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sadesluvr · 8 days

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Turbulence

You join the mile-high club with a mysterious English gentleman.

Tangerine (Bullet Train) x Reader

A/N: First BT fic! Been obsessed with this movie, and just had to make something with one of our favourite assassins. I had to do a weird amount of research on flying for this... It won’t be my last so follow for more! :)

Set pre movie.

Word count: 2.5K

Tags: SMUT / Porn with little plot / Minor spoilers for references in Bullet Train (2022) / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Hookups / Mentions of birth control / Quickies / Canon-typical language / Canon-typical banter / Minors + Ageless blogs DNI

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 4B7 to Tokyo. We are currently second in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately five minutes time. At this time, we ask you to please fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. I’m Goldie, and thank you for choosing our airline. Enjoy your flight!”

Hanging the speaker up, you smoothed out your skirt as you fixed yourself to take the final walk before take-off. ‘Goldie’ wasn’t your real name of course, but a nickname given to you by a sleazy boss. You would’ve hated it, but you found that it greatly helped with creepy passengers who were searching for a place in the coveted ‘mile high club’, or those who simply flew with the intention of sleeping with flight attendants across the world. On the contrary, it was always cute when toddlers cooed your name from across the plane, calling for you as if you’d known them their entire life.

As you pushed past the curtain to the business class, your eyes fell on a pair of men; one dark-skinned with curly dyed hair, the other with long, slicked back hair and a moustache. They wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary had the moustached man not been holding a phone to his ear. Great. There was always at least one person who never listened to the announcements, but there was something about those who rode in first or business class that held a different kind of entitlement entirely.

Swallowing, you put on your best customer service and sauntered over to them. The dark-skinned man noticed you first, raising his brows before nudging the one next to him, who seemed deep into an important, but strained, conversation.

“...Yeah, yeah. We get the kid and the briefcase, then the train to Kyoto...Yes, we know who we’re dealing with, I forwarded Lemon the briefing. Right, can we go now? Take-offs in two minutes --”

“Excuse me,” you cut in. “You’re going to need to hang that up...”

The man did a double take, holding his phone away from his ear as he glanced up at you. If it wasn’t his old English accent that captivated you, it was his eyes, a striking blue with hints of grey that seemed to stare directly into your soul.

“I’m going now.” He said snarkily to the person on the phone before hanging up, placing the object into the pocket of his navy-blue suit before staring up at you with a charming, but cheeky smile.

“My apologies darlin’,” he said, his voice as smooth as butter. “Work won’t give us a break.”

“Don’t I know it?” you replied, shifting your weight as you prepared to move on. “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flight...” you said before looking down at his hands; strong and adorned with gold rings.

“...Nice watch.” You finished with a knowing smile. Given the parts of the broken conversation you’d heard, and the elaborate way they were dressed, you figured that they were at least some kind of secret service members - not that it was any of your business, of course. Still, there was something particularly arousing about the blue-eyed man in the three-piece navy suit with the nice watch, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you broke your ‘no-sex-on-the-job’ rule, just this once. If he wasn’t busy with mission stuff, of course.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He replied, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, watching you as you walked off, admiring the questionably short length of your skirt in the process. Sitting back in his seat, he chuckled to himself before turning to see his brother Lemon hastily swiping through the movie selection on the screens.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Tryin’ to see if they’ve got Thomas...” Lemon said matter-of-factly. “It’s alright though. I always come prepared.” he finished, tapping his laptop pointedly. Tangerine frowned, shaking his head as he sat back in his seat, side eyeing you as you made your way to your jumpseat in the corner.

It was going to be a long journey, but at least he had a nice view.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

As soon as it had been safe to take seatbelts off, you’d wasted no time in making your way back down to the business area. The best part about the job was that you were able to walk about, getting a good glimpse at the passengers you thought were attractive – all under the guise of providing good customer service. The man with watch was reading a book, whilst the other seemed engrossed with whatever was on the screen, with his fingers covering his face in a concerned manner. They seemed like polar opposites, yet seemed to work so well together, something that made your job a lot easier when it came to seating passengers. If only everyone was like them.

If it hadn’t been obvious, you were rather interested in the blue-eyed gentleman in particular. Whilst he hadn’t given you definite signs he was interested, you fixed your make up in your compact mirror regardless, and opened a button on your blouse so it was just a little lower than industry guidelines. It never hurt to try, and it certainly wasn’t as if you were going to see him again.

Smiling, you guided a cart down the narrow aisles, stopping at the pair of men.

“Refreshments?”

The dark-skinned man, ‘Lemon’, as he had been referred to, answered first, eagerly pausing his screen to speak to you.

“I’d love somethin’, love,” he said, holding the same accent as his partner. “D’ya have anything fizzy?”

“Of course,” you hummed. “We have Coke – regular, Diet and Zero, Dr Pepper, Sprite, some SanPellegrino --”

“I’ll have a Coke, love. Make it Diet...” he said, and you nodded, quickly finding the box for the right can. “It’s a shame ya don’t do any bubble milk tea up here...I got a real craving for one...”

You laughed as you handed him the can. “Luckily for you Tokyo is full of great places to get one. You probably could even find one in their vending machines...Don’t get those in the West, do you?”

“Certainly not in London,” he chuckled, opening the can and taking a swig before pursing his lips and tapping a finger on his chin. “Say, I don’t suppose you could settle a little argument for me, could you?” “Oh here we go...” the other man interjected, drawing himself from his book to huff and look between the two of you. “Fucking unbelievable.”

Lemon rolled his eyes.

“That SanPellegrino of yours...Which flavour do you sell the most?”

You bit your lip.

“Depends...It’s usually lemon because people think it might taste like lemonade. The orange one never goes to waste, though...”

Lemon gave the other man a pointed look, and he scoffed before looking at you.

“Not to completely waste your time, love, but if you had to choose between a lemon or a tangerine...” he didn’t finish, probably because it would’ve pained him to, and moved his hands as if he were balancing weights on scales.

You stared blankly between the two men, confused but utterly endeared.

“Tangerines are good on their own, but lemons are far more versatile...” “See?” Lemon said triumphantly, celebrating with himself before shaking your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, darlin’.” He grinned before restarting his movie, moving on as if nothing had happened. You chuckled to yourself, conscious of the hundred other guests that needed you, but looked back to lock eyes with the other man, ready to ask him the same question. He wore a knowing smirk on his face, the curve of his pink lips still evident under his thick moustache and tutted chidingly.

“Really thought you’d be on my side there, sweetheart,” he sighed. “Suppose you can’t trust everyone, can you?”

“I’m sorry,” you pouted. “You must give it to him though. Lemons are pretty good.”

“Darlin’ I don’t have a problem with the message, but the messenger,” he said, nodding to the man next to him. “He’s a grown arse lad watching Thomas, that one.”

You chuckled, glimpsing at the screen to see that it was indeed correct. Shaking your head, you scanned the crafted features of his face before raising a brow.

“So, what’s your poison?”

“A gorgeous lady pushing a cart, it seems.”

“Smooth,” you hummed, unable to ignore the way a dangerous heat shot through your stomach and down to your core, making your legs feel like jelly. He’d hardly done anything, and yet you were under his spell. “What would you like to drink?”

“Nothin’ at the moment, love,” he grinned. “I’m a bit peckish, if anythin’...”

Sighing, you quickly checked the man out again, this time eyeing his body. Broad shoulders, muscular thighs, thick legs...The total package.

“Hurry, up! I’m thirsty!” Someone from across the aisles said. The man was about to argue, but you halted him, nodding in the direction where the voice came from.

“I tell you what,” you said softly, lowering your voice as you stared into his eyes, your composure so controlled that it would’ve been impossible to tell that your heart was pounding in your chest as you spoke. “-- Us staff have our own snacks. If you meet me by the toilets in fifteen, I can get you some...”

“Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart.” The man grinned, not-so subtly uncrossing his legs and giving a cheeky wink before you headed off down the aisle. Gripping onto the handle of the cart, you tried your hardest to walk straight, excitement boiling in your loins as you counted down those fifteen crucial minutes with every strained smile at a customer.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

He was there when you arrived.

“Took ya’ long enough -” was all he said before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a passionate kiss, pressing your body against the wall of the bathroom. It was by far the most glamorous place to have sex, but there was something about the sleaziness of it all (with such a put-together man, nonetheless) that made it that more enticing. His scent was an ode to his masculinity; aromatic and woody, and it consumed you as he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone as his large hands caressed the sides of your body. You moaned, writhing your front against his pelvis, desperate to feel the outline of his erection against your own. Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with your hands, settling to drape them around his neck in fear of messing up his hair. He seemed like a man who took pride in his appearance, and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to fix it up in an airplane bathroom.

“Feel me, darling. I don’t bite...” he whispered, his hands now sliding between your thighs as he fought to push your panties to the side. You took this as a hint, and you combed your fingers through his roots with one hand, whilst the other fumbled to undo the button on his trousers, difficult to do with his considerable bulge. You let out a broken gasp as you felt his cock, likely over average sized with a nice girth, and he shuddered in response.

“Goldie, is it? You’re a naughty one...” he sighed, slipping a finger into your wet cunt.

“Mhmmm,” you crooned. “’S nickname. I don’t suppose you’ll give me yours?”

“You’re a bright bird, ‘m sure ya figured it out.”

“Tangerine, huh?” you hummed, throwing your head back as he began to finger fuck you, his gold rings adding the extra girth that would prepare you nicely for his cock. “I like tangerines...”

“Ya didn’t seem to back there.”

“Well, give me a reason to...” you chuckled, and he grinned, grunting before he hoisted your leg up around his waist, his cock dangerously near your entrance.

“Better be quick,” you teased, staring at him through your lashes. “They’ll get suspicious if I’m not back in five.”

Tangerine chuckled.

“I can do that. Just know it’s not a reflection of me at my best.” he sniffed.

“Good to know.”

Your words were unfounded as he pushed into you, his girth filling you completely as you moulded perfectly around his cock, gripping onto his shirt as he began to buck his hips. The man grunted, accosting himself to the feel of your warm, wet hole – raw and unfiltered, sighing into the nape of your neck as he fucked you. He steadied himself with his hands, gripping onto your thigh with one as the other rested above you, lending him the luxury of staring into your eyes as he drilled you.

“God...” you panted, your lips wet and raw from his kisses. “T-Tan -- You’re so good...”

“That’s it, love,” he beckoned, words rolling off his tongue like honey as he rolled his hips deeper into you. “Say my name...”

“Tangerine...” you whined, eyes fluttering shut as you drowned out the vacuum-like ambience around you, focusing on the small grunts and sweet nothings the man whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending chills up your spine. The room around you was making a slight creaking sound, and you barely even cared that your calf was banging slightly against the door.

With every passing second his thrusts became more focused, solely intended to bring you both to that point of ecstasy- yet you didn’t doubt that Tangerine was the kind of man who made sure you finished, even if he himself didn’t.

His hair was beginning to become undone now, brown strands falling in front of his face, just barely clouding his vision, but enough to make him look even hotter. Both of your shirts became more and more dishevelled as he pressed up against you, the muffled sound of his clothed thigh against your bare ones becoming more frequent as he growled, the sound coming from deep within his muscular chest.

“Fucking hell, darlin’...’M gonna make a mess...” he hissed through laboured breaths. “I’ve gotta pull out --”

“It’s alright,” you lulled, and you could’ve sworn that his cock twitched at the phrase. “I’m on the pill...”

“You naughty girl...You’re gonna get me in trouble --” he groaned, throwing his head back as he gave you a few fast and sloppy pumps, shutting his eyes as you clamped down on him during your own release, creaming around his cock as he filled you with his own. You dug your nails into his clothes as you rode off your respective highs, hair and clothes askew as he rubbed small circles your trembling leg before lowering it to the ground.

Panting, there was a brief silence as you dressed yourselves, with Tangerine preening himself in the tiny mirror.

“You look good as gold.” You said with a smirk, fixing your hat.

“Thanks,” he said with a broad smile, popping some gum into his mouth as he looked you up and down. “You’re a dime a dozen, y’know? Fly this route often?”

“Sometimes,” you hummed, opening the door so that the sign no longer read ‘occupied’. “Why, are you thinking of coming back?”

“I’ll be headed to Kyoto,” he said, looking around before he stepped out. “Maybe I’ll catch you there.”

“Yeah,” you grinned, fixing the final button on your shirt. He’ fucked you so good you could barely even remember what your next journey was. “Maybe.”

#florence writes!!#tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train #tangerine bullet train x reader #bullet train imagine #aaron taylor johnson x reader #aaron taylor johnson imagine #bullet train x reader #x reader smut #atj x reader #atj smut #bullet train 2022

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amywritesthings · 5 months

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mistletoe (on the clock.) / nanami x you

pairing: nanami kento x f!reader word count: 1.7k summary: It's your annual holiday party at the office. You and your coworker Nanami Kento end up in a precarious yuletide predicament. tags: mistletoe, holiday office party, explicit language, sexual tension, hair pulling, kissing, make corporate speak horny in this house

part of the twelve days of amymas 2023 !!!

Office holiday parties shouldn’t be mandatory.

Eight, sometimes bordering up to twelve, hours under fluorescent lights was more than enough anguish — add four extra mandatory 'fun' hours and you see why half of your colleagues spend their nights bar hopping to cope.

However, if these annual holiday parties weren't mandatory, most of your colleagues would never bother showing up in the first place.

You sure as hell wouldn’t.

(And you're pretty sure the tall blonde you spy from across the room wouldn’t, either.)

It’s only your first year with the company, but it’s already one year too many.

You'd taken a few gap years between college to figure your shit out, travel a little, but you still ended up in the grand corporate scheme.

The nine-to-five lifestyle is nothing less than soul sucking. Commuting back and forth is such a pain.

By the time you make it back to your tiny one-bedroom flat, the night is too cold to enjoy anything beyond your warm bed.

But... there are perks to the job, sometimes.

Free lunches are great.

Business connections don't hurt.

Not to mention you've grown fond of one person who makes your commute a little tolerable:

Tall. Blonde. High cheekbones. Voice as smooth as honey.

Nanami Kento.

Stoic on the outside yet considerably kind on the inside, Nanami has equal parts ruined and consumed your days.

The sheer sight of him in his tailored suits without a strand of hair out of place can make you weak in the knees, so you make it a point to always talk to him sitting down.

And he seems to like you, for what it’s worth.

Nanami always makes sure to bring you tea and water in the morning to stay hydrated.

He stops by your cubicle to tell you there's free catering in the break room if you missed the memo.

No matter how late you end up staying, he always makes it a point to never let you walk to the train station alone.

It’s sweet.

It’s more than what anyone else has ever done for you in your life, so naturally?

You're into him.

Bad.

Of course, that means you’re too chicken to invite him over for dinner.

God knows you can’t cook a decent course to save your life, but you’d order in — it’s only one string away from officially asking him on a date, masked as a favor repaid.

('Tis the damn season; it may be your time to take a little leap of faith if he's going to be standing there all alone for this insufferable party.)

Emboldened by the spiked eggnog in your system, you decide to jump:

You make a beeline through the crowds of laughing colleagues, all varying stages of intoxicated, straight to him.

In truth, you're eager to blend as a wallflower beside him.

Nanami almost instantly catches you in the crowd, but he makes no motion to meet you in the middle.

He moves a pace to the right, silently offering you the corner to hide in.

You have to be brave.

You have to make the first real move.

(Attractiveness aside, it's just Kento. He must be at the end of his social battery, too.)

“Hey,” you greet.

“Hello,” he replies, smooth as butter.

“Having the time of your life over here?” you joke, pressing your back into the wall.

He hums in a noncommittal fashion. “At the very least, this party is much more tame than the one they threw last year.”

“Is it?”

Kento nods. “Someone overserved. Shirts flew. Marriages shattered.” His strong brow furrows. “Though I wanted to ask, even though I've been here longer: has Mr. Hiro always been a happy drunk? I recall differently.”

“No, that’s a fairly new development. His wife finally finalized the divorce last week,” you gossip under your breath. “I had to field the call myself.”

“Oh?” Nanami asks, turning a sharp chin your way. “Ugly?”

“Very.”

“To call and finalize over the phone at the office is—”

“Ballsy.”

A sly smile tugs at the corner of his lip. “I was going to say a choice, but sure.”

Nanami clinks his ceramic ‘work hard, play harder ’ slogan mug to yours — a past gag gift from that Gojo Satoru friend of his, you’re sure — and pushes his body from the wall.

“Do you need a refill?”

You nod, holding up your empty eggnog mug.

"Thanks."

"How spiked do you want it?"

"Blackout levels," you joke. It earns you an even larger smile, albeit shortly lived.

He plucks the handle from you easily enough, but you notice how his eyes flutter above your heads and… stay there.

Weird.

Unable to help yourself, you lift your chin to see the captivating problem for yourself:

Hovering over the two of you this entire time has been a pesky little bundle of leaves, tied together with a tiny red bow.

Shit.

Mistletoe.

(Were these things even allowed in the office? Surely hanging one constituted breaking at least four different Human Resources violations in one swift sweep.)

You open your mouth to make a joke, but—

“Has that been there?” Nanami asks, and you can feel your face grow hot.

“I— Maybe?” You clear your throat. “Did you stand under it on purpose?”

(Way to go, moron.)

Nanami considers, then shakes his head.

“I had no intention of kissing anyone in our office, I assure you,” he replies, and you feel yourself deflate a little. “Though I guess this is an opportune moment.”

Oh?

You pretend to look unbothered, arms crossed over your chest.

It takes you biting your tongue to avoid asking outright.

“What do you mean, opportune?” you ask instead.

Blink and you’ll miss it: Nanami smiles, albeit barely, before turning his chin back to the mistletoe in question.

“I would prefer taking a woman out to dinner before kissing her, but I suppose if you were interested, then we could be a little unconventional. It’s likely the swift kick in my ass I needed.”

Your brows slide to your hairline as you regard him in equal parts confusion and hope.

“Wait, you…”

Words.

You have to remember how to speak.

The whole point of this job was to be suave, but you’re failing miserably at it at the moment.

“You were interested in going to dinner with…”

“You?” Nanami finishes, and he angles his larger frame towards you. “Was it never obvious?”

Obvious?

Now you really felt like a fish out of water.

Nothing about Nanami Kento was obvious.

You could barely get a read on him, even if he did all of those really nice things for you—

Oh.

The realization hits you like a subway train, leaving you breathless.

The blonde stares down at you, patiently waiting for an answer.

You blurt. "Do you still want dinner after?"

"I don't think many places are open at this hour, but if you're not hungover tomorrow, I could call."

"I'm not picky," you reply. "I love takeout."

"We're not getting takeout on our first outing," Nanami snorts.

"Like I said, very-much not picky."

A moment passes.

You both stare at one another, waiting for the right timing to...

Well, do anything.

He wants to take you out to dinner.

Nanami fucking Kento wants to take you out—

And kiss you.

Actually, that part is more important right now.

"So the... unconventional part."

"The mistletoe," he adds.

"Right. Is that still on the table?"

"Do you want it to be on the table?"

"Is that a serious question?" you counter, before leaning in a little closer. "Okay, but what if someone sees?"

Nanami shrugs a shoulder, resting his bare forearm against the wall you lean against. His button-down shirt is rolled up to the elbow, making your mouth water.

His body shields you from the rest of the people in the office.

One quick peck and none of the drunks on this floor would be any wiser.

“Are you that concerned?” he asks.

When his featherlight touch raises your chin to meet his gaze, he makes your decision right there and then.

You’ve wanted Nanami for so damn long.

Now the opportunity is presented to you like a holiday gift, and you’re not one to be ungrateful.

“Not anymore,” you admit, wrapping your fingers around his speckled yellow and black tie.

Like two magnets, you pull him in by the tie and he drags you in by the chin, connecting your lips in a searing kiss.

Nanami is warm, stronger than you anticipated. You melt against his lips as they gingerly move against yours.

You want him to push you against this wall.

You want to what he'd do if you dropped to your knees the way you’ve imagined doing every single time he’s sitting at his desk with those goddamn dress slacks bunched against his thighs.

You want so much in so little time that you bite his lower lip, causing the blonde to groan with need.

He slides his fingers along your jawline, snaking up past your ear and into your hair.

His fingers curl around the strands, tugging playfully.

Then, abruptly, he pulls away.

No.

Too soon.

You could topple over with how quickly you chase him, but he stops you with his index finger pressed to your lips.

“Nanami!”

A voice calls him, slurred and hiccupped, from the other side of the room.

You freeze, unable to do anything but stare into his brown eyes.

“Get your ass over here!”

“Group photo,” Nanami reluctantly murmurs to you, and your shoulders sag. “Before everyone starts digging out the hard liquor.”

Still, he leans back in to drop a gentle peck to the tip of your nose.

When he pulls away, he drops the arm against the wall to hold his palm out to you — an invitation.

“Let’s circle back after.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice.

You take his hand and never look back.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fic #jjk x you #nanami kento fanfic #nanami kento fluff #jjk fanfiction #nanami kento fanfiction #amywritesthings #twelve days of amymas #fic: mistletoe on the clock

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wenigstenshabeichesversucht · 6 months

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Drinks and kisses

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: Four times you drunkenly confessed your love to Lockwood and one time you did it sober.

Warnings: alcohol consumption (OC is not an alcoholic, she just can't tolerate alcohol), English is not my native language

Word Count: 2,6k

For the story I used some of the Drunken Love Confessions from @creativepromptsforwriting, please check out her blog

Living the life of an agent aka child solider was most of the time gruesome. After dusk as the adults hid behind silver fences and thick walls, you and the other kids dared to venture into the dark night to fight against ghosts. Every agent knew another who had died on a mission. Life was pretty depressing if you didn’t take it in your own hands to enjoy it. Therefore, at Lockwood and Co., you celebrated every so little milestone and achievement. While Lockwood, your boss, landlord and crush, and George sometimes drank beer, you only drank alcohol at you little celebrations. To say that you could handle your liquor, was an exaggerated lie.

The first time you told Lockwood, that you liked him more than a friend was at one of this so-called parties. Lockwood and Co. had just finished a big case. That was reason enough to get together and drink.

It was already late that night, the song on the radio floated through the room and Kipps was asleep on the couch. Lucy was nowhere to be seen and George and Holly were in one corner of the living room lively talking about cooking.

However, you only had eyes for Lockwood sitting in his favourite armchair. His hair was shining so nicely, and you really wanted to touch it. Would it feel under your fingers as soft as it looked? That thought should have been warning enough that you were drunk. But drunk-you wasn’t smart and neither discreet with your staring. Everybody who took one second to watch you with Lockwood, would realize that you liked him. Thank God Lockwood was an even bigger idiot than you.

“What are you thinking about, sweets?”, broke Lockwood the silence between you two and normally, caught in your staring, you would have looked away. But normal-you and drunk-you were two totally different persons. Drunk-you was loud and bold, while normal-you shied away.

“About you”, you declared honest, and sober you would have never said something like this. However, drunk you didn’t even blush.

“About me?”, echoed Lockwood confused and reminded you by doing so of a puppy. You loved puppies.

“You’re cute. And a bit blurry. But definitely always so cute.” The words just tumbled out of your mouth. Even if you wanted to, you wouldn't have been able to stop them. But drunk-you didn’t know something like regret. Before Lockwood could say anything, you took a page out of Kipps books and just felt asleep.

The next morning you had no memory about what you said. At breakfast Lockwood acted like always except his ears turned a little red when you asked him for the butter. But you were too hungover to pay attention.

The second time happened at Lucy’s birthday party. The birthday girl and you were dancing in the middle of the living room, downing one shot after the other. You intentionally ignored Lockwood, who warned you to slow down. Maybe that was a mistake. Or the five tequila shots were a mistake. Or both were a mistake.

Anyway, one moment you were dancing with Lucy, having the best time of your life and in the next moment you felt awful. Pressing your hand over your mouth you made a beeline for the next bathroom. You barely made it to the toilet before you threw up.

Hurrying footsteps sounded behind you and then someone held your hair back. With a small whimper you puked again.

“Just let it out then you’ll feel better”, he whispered softly while he caressed your back. Sober-you would probably have sunk into the floor in shame. But hanging over the toilet bowl you were too drunk to care.

You didn’t know how long you puked your soul out of your body. Lockwood had taken a seat on the floor behind you and didn’t stop rubbing your back.

“Can you keep a secret?”, you slurred and rested your head against his shoulder. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him nodding.

“I have a crush on Lockwood, but you can’t tell him or anybody else.” He laughed, and you could feel the vibration of his chest.

“I would love to hear those words in any other place than this bathroom, holding your hair back.”

“But you can’t tell him or anybody else”, you repeated urgent. You couldn’t imagine that Lockwood liked you back, and you didn’t want to make the atmosphere in the house awkward. Therefore, Lockwood was never allowed to know how you felt about him.

“I swear, let’s get you cleaned up and in your bed, sweets.” Fishing a washcloth from the sink, he gently wiped your face. Then he scoped you up in his arms and started carrying to your room.

The third time: Bright giggles echoed across the attic.

“No-no-no it wasn’t like this”, Lucy laughed while taking another sip from the vodka.

You just returned from your case to a waiting Norrie. Norrie was Lucy’s girlfriend and was visiting her in London. As you had stumbled through the front door, Norrie had already handed you a bottle of vodka. Now sitting in the attic, you slowly nursed the alcohol.

“And how did it go in your opinion?”, asked Norrie, who was telling an embarrassing story about the time Lucy and her had still worked in the northern part of Great Britain.

“First it wasn’t so embarrassing how you make it sound.”

“Sure”, you butted in as you and Norrie shared a meaningful glance.

“Don’t join forces against me”, Lucy demanded, not blind to your actions.

“We would never!”, giving her an appeasing kiss, Norrie took the bottle from Lucy.

“Why does it feel like you’re lying to me?” maybe a little bit paranoid, maybe appropriately paranoid, Lucy raised one eyebrow. You meanwhile tried to look as innocent as possible. Of course, you would join forces with your best friend’s girlfriend against said best friend. Where else was the fun?

Seeing through your innocent act, Lucy pointed accusing her finger at you. “As punishment you have to get the snacks from downstairs.”

Rolling your eyes, you stole the bottle out of Norrie’s grip and took a big sip. Leave it to Lucy to find an excuse to not go down all the stairs. But it was OK, as long George and Lockwood were still not home from their case. If George caught you stealing the snacks, he would demand that Lockwood would revoke your biscuits rights. So, there was a big risk associated with getting the snacks. Was it a risk worth taking? Drunk-you said yes.

“I will be right back”, with a wink to the girls, you picked yourself up.

You noticed immediately that you were drunker, than you had thought. Your steps were a little wobbly and the world was turning more than usually. But you lived more than two years in this house. You knew which floorboard creaked and how many steps each of the stairs had. With your eyes closed, you would find your way from the attic down to the kitchen. So being drunk shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

You should be right for most of the way. You already reached the last stairs down to the kitchen without tripping over your own feet, when the front door flew open, and Lockwood and George came clattering in. Normally you weren’t easily startled. You were an agent for gods’ sake. But you were drunk and hadn't expected their loud arrival.

You weren’t sure who was more surprised. You, who lost your footing and tumbled down the stairs, or Lockwood, who was standing at the bottom of said stairs. At least he wasn’t drunk and therefore had quicker reflexes than you. Instead of stepping aside and leaving you to your fate, he caught you. For a moment nobody said something, there was only a shocked silence between you.

“I think I just fell in love with you”, you drunkenly joked.

“No, you fell down the stairs. You should really learn to hold your liquor, sweets”, Lockwood told you stern, without letting go of you. But you saw the creeping blush appear on his face.

“I get her a glass of water”, clearing awkwardly his throat, George rushed to the kitchen.

“You drive me out of my mind, sweets”, whispered Lockwood against your hair, but you were too busy getting lost in his scent. He smelled of lavender and bergamot. Your favourite smell in the whole world.

The fourth time you told Lockwood, that you loved him you were drunk, shocking you know.

You just came home from evening with your old friends from Rothwell and as always, you easily became too drunk.

Usually when someone of the team went out after dark, Lockwood waited for them to come home. This time was no different.

As you drunkenly stumbled out of the night cab, Lockwood was already opening the front door.

“Hi handsome”, you greeted him without shame.

“You’re drunk”, he blandly stated, but his eyes were sparkling like someone stole the stars from the sky and hide them there. He had beautiful eyes. You could spend hours gazing in his eyes.

“Yes”, you admitted before a wide grin took over your face, “and hopelessly in love with you!”

Pushing past him, you stumbled into the hallway. Behind you, you could hear Lockwood taking a surprise inhale. However, you were already busy with your next task, taking off your shoes without falling over.

“Say that again after two coffees at least and I will be yours”, he whispered barely for you to hear.

Then he rushed to you, “Sweets, let me help.”

Getting on his knees he carefully unclasped your shoes. Where his hands touched your bare skin, it felt like you were burning.

“We should get you some water.” That sounded like a really good idea. Allowing Lockwood to take your hand, you let him pull you into the kitchen.

“I hoped you had a great evening”, he carefully led you to your chair before he went to the sink and got you a glass of water.

“It was sooo great, only you were missing!”

“Maybe then I join next time”, Lockwood mused taking a seat in front of you.

“You should, my friends really want to meet the person, who stole me away from Rothwell.”

“And I would steal you again, sweets. A shame that you will not remember this talk tomorrow.”

The one time you told him what you felt while being sober:

It had been a nerve-wracking case. You felt like a wrack when you finally reached Portland Row. Everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong, and you were lucky that all four of you were still alive. Stressed you all went separated ways. While Lucy rushed to the attic, you scored the first shower to remove the remains of salt and sweat that stuck to you like a second skin.

When you return to the kitchen after the shower to get a glass of water, you expected to find it deserted. After a case like this the team usually retreated to each of their own room to lick their metaphorical wounds in peace. You were no exception. Therefore, you were even more surprised when you saw the light shining from under the closed kitchen door.

Not bothering to knock you entered the room, to see Lockwood sitting at the kitchen table, in front of him the open first aid kit. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, and you couldn’t help gaping. Slowly blood was seeping out of a large wound, you didn’t know about. Caught, he looked up when you entered.

“That’s not what it’s looked like.”

“So, you didn't hide from us that you were injured?”

Not waiting for his answer, you could lie to yourself, you pressed a compress on his wound to stop the bleeding. As reaction Lockwood just took a sharp inhale and a little part of you were glad, that it hurt.

“We are a team; we can’t help you if you don’t let us”, you started to lecture him. But as Lockwood looked down ashamed your anger vanished into thin air. You couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I will always worry about you”, you paused for a moment, not sure if you should really say what just popped up in your mind. But then you gathered all your courage and did it, “I will always worry about you because I love you.”

Your heart was beating like crazy, while you waited for a response. But now it was out and nothing you could do could undo it. That was somehow liberating.

“I know.”

On the list of the worst reactions after a declaration of love, “I know” was at the top. You didn't know whether to cry or to scream. However, in the end you couldn't do either. You could just stare at him while your mouth dropped open.

“You know?”, you echoed and could feel how something in your chest broke into two parts. He knew that you loved him and never said something. That could only mean one thing, he didn’t feel the same way you did. Shame slowly crept into your face.

“You already told me one, two, or maybe four times”, Lockwood explained to you and if it were up to you, he would have simply remained silent. He didn't have to try to reject you nicely, what he said was already enough for you. Standing up so quickly that your chair flew over, you tried to escape from the kitchen, but grasping your wrist, he stopped you.

“You already told me, that you love me, but there was never a good moment to reveal to you, that I love you too.” In total disbelief you gasped at him. He must be joking. Couldn’t he have told you this sooner instead of sending you on this rollercoaster of emotions?

“You love me too?”, you echoed and slowly started to feel like a parrot.

“Yes, I love you, sweets.”

“Why couldn't you say that right away?” Technically, you should be floating from happiness that he reciprocated your feelings. But you were just angry. Before Lockwood could answer you, you continued, “and when did I tell you that I love you before?” No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't remember it.

“You told me this four times when you were really drunk.”

“And you never thought to talk to me about it the next day?” Flabbergasted you shook your head. You just couldn’t believe it.

“I wasn’t sure if you really meant it and I didn’t want to embarrass you either.”

Up in the hallway, George discreetly listened to the loud voices.

“Didn’t she just tell him that she loves him?”, Lucy asked, also attracted by the noise.

“Yes.”

“But why are they yelling? Shouldn’t they be kissing or something like that?”, confused Lucy wrinkled her nose. Taking his eyes off the closed kitchen door, George looked at her.

“In response to her confession he said, “I know””

“What an idiot!”

“But an idiot in love, it seems.”

Back in the kitchen your chest rose and fell angrily. Still, you couldn’t believe that he had been aware that you liked him, and never acted on it while also being in love with you.

“You are an idiot, Anthony Lockwood.”

The biggest idiot you knew.

“But hopefully your idiot?”

Instead of answering, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, softly at first but with growing intensity. When you separated you felt dizzy.

“Yes, you are my idiot.”

#anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood netflix #fanfic #lockwood x reader

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siilvan · 10 months

Text

soap headcanons

characters: johnny “soap” mactavish

summary: general/romantic headcanons!

genre: fluff, gn!reader (no desc.)

warnings: none! :)

note: been dealing with a lot recently, so here’s a low effort fluffy headcanon post with one of my favorite boys— i know it’s bad, but i just threw it together while fighting off sleep and didn’t bother to proofread it </3

his love languages are physical touch and acts of service.

⋆ as i’ve said before, it’s no secret that soap is a touchy guy, especially with the people he likes.

⋆ that being said, a casual high-five or side hug is vastly different from the way he touches you. instead of friendly taps and sarcastic banter, there’s a certain fondness in his gaze whenever he reaches for you.

⋆ doesn’t bother hiding his favoritism. if you or anyone else comments on it, he simply shrugs off the claim and drapes an arm across your shoulders. "i think you’re just jealous of 'em," is what most people hear after bringing it up.

⋆ big on acts of service as well!! soap loves doing things for you, no matter how big or small it may be. never demands acknowledgement or repayment for his acts, either - your comfort and happiness are his top priorities.

⋆ getting up early to surprise you with breakfast in bed, running to the store when you need something, handling the household chores so you can sleep in… soap takes every chance he can get to help out.

⋆ if you’re both in the 141, he revels in getting to do things for you while in the field, even after price and ghost chastise him for focusing on you too much. if you’re a civilian, however, soap can’t help but feel guilty every time he leaves you. knowing that you’ll potentially be without him for months, worrying and wondering when he’ll return, having to do everything on your own; the mere thought of it makes him hold you that much tighter every single night.

when he loves, he loves hard.

⋆ soap is a passionate guy, both at work and in his personal life. when he loves someone, he does it with his whole heart and soul. his love is all-consuming and full of warmth, just like the man himself.

⋆ there were plenty of sleepless nights before he confessed to you, hours spent obsessing over what to say and what to do, desperately trying to figure out how to express his feelings. drawings of you filled the pages of his journal– some were more refined, with great care put into each detail, while others were sketches that he snuck in after assignments, when you were too exhausted to notice his eyes flicking between you and the charcoal-covered page.

⋆ if you’re ever in danger, pity the fool that put you there. this man would move heaven and earth for you without a second thought or a single complaint, and there is nothing on this planet that could possibly prevent him from doing so.

⋆ leading off of that– soap is very protective. not unbearably so, he’s not the type of guy to control you or treat you like some kind of property, but he will take any opportunity he can to care for and protect you. he basically appoints himself as your personal bodyguard, regardless of how capable you may be.

⋆ simple things like holding your hand, guiding you through crowds, walking on the outside of the sidewalk, giving you his jacket, and calling or texting you to check in is his bread and butter. if he can’t physically be with you, chances are you’ll end up with someone he trusts by your side. he knows first-hand how dangerous the world is, and soap has no plans of letting you be put in harm’s way.

he is a massive flirt.

⋆ look me in the eyes and tell me he doesn’t know how attractive he is. i’m not saying that soap is a cocky bastard - far from it, in fact - but he’s well aware of the effect he has on people.

⋆ once he discovers something you like, he utterly abuses it. your eyes linger on him whenever he braces himself against the doorframe? well, suddenly it’s the most comfortable way to stand! your mind wanders off to a certain place when he speaks to you in a low voice? my, my… he just remembered another story that he simply must tell.

⋆ once he’s sure that the feelings are mutual, soap is bold. cornering you just to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, placing a hand on your knee or thigh just to watch you squirm, casually slipping cheeky remarks and subtle innuendos into your conversations in front of the team. if you respond in kind? even better. he’d love to go back and forth, to challenge you and see who breaks first.

⋆ unsurprisingly, his resolve crumbles first. despite his confidence and desperate attempts to break you, all it takes is a single ghosting of your lips against his to send him over the edge.

⋆ it’s nigh-impossible to not be confident while in this relationship. soap loves, loves, loves complimenting you at every chance. it doesn’t matter how you look or how you feel; you’re always attractive in his eyes. if you ever try to disagree with him, he’ll just grin and shake his head with a simple, "none o' that, love. you’re perfect just like this."

taglist: @sofasoap , @rohansregret

#call of duty #cod #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #call of duty headcanons #cod headcanons #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap headcanons #cod soap #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #sylph.writes

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aswrittenbyaj · 1 year

Text

stick and poke

pairing: shuri x black!fem!reader

summary: your time on vacation is slowly coming to an end so naturally you two try to find a way to commemorate it.

wordcount: 2.6k

warnings: this one's for the lovers. rated M for mature. minors dni. partial nudity as well as nipple play (reader-receiving) and a brief moment of impact play (titty-slapping, reader-receiving). briefest mention of a needle (tattooing, obviously). there's a few pet names, but none degrading. not beta'd (that's a warning in itself). let me know if i missed any!

a/n: so this was not on my wip list because i forgot i finished this a lil while back lol. a fun twist on the tattoo shop au that i hope you'll all enjoy. i don't know xhosa so any words in bold are to be assumed as spoken in xhosa. there's one or two words in the actual language and credit for their translation goes to @iinkonde from this post. banner and divider by: me.

you were going to miss this, miss the ease of moving through the day without obligations and responsibilities looming over your shoulder. there was nothing like waking up as you pleased next to the woman you loved while the sounds of waves crashing in the distance calmed your soul. the position of the sun being your only source of time, self-carved notches on the wooden planks of the treehouse wall the only indication of how many days had passed since the two of your arrived at the secluded beach.

there was tranquility in getting away from the hustle and bustle of everyday city life. even as you stared out at the vast water before you from where you sat in the sand, the waves crashing into one another, you tried imagining what life would be like if you never went back. you almost wished it were that simple.

"you still with me, yeah?"

shuri's voice found you before your eyes found her, the lithe woman approaching from behind, a green coconut in one hand, a bowie knife in the other.

you drunk in the sight of her, midriff peeking between the gap of her cropped white t-shirt and pink shorts that stopped mid-thigh, rich skin sun-kissed with a healthy glow, one that only came from inward peace and happiness. showing off her strength, shuri swung the knife at the tree nut, hacking away at the top with ease, giving you a chance to ogle the way her biceps flexed with the moment.

"always," you replied shamelessly.

if anything, these last two weeks were proof you didn't need all the riches and privileges that came with being connected to a wakandan royal, romantically or not. you just needed her. you just wanted her. always.

she tried to hide her grin behind the coconut as she took a drink from the opening she created, but you knew her, almost better than you knew yourself it sometimes seemed. there were few reasons her cheekbones would raise towards the sun, why her eyes would crinkle at the corner.

"except when your mind is kilometers away," she retorted, plopping down next to you, her knee brushing yours as she folded her legs pretzel-style beneath her. "no people, no technology, no work to distract you, and i lose you to the ocean!" she chuckled with a shake of her head, sea-salted curls swaying with the movement.

"you could never lose me. you know that. you just like to hear me say it."

leaning in, your pressed your lips to the corner of her mouth, leaving a sweet kiss as your hand swiped the coconut from her grasp.

"naturally." she replied in her native tongue. her words were flippant, teasing, but her voice was butter-soft with affection.

"naturally," you repeated in english, tone mocking bumping her bare shoulder with your own before bringing the coconut up to your lips.

the action was clumsy, the timing of your backwards head tilt slightly off, sending the sweet water dribbling in the miniscule gap between your lip and the nut shell. without a care, you drank deeply, your thirst not surprising given how long you had been soaking in the solar rays. your mother would be disappointed in your lack of uv protection, but in that moment, it was the furthest thing from mind.

you could feel shuri's gaze on you as you drank, leaving a path of warmth that felt different than the sun. that was one thing about being here alone with her, without the so-called distractions of life. everything felt acute, supercharged, and oh-so-very intense.

swallowing, you pulled the coconut away, turning to look at her.

"intoni ingxakhi?" what's wrong, you asked, your interchanging of english and xhosa becoming more natural every time you used the language.

your wrist bent as your arm raised to wipe the soon-to-be-sticky trail from your cheek, chin and neck, only shuri had beat you to it. instead of answering your question, she leaned in, the flat of her pink tongue sliding across the sensitive skin of your collarbone before trailing up you neck. closing your eyes, you tilted your head more to give her extra room to work with. full lips sucked softly at the moisture on your chin, dragging out a groan from the back of your throat.

coconut forgotten in the sand, you brought your hand up to grip the back of her head, soft curls pliable under the grip of your fingers. finally, her mouth moved to meet yours, but as you leaned in to meet her halfway, she pulled back slightly, your lips brushing against one another.

peeling your eyes open, you saw hers were already waiting to connect, heat stirring deep within her irises. you tempted once more to mold your lips together, but again, she leaned away, just enough to keep it from happening.

"shuri." you murmured your complaint, hooded gaze raising from her lips to her eyes than back again.

she challenged with a murmur of your name, lips barely moving before finally descending upon yours.

the sand was going to be a bitch to get out of the dark coiled crown on your head, but there was no stopping you from laying back against the ocean-pebbled surface, shuri's body a welcomed weight atop of yours. legs slotted together, she ground her thigh down against your warm center, a hum of pleasure pressing through lips moving in a synchronic dance only the two of you knew.

your hands resting on her lower back, shuri pulled away to look down at you. palms on the ground at either side of your head held her up so she could take in your beauty, so she could take in the wide set nose and kiss-bitten full lips, the brown eyes that were darkened with desire.

"bast, you are very beautiful."

there was something in the way shuri breathed those words out, almost as if she hadn't meant to say them out loud, or at least not loud enough for you to hear them. one hand left the ground to cup your cheek, thumb swiping gently at slope of your cheekbone, following the curve of your jawline before traveled lower, a loose grip around your neck. her fingers tightened, palm flat as you swallowed, the skin of your throat pressing against it. her hand felt like a brand, hot, possessive. if a mark was left in its place, it'd be one you'd wear with pride.

she could've left her hand there for an eons and you wouldn't have protested in the slightest. instead, it continue its course south, fingertips gliding against the melanin rich skin of chest before meeting the rim of your tank top. her index slowly trailed along the rib knit neckline, drifting back and and forth as if she were stuck in idle.

"don't tease me."

you had barely uttered the sentiment out before she gave into the demand. in a swift action, her second hand met the first and with an easy twist of her wrists, the cotton fabric gave way with an audible tear. the sudden sound stole a gasp from you, one shuri eagerly swallowed with her tongue. she enjoyed getting these reactions from you, reveled in whatever sounds she could make spill from those plum-colored lips. she'd yet to find her favorite sequence and hoped she never would.

her wandering fingers found your nipples, pinching and rolling it between them as her palms massaged the fullness of your breasts. she plucked them like a bassist did her favorite instrument, with care, with passion, with expertise, before delivering your left breast a sharp slap, drawing out a hiss from between your clenched teeth and a smirk overtop of hers.

narrowing your eyes, your hands tightened on her waist, rolling the two of you over. as if she already knew of your plan, shuri shifted her weight as well, the two of you spinning several times, garnering a few meters of distance from your original spot before landing in your desired position. the logroll shifted the tension in the air, laughter breaking the heated moment as the two of you caught your breath.

looking down at her, chest bare as your ruined top hung off your shoulders haphazardly, you smiled.

"i love you."

it wasn't the first time you confessed those three not-so-little words, not that day, not that week, but you meant it as full as the first time you thought it to yourself. the two of you weren't even in the same country at the time. hell, you hadn't even had a conversation in days. instead, you had been watching a live feed on c-span of a united nations conference in your rented apartment.

the camera had panned to some other country's ambassador when you saw her, queen shuri looking regally bored in the background. she wasn't even the one speaking and yet you couldn't keep your eyes off of her. you could've and would've paid the cameraman three-month's salary to always have her in frame, just so you could've seen her for the full duration of the livestream.

you couldn't help but wonder if that was going to be the life you were heading back to in seven days' time, one filled with kisses in passing and workplace obligations that kept you countries-apart on a consistent basis. finding each other in a world of nearly eight billion people was kismet, but even fate had a funny way of insisting on a more difficult journey for lovers.

"what stole your mind from me?" she demanded softly, pulling you back to the present, the fiery mirth within her eyes dulling as concern filled its space.

with a soft sigh, you shifted, finding a seat in her lap as you straddled her, your bare legs aligning with her muscled thighs. though she remained reclined, shuri brought her knees up slightly, toes wiggling in the sand, one hand settling behind her head, the other resting on the curve of your ass.

"i don't want to leave yet. i know we still have a week of holiday left here, but one week is not enough when i desire an eternity with you."

you ducked your head, for speaking like that always made you a bit bashful. it didn't matter how much you knew shuri loved you or how many times she shared her affection towards you, you still couldn't imagine the queen of wakanda continuing to choose you as her boundless love.

"so then we stay."

an unamused huff of air pushed through your nostrils at her suggestion, one brow raising.

"have you forgotten who you are?" you asked incredulously, your voice raising an octave.

"have you?"

the tone of shuri's voice forced you to swallow your tongue, to choose your words, your tone a little more carefully. yes, she was your lover in all definitions, but she was still queen of the most powerful nation on land (and most-likely the sea as well, but that was a conversation for another day). if she wanted to stay, you had no doubt she would find a way to make it happen, even if it was just for a little while longer.

"i don't mean to doubt your capabilities. it's just that your people need you home. they only tolerate me. and if they found out you were considering abandoning your duties for an outsider..."

your voice trailed off, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your shook your head, refusing to finish the sentence.

the two of you didn't talk about your shaky wakandan lineage. sure your grandmother had talked fondly of the wakandan country and its people, but they were only stories, ones that couldn't be proven, not since your war dog grandfather had disappeared sometime after your mother's birth.

shuri had offer to do some digging, but you had declined, too afraid of the truth drawing a wedge not only between the two of you, but also between you and your family. whether she looked on her own, she hadn't said and you were grateful for the silence on the topic.

"so marry me."

"er...what?"

the turns this conversation had taken was sending your mind into a spin cycle. one minute you were disheartened by the fact that you had to leave her soon and the next you were in the middle of a marriage proposal.

"marry. me."

the chuckle that escaped from between your lips was an accident, a knee-jerk reaction. you had dreamt of those words coming from out of her mouth for months now and to think that they were finally here almost felt too surreal.

almost.

"you're serious?"

sitting up, shuri rested her weight on one hand, leaning in to affectionate bump her nose against yours.

"how could i not be when i am talking about a lifetime with the love of my existence?"

the unwavering of her stare as she looked into your eyes killed any thought of this being a playful joke to lighten the moment, to ease your worries. your mind decided it was the perfect time to short circuit as you tried to figure out the right thing to say.

"well it wasn't that great of a proposal so..." you said, a cheeky response to try ease the pressure in your chest.

shuri gasped at your gall, fingers digging into your side, sending you into giggles. gasping for air, you tried to squirm away, but she didn't let up nor did she let you get away.

"mercy, queen. mercy," you choked out between your laughter.

chest rising and falling rapidly, you were grateful when she finally let you catch your breath...only for her to steal it away again with the sincerity in her voice with her next words.

"do you want to marry me, nkosazana sam?" she asked her princess, the term of endearment one that melted your heart every time.

there was only one response to give her.

"yes, i want to marry you."

you closed the gap between you and shuri, your palms resting on either side of her head while you pressed your lips against hers. pulling away, you couldn't resist one more joke.

"though you might want to get used to calling me queen."

with one more quick kiss to her lips, you pushed up onto your feet and took off down the shoreline, seafoam brushing your ankles as you splashed long the waterline, your fiancée hot on your heels.

"hold still," you complained seriously, though the cackle spilling between your words didn't help.

"you are literally stabbing me with a needle. there is no 'holding still.'"

the two of you were back up in the treehouse, naked as the day, shuri lying face down on the queen-sized bed, the only luxurious furniture in the space.

you were straddling her again, only this time you had settled down on the plump of her backside, hunched over as you tried to deliver as clean of a stick-and-poke tattoo as you could to her spine. the words "eternally yours" in wakandan glyphs that trailed from the nape of your neck to the space between your shoulder blades were identical to the sentiment you were currently trying to imprint in the same location on shuri's back.

"well, it's about to say 'eternally yout' if you don't stop wiggling." you dipped the needle in the ink again as you spoke before returning back to the task at hand. "then you'll have to spend a lifetime explaining why the black panther, the fiercest and strongest creature on earth, couldn't even sit still for one measly little tatto- ow!"

before you could finish your sentence, shuri had sneakily reached her hand back to pinch your leg.

"such a brat." she snarked under her breath as she folded her arm back under her chin, making you chuckle because where was the lie.

"you love this brat, though," you countered with ease, giving her finished tattoo one final wipe, sitting back to admire your handy work.

"i do. i really do."

#as written by aj #shuri x reader #shuri x black!reader #shuri fanfiction #shuri fanfic #shuri x fem!reader #shuri fic #shuri x you #shuri x f!reader #black panther fanfic #shuri fluff

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pillow-anime-talk · 8 months

Note

Hello! For your event can i request 45. “Should I fuck you? So beg for it.” with Haruomi Shingu? Thank you very much!

# tags: scenario; kinda friends with benefits; roommates!au; hot romance; smut; pwp; adult!reader; but still age-gap (10 years); nsfw

warnings: mention of sex and sexual acitivities, from dry humping to lazy sex, sex on the couch, sloppy kisses, hips gripping, kinda daddy kink

includes: gender neutral reader ft. haruomi shingu {paradox live; buraikan}

author’s note: he is so fine...

45. “Should I fuck you? So beg for it.”

It was the most ordinary Friday in the world, and there was nothing to indicate that you were doing anything more that day than making yourself warm dinner, cleaning your bedroom and turning on the latest Netflix series, which premiered since March last year. You recently came back from work, your back hurt and all you wanted was a hot bubble bath, a glass of sweet wine and some peace in the presence of cherry candles. However, plans changed as quickly as the weather outside the window; suddenly the clear blue sky was covered with dark clouds and Japan was covered with torrential rain.

“Should I fuck you? So beg for it.”

That’s the change of plans I was talking about.

Instead of lying under a blanket and eating buttered popcorn, your ruddy face and large pupils were focused on Haruomi, who had come home from his restaurant. His strong, large hands held your hips tightly, and you moved your body, rubbing against the swollen cock hidden under the fabric of black very tight pants, decorated with a belt with silver elements.

You and the man lived together for several years – your presence did not bother the other person, you often passed each other in the corridor or in the kitchen, being from completely different worlds. He worked in a small Chinese bar, which he founded himself, and by the way he had a great musical talent. You focused on developing your career as an employee in an international company as an HR manager, and by the way you had a knack for learning languages. You were complete opposites: you were organized, had natural sleeping and eating habits, while the ten years older man suffered from insomnia and, despite running a restaurant, ate small portions and often drank energy drinks or coffee, and disliked basic household chores. Nevertheless, you got along like old friends without much commitment to each other.

Because of your jobs and way of life too, you both were quite extreme about relationships, marriage, and dating. So you entered into an innocent idea that consisted of an occasional dinner together and an occasional quickie to ease the stress on your souls and forgot about your responsibilities.

“Just fuck me, I know you want it. You can’t stop your body from responding to me.” You replied with a slight smile, pressing harder on his cock, which all he wanted was to free himself from the tight clothes. The dark haired man just rolled his eyes, squeezing the skin on your hips once again. The black T-shirt covering your chest was definitely very unnecessary. So he quickly got rid of it and then changed your position – this time you were on the couch, causing your back to touch the dark, slightly hard surface. “Please.” You gave in, purring low and looking at him with a smol twinkle in your eye. Haruomi only unbuttoned his pants, and after a short second he untied the bow made of a thin string. Your sweatpants have been slightly slid down.

From inside his wallet, which was always in the back pocket of his pants, the man took out a gold-wrapped condom, which he immediately put on his manhood. You immediately wet the underwear that was still on your hips. So you decided to speed up the process of getting ready for sex and took off your comfortable tracksuits and greenish lace panties, dropping them to the dark wooden floor.

“I’m tired and you only think about yourself.” He said in a bored voice. After a short while, he was over your body, tapping the head of his cock against your private parts. You giggled contentedly. “It’s not fun. You work eight hours per day, and I work from the time I wake up until I go to bed.” He rolled his eyes.

You lifted your hips slightly, letting him know you wanted more than stupid talk, and he sighed under his breath.

“... Don’t be so strict, daddy.” You said half jokingly, half seriously. The twinkle in his eye was far too visible. And that was quite motivating.

Haruomi spat on his hand, smearing latex with his own saliva, and then entered you in one quick move. You moaned in pleasure at the feeling of the pleasant pushing against your walls, then wrapped your legs around him.

The light movements of the hips in the next few seconds became much stronger, more measured, definitely deeper. You were in seventh heaven; a hard week at work, recent projects, home chores, meetings with friends and lack of time for yourself was finally rewarded with a moment of pleasure, sloppy kisses full of groans and pleasure touching both the top of your head and all your toes. Your breaths mixed with each other, and your hands automatically tightened on his thin shoulders and soft hair.

“... Don’t stop, please.” You asked softly while your eyelids were squeezed shut. Waves of impending orgasm pounded against your G-spot, against your thoughts. Haruomi buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing it lightly and biting it from time to time. Despite fatigue, reluctance to live and a huge desire to close his eyes he was also in huge pleasure – it was perfectly visible.

He hasn’t had a partner for years, and his only distraction from work and meetings with his only friend – Chisei – was you. Your sex was pure pleasure, there was no feeling or love in it.

You both just needed the occasional moment of elation, blissful orgasm, and just the feeling of warmth spreading through your bodies.

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leiawritesstories · 8 months

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1778 (My Soldier Boy)

Rowaelin Month, Day 28: Wartime Sweethearts AU

A/N: this might just be the most American thing i've ever written lmaooooo 😂😂 so here's the context: the fic is set during the American Revolutionary War, which took place from 1776-1781. Rowan is a soldier in the Continental Army (the American side) and Aelin is the only daughter of a Loyalist (sympathetic to the British) family. and they're star-crossed lovers, yay!! posting this partially as a lil birthday treat to myself but mostly for you, hope you enjoy :))

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: archaic language (i'm a nerd lol), mentions of war, old outdated traditions, mentions of battle, brief mild angst, flirting

enjoy!!!

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

16th July 1778

Heart of my heart,

I write this in secret, barely able to make out my letters by the faint light of this single candle. I apologize for the sloppiness of my script; my governess would have a fit if she were to see this chicken scratch. Of course, I would then retort that she ought to have taught me to read and write in near darkness, as that is the more useful skill these days.

A few words, my love–we are leaving in three days.Yes, leaving! Mother has only said that it was what she and Father thought best, given the current…unrest. I am perfectly capable of reading the unspoken words. We are leaving because they fear what our neighbors might do while we sleep. We are leaving because the English are so hated here. We are leaving because nobody has seen or heard from my brother in months. Nobody save me, that is. I know where Aedion went, and I know what he is doing.

If you love me, Rowan, please send word that my brother is safe, that he is well clothed and has some form of roof over his head. Please. It will calm my nightly worries at least a small bit.

I do not know where we will go, only that we cannot make a scene of our leaving. We must pretend that we are only going into town like we typically do, except that our cart will be full of our belongings, rather than grain and butter to trade. I suspect we shall attempt to head east, towards the port at Baltimore, and from there we shall attempt to book passage on a ship. Father seems convinced that returning to England is the best course of action.

I do not want to leave.

They do not know that, nor do they care. It breaks my heart to admit it, but they do not. They expect me to keep quiet and obey. I have heard them discussing the possibilities of our lives once we return to Mother’s family estate in England–marriage. My marriage. To some titled landowner’s spoilt son, who gives not a whit what I want or who I am as long as I can give birth. I refuse to subject myself to such a fate.

Rowan, my love, I write this both as news and as a warning. I will not silently accompany my parents in their hasty retreat. I cannot abandon my brother in the middle of a war, nor can I leave you, the other half of my soul.

I will be waiting for you, my love. I swear it.

To whatever end,

AAG

Heart in his throat, Captain Rowan Whitethorn marched in step with his regiment up the muddy road leading into Baltimore. The bustling port city was largely unmarred by the war that continued to rage on, continuing to serve as major sea access for traders and soldiers alike. As he and the men that called him their leader entered the city proper, Rowan breathed a short, soft sigh of relief. They had two weeks of leave, unless they were called back into battle, and he fully intended to use those two weeks to the fullest.

“Enjoy your leave, men.” He saluted. “We shall regroup here in two weeks.” The blue-jacketed men broke ranks and ambled into town, most of them probably dispersing to the nearest pleasure house for a good strong drink and as many hours with a woman as their few remaining coins could buy. Rowan didn’t begrudge them their pleasure.

After years of war, they all needed whatever solace they could find. As did he.

Fingers instinctively wrapping around the small, precious bundle of letters in his jacket pocket, Rowan strolled towards the calmer part of town, the residential section not so crowded with soldiers on leave, traders, merchants, shouting vendors, and all the rest of the noise, chaos, and diverse cast of characters that populated a thriving shipping town like Baltimore. He glanced at the street markers as he walked, searching for the one with a blue stripe painted around it.

There.

Pulse hammering louder than gunfire, he turned down that street and walked past tidy clapboard houses interspersed with the occasional grocer, butcher, baker, and seamstress. He was certain every single one of the handful of people he passed could hear his thundering heartbeat, but none of them had said anything to the young man whose ragged blue jacket marked him an officer in the Continental Army who was walking up their quiet street like it was perfectly normal for him to do. One motherly lady had simply offered him a smile and a “thank you, son,” which had struck him right to the heart.

He emerged into a busier street, full of shops and taverns and public houses, the businesses bustling but not crowded with soldiers and sailors like the cheaper taverns down by the wharf were. Eyes scanning the signs, Rowan walked up the side of the street. The building he was looking for appeared suddenly in front of him. A brightly painted kingsflame flower adorned the pub’s wooden sign, its carefully wrought petals the work of a singular artist. An artist Rowan knew as well as his own heartbeat.

With his heart in his throat, Rowan walked into the pub. Immediately, a peal of soft, faintly raspy laughter caught his ear, and his attention snapped to the bar at the back of the softly-lit, cozy space. Behind the well-worn oak bartop, her golden hair tied back with a blue rag that he recognized as his own old shirt, stood the woman who owned every last shred of his heart.

Aelin Galathynius glanced over towards the door, and the whole sky lived in her vivid eyes.

Tin clattered against the bar.

Surprised grunts arose from a table full of stocky, gray-haired farmers.

And with a rush of air and a strangled gasp of his name, Aelin was in his arms, tears glittering in her eyes, warm and solid and real and clinging to him as if her life depended on it.

He was here.

Rowan was here, whole and healthy and standing on his own two legs in a much-patched blue jacket and dirt-stained trousers and battered boots, and his eyes were on her alone.

Aelin flew across the pub floor and all but leapt into her soldier boy’s arms, clinging desperately to him as if he would vanish unless she held him tight. She buried her face in his shoulder and drew in a deep lungful of his scent, the faint trace of mountain pines clinging to him even beneath the layers of sweat and grime. Hot, salty tears of joy leaked into his shirt through a tear in his jacket’s shoulder.

She felt his deep, familiar chuckle rumble beneath her ear. “Why are you crying, my love?”

“I’m crying,” she sniffled, raising her head to meet his adoring gaze, “because you smell so bloody awful that my eyes are watering.”

He tipped his head back and laughed, loud and unrestrained. “God above, I missed you.”

“I missed you more,” she returned, tracing her thumbs along the sharp juts of his cheekbones. “Every day felt like the longest one yet.”

“I’m here now,” he murmured in the soft voice he only used for her.

With tears pooled in her eyes, Aelin leant an inch forward and kissed him, her soldier boy, with all the pent-up fervor of the last several months. She’d been so terrified when her parents announced that they were leaving the Colonies, afraid that she would be uprooted from the life she’d come to love and forced to marry some stuffy lord and shut away in a manor house forever. The very idea that she would be forced to leave Rowan, her love, and Aedion, her brother, without knowing whether either of them would make it back to Baltimore unharmed was enough to disrupt her sleep. She had hardly dared to hope that her desperate escape plan would work until she stood on the pier and watched her parents’ ship depart without her on it.

Every long day of pouring pints of beer for rowdy sailors, handsy soldiers, and disruptive drunken no-goods was worth it to have her soldier boy back in her arms.

“Where–ah, Rowan!” Breathless, Aelin poked him in the ribs, pretending to disapprove of the promising way he kissed her throat. “We’re in public.”

“Let’s fix that, shall we?” He set her down onto her feet, caught her hand, and grinned. “I believe I need a bath, my love. Could you help me with that?”

“You are incorrigible,” she laughed. She pecked a quick kiss on his lips and led him out of the pub and down the streets, turning into a quiet neighborhood and leading him up the front steps of a tidy little brick cottage with a blue front door. “Please be kind about the mess.”

“I’ll show you a mess,” he whispered into her ear, far too tempting for his own good.

She flushed, her cheeks staining bright pink. “Rowan!”

“Aelin,” he mimicked. They were safely inside the house, so he looped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “I’ve been dreaming of you for months, love.”

“And you’re going to bathe before you act out any of those dreams, my love.” Giggling, she ducked out of his embrace and led him down the short hall to a washroom. “The tub is full, but it might be cold.”

“I don’t care if the water is cold.” He shrugged off his jacket and stepped out of his boots. “It’s a hell of a better bath than we get in the army.”

She sighed fondly. “I’m still going to boil some water.” He made to protest, and she placed her fingers over his mouth. “Ah-ah, soldier boy. Let me spoil you. Besides, the hot water is half for your filthy clothes.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced. He shed the rest of his dirty, worn clothing and climbed into the tepid bathwater, groaning quietly as he sank into a proper bath for the first time in too long. “Join me, love.”

“Soon.” She kissed his forehead and dropped a washrag and a bar of soap into the tub. “When you stink a little less.”

His playful growl followed her all the way out to the front room.

Following the bath–where she had indeed joined her soldier boy and taken his mind off the weight of war for a few moments–and a hearty dinner, Aelin exchanged her regular blouse and skirt for a soft cotton nightdress, braided her hair, and settled into bed with a lantern lit on the side table and a novel in her hands. Rowan was in the washroom; the faint splashing of water indicated that he was scrubbing out his uniform like he insisted he wanted to. So she opened her novel to the page where she had last left off and lost herself in the tender romance unfolding amidst the pages. She was so absorbed in the novel that she didn’t notice the mattress shifting as Rowan climbed into the bed and settled down beside her.

His soft, low chuckle drew her out of the novel-world. “Good story, Ae?”

“Wonderful,” she murmured. Reaching the end of the chapter, she placed the bookmark, closed the book, laid it aside, blew out the lantern, and tucked herself into his side, her head against his chest.

“I missed you,” he whispered after a peacefully quiet interval, stroking one hand idly up and down her back.

“And I you.” In the faint moonlight, her eyes met his, months of pent-up yearning and uncertainty glossing their turquoise depths. “I am sorry I didn’t write more.”

He soothed her worry with a gentle kiss. “I would likely have found you before your letters found me. ’Tis the life of a soldier.”

She hummed in agreement. “On that note…when did you last see Aedion?” Her older brother, whom she loved dearly but whose rashness she did not ignore, had vanished from the Galathynius home early last spring, leaving no indication of where he was going or why. Aelin alone had an idea of what he had gone to do, because he had confided his wishes to her. He had gone off to be a soldier in the Continental Army, but his unit were scouts, which meant that he could be anywhere between Philadelphia and Yorktown.

Rowan exhaled a long, controlled breath. “The last time our paths crossed was in September, at the camp outside Newport. He mentioned going south, but no details.”

“South.” Aelin rolled the idea over in her mind, forcing herself not to consider the harsher implications. “Was he…how was he?”

“Healthy, as far as I could tell, and tired, but so are all of us soldiers.” Rowan ran his hands along Aelin’s tense shoulders, encouraging her to relax. “He said to give you his love and that he’ll do unspeakably horrible things to me if I hurt you.”

Aelin laughed. “Now that sounds like Aedy. Too protective for his own good, he is.” Idly, her touch trailed along the slope of Rowan’s shoulders, tracing the new scar that slashed from his right shoulder down towards his pectoral muscle. “Tell him that I will return the unspeakably horrible favor if either one of you does anything stupid.”

“Indeed I shall.” Laughing softly, Rowan pulled Aelin flush against his chest, her heartbeat atop his, and kissed her. She sighed into the kiss, threading her fingers into his overgrown hair.

“I don’t want you to go back,” she murmured after they had separated.

He swallowed thickly. “We both know I must.”

“I know.” Her voice was a fragile thread. “I’m keeping you all to myself for the next two weeks, though. It’s only fair.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, my wildfire.”

She smiled tenderly at him. “I love you too, my soldier boy.”

Mid-November, 1778

Aelin,

I apologize both for the shortness of this note and the fact that it took me so bloody long to write it. There is something I must tell you, and I can only hope that you hear it from Rowan rather than me and my paltry excuse for a letter.

We are marching to Savannah. Intelligence has it that the Redcoats intend to advance upon the city, and we cannot let the stronghold go without a fight.

I cannot promise that I will be able to write for any amount of time, and as much as I hate to do this, I leave you all my affection. I will stay as safe as possible, that I can promise. The moment I am able, I swear on my blood that I will come to you, and if possible, that I will bring Rowan.

Stay strong for us, dear sister.

Yours,

Aedion

The short note had reached her in late January of 1779, after three and a half months of ever-increasing tension and worry spurred by the grim reports coming up from the South. Before he left in mid-November, the same time Aedion’s letter was dated, Rowan had revealed that his unit was headed to Savannah to reinforce the troops already there. He had been confident that, with the extra reinforcements, the Army would be able to stave off the British–if not all on their own, then at least long enough for the shipment of French troops to arrive.

Just before the New Year, the newspapers reported Savannah’s defeat.

Since then, all Aelin had received was silence. No letters, no notes, nothing listed in the papers, no weary soldiers showing up on her doorstep. The fact that Rowan’s and Aedion’s names remained out of the papers was but a small measure of comfort; all too often, fallen soldiers’ names never made it onto the listings.

The cloth tying back her hair was black now, the only outward sign of suffering she would allow herself. The people who came into the pub noticed her quiet demeanor, the way her usual vivacious cheer was dampened, and passed quiet condolences to her across the worn oak bartop–a squeeze of the hand, a mourning mother’s shared tears, a word of comfort, a “thank-you” from someone who rarely spoke those words. It lifted her spirits a bit, but not much.

Every night, she trudged home to her quiet little house, cradled a small watercolor portrait of Rowan–done a year ago, it was the only portrait she’d ever convinced him to sit for–stared down into his painted face, and refused to let her captive tears fall. Though her heart and soul ached for her soldier boy, though her sleep was disturbed by nightmarish imaginings of what could have happened or could be happening to him, she refused to let her tears fall until she knew his fate for certain.

If nothing else, she owed him--and the child just beginning to stir inside her womb--that fragile hope.

~~~

TAGS: please lmk if you want to be added/removed or if tags don't work :)

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelin month 2023 #rowaelin #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #revolutionary war au #american revolution #happy birthday to me

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soulbutterlanguages · 1 year

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How to Maximize your reading in a Language

Hey folks! As a follow up to my other post on the matter, I’ve made a video which is a bit more comprehensible and I’ve added some new tips.

youtube

In this video I discuss:

- what you should be focussing on your level (beginner, intermediate, advanced)

- out of the box reading suggestions that aren’t just kids books

- the vocabulary to focus on

I hope this helps ! Let me know what kind of content you want to see from me!

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eggsploded · 10 months

Note

yi sang boowomp

was giggling while doodling this

initial impression: incomprehensible. god have mercy on your soul. his design made me mad i was like how dare they make a guy this boring but yet i knew this fellow was deeply strange in a way close to the soul

current impression: my muse and my dear friend yi sang. in another universe i picked apples with him in my papas orchard. he is just pixels yet i am just dust. the wiki calls him 'peculiar with no malign intent' and i think that is a beautiful way to put it. he cares so much it made him sick. his language is quite literally flowery and filled with puns involving his own name. when hes announcer he calls the sinners his companions. he doesnt like blood. he asked if rodya was alright after sonya left. he moaned that one time in hells chicken. faust respects his wishes to not be called genius and uses it as a way to praise herself in the same breath. his gut bacteria is extraordinary. please be gentle with yourself as you are with others yi sang, i got you some vitamins for your shaky hands. be safe.

favorite moment: in canto 2 when theyre looking for someone to dance yi sang declines by saying My inner voice expresses fear. which is yi sang for: soy timido

story idea: in a radical act of loving himself yi sang learns to become an amateur foodie with world class vacuums heathcliff and rodya. he gets a tummyache 4 bites into a burger, but he promises to be brave about it. the other two promise to try the spicy noodles he likes and they cry so hard they throw up

favorite relationships: THIS GUY has a lot of love in him. hes very ideal to me, but not many of the sinners will put up with this sickly mans comment about how your skin cells look in bloom with sebum today. i mentioned gregsang in another post cuz i think theyre both darling little dudes. fausang is my bread and butter not really in a romantic sense but theyre definitely symbiotic. when they have beef its at a level you cant comprehend (because its in complete silence), and when theyre attempting physical touch its so stupid and childish you cant believe it. theyre yuri and yaoi when you need them to be. faust definitely doesnt like how perceptive he is and that he doesnt mean anything mean with it. hes so disarming to her she wants to both share her bag of snacks or bite and claw at him a bit. yi sang is yi sang about this, fausts faustitudes are unchangable like weather to him. he can admire the rain.

favorite headcanon: yi sang don and sinclair are the trio of all time. i know people call them car tower trio cuz that one cg but theyre the bird trio to me (don is a parakeet). theyre also board game freaks

#egg art #egg asks #yi sang

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introvertedbread · 4 months

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Cabaji as a boyfriend

A/N: Yes I'm aware bf fic's are not exactly my main content, yes I've never written for One Piece, and yes...there is little demand for this guy- but what am I if not spiteful and confusing :)

CW: Tsundere's, Knives, inappropriate use of a unicycle (don't try it at home kids), likely not proof-read. F/C= favorite color

A surprise to nobody, he's a Tsundere, buckle up.

He rarely accepts PDA, he thinks others wont respect him if he's seen being "soft"

give this guy a chance, it takes him a long time to trust others, especially after he lost his brother.

Listens to some of the edgiest "its not a phase mom" music known to man, this guy 100% listens to "Emo Girl" un-ironically.

a really good singer! he never sings in-front of others, but if you catch him in the shower you might hear him humming or full-on singing if its been a good morning so far!

Really good with clumsy partners, if he can handle a unicycle, he can handle you're dumb-ass <3

adding onto that, he once caught you once "borrowing" his unicycle to reach a high-up shelf. (you fell off and broke your ankle, he patched you up while heavily scolding you)

Loves to scare the soul out of you when its 7 am, you just woke up, and ask for a knife to butter your morning toast and he just yanks one out of his throat and casually hands it to you (Walks away until out of ear-shot and starts hysterically laughing at your shocked face)

His love-language is gift-giving! he will sneak you little things like knives, snacks, or even poetry and songs he wrote! (not that he cares or something, no way at all 👀)

In all honesty, Cabaji really does love you, he just sucks at showing it, but you're his whole world and would feel like crap if he learned you didnt think he cared (Not that he would ever show it, but expect to find a handmade knife with a F/C handle on your bed the next night)

(I really hope you enjoyed this! remember to send in a request! its totally free and really makes my day! it also lets me write more content for ya'll since I have ideas <3)

#cabaji #Cabaji #one piece #one piece x reader #Cabaji x reader #Cabaji one piece #x reader #headcanons #one piece headcanons #Cabaji headcanons #inrovertedbread

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chronicroderick · 14 days

Text

Post-Fall

Hannibal and Will are together once again, peacefully undisturbed, and in a moment of intimacy and affection, Hannibal reveals how he dealt with their separation after Mizumono.

Fluffy Fluff, Post-Fall, Light Mentions of Canon Violence, Light Mentions of Smut

-----

“I went ahead and searched through all of time. There is only you,” Hannibal said, caressing the loc at the forefront of the other man’s scalp. “There is only you. Some people produce a soft echo from their soul that may sound like you on occasion, or hum a funny little tune that tastes like something you would sing, but there is only one you. He sits here before me.”

There was the cooing of a dove somewhere outside the window. Spring had greeted the Earth as it did every year, washing the room with yellow light, a combination of the blue morning and the foliage in the garden. A breeze, gentle, warm, swept the lace curtain inwards, as if the house was taking a breath at the same time the men were. It carried with it the sweet scent of the hyacinths, cascading on some invisible river.

“There was a man,” He started again, tracing small shapes on Will’s chest, “nothing like you. Not in wit or in tongue. I did not long for him, ache for him, like I do for you. Nevertheless, I had spent so much of my journey on my own, searching for someone who could compare to you, who could fill this hole in my chest that screamed only your name, that when I came upon this blue eyed man, who looked all for naught like some cherub version of my Dogfox...”

Hannibal paused, moved his hand against Will’s cheek, forefinger gently rubbing the stubble, as if he couldn’t get enough of the sensation, and turned the brunet’s face towards his. Will, who had been peacefully listening with his eyes closed, opened them, a pleasant smile on his face.

“Oh how I missed that oceanic gaze.” Hannibal whispered, maroon eyes darting back and forth as he focused on one eye and then the other, his face sharp and intense for a long moment of glinting pupils.

“Are you attempting to memorize my eyes?” Will whispered back, a twinge of humor in his voice.

“I never forgot them. I simply find comfort in confirming it is really you in this bed.” His jaw flexed as he swallowed, “If you’ll permit me to finish my story I will. The last thing I want is to upset you or cause you jealousy.”

Will shook his head, “I’m jealous, but I’m not that jealous. We had parted ways. There was no way to know we would find our way to each other again,” Will absently rubbed the center of the sideways scar that ran across his belly, a phantom pinch manifesting itself as he spoke, “Plus, you already buttered me up to soften the blow, might as well keep going.”

Those dark eyes flickered to where Will’s fingers drifted over his skin. Hannibal made no attempt to grab his hand, but he could use their love language to convey comfort.

“Before I continue it might be helpful to know the man I speak of is dead. Never was there a time I was compelled to take his life for any reason other than to consume him.”

Will nodded once, “Playing with your food. Tsk tsk,” the slightest curve of the corner of his mouth all the permission Hannibal needed to go on.

The breeze blew inwards once again, the change in air pressure causing the closed door to the adjoining bathroom to rattle quietly against the doorframe. This time the wind carried the sound of a moped horn, polite in its short spurts, yet assertive.

“I sought a place I had not been in so long in the limbs of a body that was no more comforting than the empty halls of a hospital,” a pale hand ran over Will’s bicep, into the dip of the inside of his elbow, “though it may have brought physical excitement, and though even now it is with great shame that I retell such a sordid encounter in your presence,” his hand ran down the swell of Will’s forearm, “hiding from you has never been my instinct.”

He turned Will’s hand palm up, and began running his thumb back and forth over the veins on the inside of Will’s wrist, in exactly the spot where Hannibal’s skin was pulled together in a long apricot colored scar.

“I called him by your name, Will.”

Then a deliberate silence, filled with all the sounds of a lovely morning. Agitated tweeting of chickadees in the apple tree. A lawn mower in the deep distance. Even the sunbeams seemed to exist with an elegant hum.

“He grit his teeth then chuckled,” Hannibal continued. “There seemed to be no resistance to the name. I realized what I'd done, almost struck to apologize, but I withheld that apology. Then, the amoeba that he was, told me to say your name, to call for you, and I did. Over and over it was your name through my lips, your skin I wished to have beneath me, the whisper of your hair that I smelled in the back of my mind. I can not live without you, Will. There is nothing except you.”

Will glanced slyly at him when he finished speaking, “That story makes you sound incredibly pathetic. Desperate, even, for a shred of me.”

“Pathetic indeed,” Hannibal agreed with wide, insistent eyes, “you occupy every part of my memory palace. Every minute without you was an eternity. I lament fate for not bringing us back together sooner.”

Warmth streaming in from outside. Everything is hazy. Their hair does not seem to have edges, only obscure clouds of curves, and their limbs do not have a beginning or end when it comes to each other or to the way they form white snakes beneath the sheets. Electricity buzzes, sparked by the honesty from Hannibal, sustained by the acceptance from Will, who leans upwards to press a soft kiss onto his nose.

To anyone else, there may be an assumed hostility in the idea of a lover telling his man of old conquests. Fortunately for us these are no ordinary men. The time they spent apart was hollow for Will, was he not sharp enough to know that Hannibal was a hot commodity? Was there not a worm of wonder, no matter how much Will tried to squash it, as to where Hannibal would be and who he would be with in his time in Europe? Now he had his answer; in his mind Hannibal was always with Will, he was just as hollow, enough so that he fucked someone with Will’s name spilling from his lips. Someone with low enough self-esteem to allow such a thing. Someone weak. Someone Hannibal could never love. Will is charmed, as is evident from the soft look in his eyes. He had had a wife after all, a screaming, purposeful, opposition to all that Hannibal was, in an attempt to pull a cloth over those burning, burgundy irises.

“We both tried to survive separation,” Will said as Hannibal lays back down, “why tell me now?”

Hannibal is quiet for a moment, “I was curious what you would think. I'm always curious what you think.”

Will chuckles, “I like the idea of you using someone else as a surrogate for me. It's kind of… bittersweet.”

“Like when you killed Randall Tier.” The older man suggested with a smile.

“Yes, like when I killed Randall.” Will rolled over, one leg thrown over Hannibal as he laid his head on his shoulder.

Hannibal only hums and pulls Will closer. Another moped horn sounds, farther this time, softer. The wind becomes rhythmic, bursts of flowery aromas fill the lungs of the house, so strong you can almost see them, and a lazy bee tries to figure out what a window pane is. The two men do not stir, though they lay awake, adorned in this Italian spring. Their heads are not empty, never empty, but their scars remain healed. We must retreat now. This intimate moment is theirs and theirs alone. If you do not understand it then I will not judge you, but we must go. Let them enjoy this bliss. They've been through so much.

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