She landed into a perfect split, her bottoms subtly bouncing from hitting the floor.

John was admiring her glowing skin, the way she was showcasing her legs, sensually standing up with the help of the pole. He was eager to just go there and rip that meager outfit away from her.

Luckily that wasn’t necessary as John saw his wife stepping down from the podium and nearing his sofa, making his excitement shoot high. She kept teasing him, approaching John slowly with an erotic swing; her hands went to her back, unclasping the bralette and leaving her topless, giving another delicious treat for John’s eyes.

“A lap dance for my birthday boy,” she breathed in vulgar tone, hovering over his legs and making him press to the backrest with a single firm push. John inhaled, feeling her heat beginning to grind against his expanding crotch; her hands went under the lapels of his suit, nails digging into his tough chest.

“Can I touch?” John asked, taking a final sip and setting an empty glass on the table; he needed to free his hands, in case her answer was yes.

“Anything, darling.” The salacious words rolled over her tongue, and she delved into John’s lips, feeling his palms cupping, and then kneading her ass cheeks. The second she pulled away from the kiss, John’s mouth caught her nipple, sucking passionately and sending shivers all the way to her limbs.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled John even closer, making his face drown in the fullness of her breasts. She knew her pussy was already dripping, ruining his pants, but his bulge felt too good against her folds to worry about that.

She removed his jacket tossing it to the ground, and while her swift fingers moved to deal with his buckle, John was unbuttoning his vest at the same time. She kissed him once more, before kneeling down between his legs and sliding down his unzipped pants; just enough to get a hold on his stiff member, warm and meaty, looking colossal in her tiny palm.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I’ll come before you even take it in your mouth.” John stated in a deep, carnal tone; his hands shaking form the need to pull her head closer and wrap her lips around his twitching cock.

“Patience,” she smirked, making a single, painfully slow lick from base to tip, her tongue gathering drops of precum emerging from his flushed summit. She stayed there for a while, her lips sucking only the tip, tasting salty liquor with her unhurried tongue.

Her eyes were fiery, assuring John that he was in for a long night. It was his birthday and she wanted for him to fully relax, forget everything about the world that was outside the club. At least for once in a really long time.

Gazing into John’s eyes she started gradually increasing the amplitude, taking more of him with each bob. She was getting really messy, saliva dripping at the corners of her lips, the music getting overpowered by the dirty sounds.

“Fuckk-“ John choked out, feeling her lips gliding his length, her palm stroking what was too much for her mouth. He couldn’t resist but to clench her hair in his hand, directing her movements; her pace and depth. Some of the jabs were almost too much, but John knew her the best, he wouldn’t have done so if she hadn’t been able to take that. His wife loved a little struggle, John was sure of that.

Each time her lips were reaching closer to the dark hair nesting his length, John felt himself nearing his edge; but he wasn’t going to come yet. John was pretty good at controlling himself, even when his wife was skillfully working between his legs. Having a fistful of her hair, John halted her movements, carefully helping her up.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, sinking into his lap once again.

“Not at all.” He joined her lips for a quick, yet filthy kiss. “It’s just that I can smell your pussy all soaked, desperate to be filled.” John pulled her petty panties to the side, running two of his fingers between her folds. “Look at that, I wasn’t wrong.” Pushing his digits in, John cherished the sight of his wife slightly gasping, as he was stretching her walls before invading them with his hefty cock.

“Please, John.” She begged in a needy voice, her pussy throbbing with anticipation, waiting for his member to finally enter her.

“Patience,” John smirked, “You said it yourself.” He kept pumping her, his lips gently brushing against her neck, his free hand hugging her waist. She tried sinking lower to meet his fingers, but still, that wasn’t enough; not even close.

Knowing how to beat John at this game, she gave her palm a generous lick, then wrapped her finger’s around his stiff cock, stroking it gently, slightly clenching each time her hand was gliding up.

After a couple of mutual pumps, she felt John’s fingers abandoning her pussy and she watched him sucking his digits clean, then sticking them between her lips, rubbing into her tongue. “You’re a fucking dessert, love.” John hissed delving into wife’s mouth, alcohol mixed with her arousal being shared between them.

Caught up in the kiss, she felt his member slowly plowing her slit. John paused at her stretched entrance taking a good look into her desire-filled eyes, before gradually invading her heat.

She smiled at him sinking to the very base, staying there for a brief moment to adjust to his girth. “All good?” John whispered, wrapping his arms around his wife and running his fingers along her spine.

She nodded and hummed, leaning closer for a kiss. Just as their tongues collided, she started rocking her hips, the friction feeling so pleasurable, that it was impossible to stay still.

John admired her breasts bouncing in accordance with their pace, her nipples hard, perfectly beautiful; just like everything on his precious girl. She was the best birthday present John could ever receive.

He didn’t even have to thrust; it was all her, sitting in his lap, riding him to heaven. She felt amazing, her tight walls milking his cock like they were a perfect fit for each other.

“Faster.” John commanded slapping one of her ass cheeks, making her gasp and encouraging some more profound moves. They were both breathy, their lips joining and separating every few seconds, moans and groans thickening the air between them.

John could barely say another word, feeling her pussy soundly sheathing his ready-to-burst cock; her warm wetness splashing on his crotch with every move, his pubes getting soaked in her sweet juice. They were both almost there, their muscles tense, the build-up soon to be unleashed.

Seeing his wife getting close, John dragged his palm over her hip, his thumb finding her needy clit, pressing not so gently to it.

“Oh fuck, baby I-“ She whimpered, feeling her mind getting clouded form the sensation of his tip hitting her in the perfect spot, and his thumb rubbing determined circles on her painfully swollen bud.

“Come on, love.” John began rocking his hips, intensifying their collisions to the point where it was impossible for either one of them to hold on. “Cum for me,” he grunted, feeling his whole body seized by the commencing orgasm, just in time for when his wife’s toes curled, and they both trembled in each other’s arms.

Their whole bodies were burning, John’s cock twitching with every spurt, his hot seed generously coating her throbbing walls. “I love you,” John growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck. It was the peak of his high; John’s hands were pressing at his wife’s back, pushing her close to his chest.

“I love you too,” she breathed out into his ear, shaking surrounded by his embrace. After tangling her fingers inside John’s hair, she gently pulled his head backwards and sank into his lips. A slight movement of her core made John’s member to fall out of her aching hole, and she felt his slickness dripping down her thigh.

“Let’s go clean you up,” John lifted his beloved wife, bringing her legs to wrap around his waist, his dress shirt already soaking up most of the mess.

“Fine, but then I’ll show you what else I’ve got,” she beamed. “The club is ours for the whole night.”

Tag-list: @keandrews @rdjloverxxx @greenmanalishi @lilywoood (message me to be added or removed)

Masterlist

#John Wick #John Wick fanfiction #John Wick smut #John Wick x reader #John Wick x f!character #John Wick oneshot #John Wick imagine #John Wick fic #John Wick x OFC #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves smut #smut

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