#stream black widow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kimberly-spirits13 · 2 months

Text

At the Stitches

Pairing: Jason Todd x black widow reader

Warnings: mentions of blood, and getting stitches

Summary: Jason comes home acting strange and while stitching him up, you figure out why. (angstish/ fluff)

Word Count: 1633

Your bathroom echoed as you hummed a Russian lullaby while twisting small pieces your hair into tiny braids. You had pulled it back to keep it out of your face during patrol but following a traditional instilled in you at a young age in the Red Room, you had the impulse to add little braids throughout it. Jason was due to be back home soon, and you would take over patrol. Every few months, Bruce made sure to have someone patrolling the entire night due to possible crime spikes. Keeping everyone fresh and awake on these nights was vital to avoiding injuries. The melody continued to echo through the bathroom as you remembered the lullaby of the older Widow that took care of you while you were being studied for your powers in the Red Room, “Bayu-bay, all people should sleep at night. Bayu-bay, tomorrow is a new day. We got very tired today, let’s say to everyone “good night”, go to sleep Bayu-bay.” You took the last clear elastic band and tied off the last braid in your hair. When you were satisfied with the stablility of the elastics, you picked up your mask that was sitting next to the sink after being cleaned. In case Jason needed some help after patrol, you waited for him to climb through the window. When you heard the swing of the window and the thud that was his boots landing on the floor, you knew he was back.

Jason was putting his helmet on the counter when you came inside the living room ready for patrol. He seemed heavy, like he was exhausted tonight from galivanting through the city. There was a large red gash on his side, pushing little streams of blood over his shirt. He looked at you with tired eyes and you knew he needed rest.

“How’d you get that, Jaybird?” You quipped, examining the wound before helping him pull his shirt over his head. He groaned as you did, wincing when his arms came back down. There were a few bruises painted over his body, and a swollen spot over his eye, despite him supposedly having his helmet on all night.

“Wasn’t paying enough attention.” He huffed, “Patch me up?”

“Yea, I just need to make sure I’m not late.” You answered.

You walked towards the master bathroom again, where you made sure to keep the more extensive first aid kit. Jason was following slowly, dragging his feet, and making the time tick by. It took him longer than usual to get to the sink and sit himself up on the counter, next to where you had prepared to stitch up his wounds. He signed heavily and rested his chin on your head, burying you in his chest. Instead of pulling away immediately, you waited a bit, giving into his neediness for the moment before trying to pull back and grab the rubbing alcohol. Jason seemed to have a vice grip on you once you tried to pull back, forcing you to stay where you were.

“Jay, I have to clean your cuts, babe.” You lifted your hands onto his arms and started pulling them from you until he sat back up, “You should go to sleep instead of waiting up tonight, you seem exhausted.”

“I’m fine, I’ll wait up.” He said.

“Honey, I don’t want to seem argumentative, but you look like you’re seeing stars.” “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I told you I’m fine Y/N.” There was a combative tone in his voice, causing you to drop the point of contention. Obviously, there was something he wasn’t telling you.

“Dick says that Grundy is out again.” You said, plopping a cotton pad on the open top of the alcohol bottle, “Apparently there’s some new magic aspect that Bruce wants me to look at considering my magic. I’d say if it’s Grundy it’s dark.” “Hey, stay still for me.” Jason was moving around enough that you couldn’t properly clean and bandage his wounds without him reinfecting the area before it was sealed. You began the process again, realizing that you were probably going to be a few minutes late. Cleaning where the cut was, he flinched a bit. When you tried to make eye contact to see if he was okay, he saw that he was already staring intensely at you. You both looked away as you grabbed the needle to stitch him back up.

“I’ll probably ask Zatanna what she thinks about it. Maybe it’s not that big of a deal and I can take care of it tonight since there’s so many of us out patrolling. I might go check it out later to see-”

“Shit Y/N!” Jason’s fist hit the counter causing a loud bang, your hand to flinch back thinking you hurt him, and you look at him with confusion. You hadn’t done anything wrong, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten stitches before.

“Sorry, sorry.” You held up your hands, showing up that you weren’t doing anything that would hurt him, “Sorry Jay I didn’t think I was hurting you.” “Are you okay? I mean you need to be stitched but maybe I can-” Your voice wavered off as you started grabbing one of the white bandages that you could wrap around his entire torso before Jason grabbed your hands gently, making you drop the roll of bandages.

“Fuck, sorry, Y/N/N. I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He said, speaking like a puppy with a broken tail, “Please don’t leave.”

“Babe, the others will be out there alone, I have to be there, especially if there’s some sort of dark magic involved.” You said, a worried look settling over your face.

“No, you don’t. They’ll be fine, Bruce is out there now.” “You can’t go out there.”

“Jason what’s wrong?” You asked, your hands still trapped in his, “What’s out there?”

“I just- you can’t go.” Jason was trying to plead an argument with you, but it seemed he couldn’t find the words.

“Jason, what happened?” You asked, worry and concern lacing your voice and your hands, still in Jason’s dropped into his lap.

“It’s a warzone tonight.” “I mean, it’s been worse, it’s been so much worse, but you can’t be out there without me. Please don’t leave Y/N/N, you can’t, please just stay here. I can’t make sure that you’re okay, I can’t follow you around tonight, can’t keep up with you. You can’t leave.” Tears started welling up in his eyes and you tugged your hands out of his to wipe them away.

“Hey, it’s okay, Jason, I’m right here.” Your movements caused him to look deeply into your eyes.

“I know you can take care of yourself. You could put Bruce in an early grave, but I can’t let you go out there without me.” He said, his voice breaking a few times.

“It’s okay Jay, I’ll stay with you.” “Are the others, okay?”

“They’re fine.” He said honestly, “Bruce is calling in Diana for extra help.” “I told him you had the flu.” A sheepish look came over him as you realized what he had just admitted to.

“I would laugh at that, but I’m still worried about you.” You said, smiling just a bit in humor, “Okay, I’ll stay with you, but I’ve still got to take care of these cuts.”

“You’re still in your suit.” He quipped suspiciously.

“Well yea, I mean I thought you were about to implode on yourself a second ago.” You laughed, a small light admitting from your body and making your uniform disintegrate into a pair of sweatpants and one of Jason’s old shirts. The uniform would be put back away in its case for tomorrow night, but you’d be sure not to touch it tonight unless it was necessary.

“Are you okay if I start again?” you asked.

“Yeah, you’re good.” He replied in almost a whisper.

You began cleaning back up the larger wound now that blood had ran down his torso. Intentionally being extra gentle, you were being sure that there was no way you were hurting Jason. It was quiet in the bathroom now, only the sound of you two breathing could be heard. A few moments of silence had passed before he spoke up again.

“Hey Y/N/N?” “What’s up?”

“Will you take your hair down? I need your hair.” He had been trying to run his fingers through the strands of hair but was being impaired by the little braids you had strung throughout the loose pieces.

You chuckled a bit before another little glow emitted from your hair and a small plopping noise sounded from the countertop as little clear bands dropped down to where they had been stacked together. Jason’s fingers immediately started running through the strands again, relaxing his breathing and slowing his heart rate. You started humming a new lullaby again, “The night has come, and she has brought darkness with her. Mommy went out, closed the shutters, sleep, sleep. Fall asleep.”

“All of your Russian lullabies are terrifying.” Jason said.

“Knocked me out like a light when I was little.” You replied laughing, “At least it’s not the one about Baba Yaga.”

“Yea, at least.” He chuckled.

After a few moments, Jason’s wounds were patched up and he was showered. You had already gotten into bed and was waiting for him when Jason came and plopped on top of you, holding you tightly to him and not letting you go.

“Thanks for staying.” He said softly.

“I’ll always stay with you Jay. Just tell me when there’s something wrong the next time.” You replied, running your fingers through his hair, “I was worried about you, love.”

“I’m sorry.” He assured, “I’ll tell you next time.”

“I love you Jaybird.”

“I love you”

#dc x reader #dc characters #dc comics #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batfam #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader fluff #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #red hood x you #red hood fluff #red hood imagine #red hood x reader

427 notes · View notes

lazyjellyfish300 · 1 month

Text

In Between the Bookshelves📚

AU Librarian!Miguel O'Hara x Fem grad student reader

(image isn't mine, found it on Instagram under the account @/ brokenohara and asked for their permission to post it)

Synopsis: a normal trip to the library results in a little bit more than you were expecting when you meet the new librarian on duty. Word count 4.6k

A/N: reposting this new and hopefully improved version of one of my very first Miguel fics I deleted a while back. I tried to make him more awkward and cute🖤🤓. Still not totally confident in the smut but oh well. Writing smut is so hard sometimes? Or maybe my skills have gone down, idk 😫 Hope you enjoy...

TW: MINORS DNI, SMUT TOWARDS THE END: FINGERING, ORAL SEX F receiving, Gag(he uses his shirt to muffle your moans) Public sexual activity, talk of anxiety, mention of family troubles and anti-deity/religion language

It's 7:00 pm on a rainy Tuesday night in the middle of October. You just got out of your evening Database Systems class. You can't help but feel poetic as you stroll down the grey, soaked, Manhattan streets twirling your umbrella, hot coffee in a cardboard cup in hand. Your shoulders begin to ache from the thin faux leather straps of your backpack. You're wearing your favorite brown sweater over a short sleeved black dress that hits you mid-thigh, with some holey black tights and your favorite knock-off Doc Martens. Damn, I still need to write that 2 page paper that's due tomorrow..

You decide at the last minute to spend your night at the library. You know you won't get anything done if you go back to your apartment. You spin on your heel and pick up the pace as you head hastily towards the NYIT library in Manhattan.

The library is pretty dead except for a group of three people sitting together in the middle table talking in hushed voices, one woman sitting on the floor scrolling with a laptop, and one jock looking fellow sitting at the computers, cracking his knuckles and bouncing his knee anxiously as he scans his assignment he's typing.

You sit down at the empty table right next to the librarian's desk. Since you're a regular here you recognize Polly, the librarian on duty who is a plump woman who looks to be in her 30s with short curly brown hair, wearing a mustard yellow cardigan and brown corduroy pants tonight. She's stapling papers together and gives you a small nod in acknowledgement as you sit down at the table in front of her desk.

She whispers to you, "I'm actually heading out for the evening, but the new person on duty should be here any minute now if you need any assistance."

You nod, and, speak of the devil, here he comes. You suddenly feel your chest get hot when you lay your eyes on the new librarian.

Tall, dark, and handsome would be the simplest way to define this man's appearance, but that would be a very feeble attempt at doing him justice. Sculpted bicep muscles push against the sleeves of his flannel with the cuffs rolled up halfway on his thick forearms. The flannel is unbuttoned and flaps gently away from his body as he walks, a white t-shirt underneath. He has broad, wide, shoulders and a narrow waist. He's also wearing dark wash athletic jeans and a pair of canvas slip ons. His hair has one stubborn strand in front from his small widow's peak that falls endearingly in the middle of his forehead. His most disarming quality is his eyes. A shade of brown that's earthy and natural like the sediment that decorates stream beds. He wears a stoic expression under large framed glasses.

He nods and mutters a "thank you" to the woman librarian as she shimmies into her coat and leaves. His eyes notice you and latch onto you momentarily. You feel your cheeks grow warm and you turn back to your laptop, unable to resume where you left off, wanting to start a conversation with him but not sure how. After a few painful moments of silence, and a quiet rumble outside from the ongoing rainstorm, you decide to break the ice by telling him your name. He blinks as you tell it to him, and you continue trying to make small talk to try and prod more out of him.

"Have I seen you here before? I come here a lot and I don't think I've met you yet."

"Miguel O'Hara," he answers shortly, but politely. "I'm a grad student. I started working for the university in exchange for assistance with my tuition."

You nod, feeling the heat leave your cheeks a little bit as you realize you could have a normal conversation with this man, and not just be an awkward mess around him the entire time. When he mentions he's a student, you realize you have something in common with him and try to go from there.

"These mid-terms are going to be the death of me. I have just one more paper to turn in then I can finally breathe, thank God..."

Miguel blows a short puff of air out of his nose seemingly in agreement, but doesn't say anything else.

He's quiet. Truth is you are too, and you're stepping way more out of your comfort zone than you normally would. Amazing what a pair of charming brown eyes could do to you.

"Honestly, if I had to work anywhere on campus I'd pick the library too. Seems peaceful with minimal people around, and everyone's required to be quiet by default. The ultimate dream workplace."

Miguel can't figure out why this stranger keeps talking to him, but you brought up a point he feels he needs to clarify.

"Oh, you'd be surprised. Most people that come in here are loud and inconsiderate as hell. And there's always that one person who hasn't heard of shocking headphones. Always."

The corner of your mouth raises. "God, that would drive me insane. Being a librarian isn't all it's cracked up to be, huh?"

Miguel shakes his head. "No. More like a glorified adult babysitter who knows where the historical fiction section and restrooms are located, and that's about it. That's literally the only two questions I get asked all day." He turns to look at you more fully, this conversation a slight breath of fresh air, the first chance he's gotten in a while to air out his grievances as the night librarian.

He continues, complaining about the horny couples he's had the misfortune of overhearing get busy on the beanbags in the far corner, and the people who leave random drinks and empty chips bags on the shelves and seem to have forgotten what alphabetical order means when they put books back.

You listen to all of it, nodding your head, and let out a cackle at his expressions he's making with those defined, bushy brows of his. He talks with his hands and it's a little endearing to watch him be so animated. This expressive side you've managed to crack through beneath his solemn exterior.

Miguel feels warmth rise in his body at the sound of your laugh for the first time. It's genuine and hearty, and honestly it's funnier than whatever bad quip he just made and he can't help but feel a little more attracted to you after hearing it. You were a good listener, and he appreciated that a lot about you.

You glance at the windows across the room, nodding in its direction with a remark about the weather, how rainstorms are your favorite. He tells you he loves them as well.

Soon, the others have shifted out of the library and he's now sitting in the chair across from you leaning his chin in his hand, listening to you speak as the rain gently pelts the windows outside.

He finds out you're originally from a smaller town, and you came to New York City for college and to escape your overbearing parents. You're 26 years old and trying to finish this Master's degree after taking one too many semesters off. You tell him about your mom who's a bit of a pushover, and your dad who's kind of an asshole.

He tells you he's 29 and has a younger brother who lives on the other side of the city, and his mom is similar to yours. She's kind but tends to set herself on fire to keep her kids warm. Like you, his dad is also a bit of an ass.

You're both introverted, but you can fake it when you need to, which he appreciates, otherwise he never would have been brave enough to say something to you this evening.

You two share a love of education and coffee. You discuss religion.

"I just don't get it, I'm supposed to love this guy and accept Him into my heart because He died for my sins even though I didn't ask Him to do that? But yet if I break any of His rules I get sent to the Inferno for all of eternity?"

"Sounds like a toxic relationship." Miguel quips as he spins your nearly empty coffee cup across the table absentmindedly.

"Exactly!"

You two talk about love as he shuffled some stray books back to their rightful place.

"C'mon, I know you've had to have dated at least once."

Miguel shakes his head. "Well, I did date a girl in high school. Knew her since the 7th grade. But she pretty much ripped my heart out when I saw her making out with one of my buddies on graduation night. I've had a couple dates here and there since then but that's it."

You click your pen. "Damn, so we both have exes from hell that we dated in high school?"

Miguel nods his head. "It would appear we do. I'm sorry you know the pain and annoyance of adolescent heartbreak too."

You shrug your shoulders. "It happens, y'know? It's like one of those things in life you're just meant to experience. It's like, unavoidable you know? And there's nothing you can do about it. What would you call that? Like not a trope per se, but almost like.... destiny?"

Miguel shrugs in return, "Like a canon event?"

You raise your eyebrows. "Yeah... exactly. How'd you come up with that?"

The ghost of a smirk appears on his face, "Just made sense to me, I guess."

You two sit at the table again and he asks about your childhood and you explain that you suffered from anxiety as long as you can remember and he looks at you with sympathetic eyes.

You do your best to try and ignore what feels like his knee pressing against your calf under the table. The thought of touching him sends heat waves through your body, but you remain frozen in place to send the message you're not opposed to more contact. Miguel feels it too, and deep down his leg is falling asleep with the way it's positioned but he's too nervous to move, either.

You both love the nighttime over mornings, and you show him one of your favorite playlists. He smiles at you tenderly as he holds one of the earphones to his ear.

Soon, it's 10:30 pm and he needs to do his closing duties. Luckily, there weren't any patrons who needed his assistance during his whole shift, proving his point earlier. Before he excuses himself, you two sit in silence for the longest time, both trying to gauge if now's the time to say goodbye to one another, but neither of you wanting to actually be the one who does.

Not sure if it was the absence of any light outside, the late hour, the good conversation you two shared, or a combination of all three, but the ripple of attraction you harbored for him has now washed over you completely and morphed into a formidable wave, threatening to take over your whole body, the darkness of this library and persistence of the ongoing storm outside pushing you closer to him.

He's staring at the corner of your laptop, similar feelings ebbing through him, not sure what's got into him. The art of flirting turned itself into uncharted territory for him a longggg time ago.

He finally decided to look at you but you're already looking at him and he snaps his gaze back down onto the bare table below him, silently cursing in his head as a shade of red fluster rises in his cheeks.

You realize you're going to have to be the one to be brave this time again. "Well, this has been fun...."

Miguel scoffs, starting to bounce his leg under the table. "You say that in the most sarcastic tone known to man."

You return with a scoff of your own, adding a smile, "Well I mean, technically you were working this whole time, isn't that boring?"

Miguel shrugs, the heat in his face returning. "You made it more fun..." The volume in his voice decreasing to a murmur.

You look down as well, your heart fluttering in your chest. You really wanted to kiss him. Or just be closer to him, you don't know why. Of course he was cute as hell but after talking to him for hours, there was no denying a spark had formed. You just didn't know whether one or both of you would make the first move to actually do something about it.

Miguel can't believe that he's actually going to try and attempt to ask you to stay longer with him, but he's going to. Just to hang out some more, maybe keep up that amazing conversation you two were sharing just before this. Completely innocent.

Well, if the way the glow from the desk lamp keeps on making your face look so warm and alluring, he's not sure he'll have the strength to shut down any escapades that ensue later, as long as you're completely up for it, of course.

He inhales "Um...so not sure if you have things to do later or..."

You look at him, pupils widening with anticipation at his pending question.

He goes to say, "I was wondering if you wanted to keep hanging out," but it gets combined with the phrase, "Do you want to stay here a little longer," and the word jumbo that exits his mouth is a little incoherent.

"Was wondering if you were wondering to stay and keep hanging longer out?"

You blink rapidly at his blunder, and he groans, placing his face in his hands.

You immediately feel bad for him, shaking your head and sliding a hesitant hand towards his arm. You stumble over your words too sometimes and it's always fucking humiliating when it happens, so you feel no judgement towards him whatsoever. If anything now he's even more attractive. Every little cute thing about him is just pushing you towards him closer than ever before.

Your fingertips skim across the top of the table and press gently into his forearm. He slowly rolls his head to look at you, his cheek resting in his arms as his eyes look at you from behind his glasses which are slightly askew from the way his face is positioned.

His face is still red, but his heart flutters at your sweet smile. "Sorry, my brain just...takes a dump on me when I try to be smooth sometimes..." Miguel mumbles with a weak chuckle, running his hands through his hair.

You shake your head. "I do the same thing...but to answer your question....yes please..." Your voice becomes quieter at the word "please", an trickle of lust you added on purpose, hoping he's picking up on the vibe you're putting down with the way you're gazing into his eyes, your fingers pressed against his arm, the subtle scoot closer you just made with your chair.

Miguel releases a shaky breath, oh, he's paying attention alright. Damn it all if he doesn't take the leap right now. He decides to ask one more time to be sure, slowing down so he gets it right this time.

"Will....you stay longer, with me?" his voice is low, almost a whisper even though it's only the two of you in his dark library, but it's dripping with seduction. A low rumble from the rain clouds interrupts the pause between his question and your answer.

"Yeah..." you say softly back with double affirmation, a sneaky smile forming on your lips. He flashes a dazzling smile back at you, a woozy feeling in his stomach for what's about to happen in the next few minutes.

He excuses himself and goes back to his desk, typing on his computer, the excitement of having you alone making him just type nonsense for the first few moments, wheeling away some carts to the back and stowing a stray book back where it belongs.

It's now 11 pm. Closing time. Miguel turns off all the lights except for his small desk lamp. The clouds are still rolling and rumbling outside with the wind whistling against the windows. Raindrops are still decorating the street. It's a beautifully dark, sensual scene just for the two of you.

He laces his fingers in between yours and leads you to a dark space in between two large bookshelves. His hand is clammy, and he's a little embarrassed about it on the inside but you squeeze it reassuringly. There was literally nothing he could do at this point to make your crush on him go away. The shelves tower over both of you, even Miguel, who's 6 foot 9.

He leans a hand against the shelf just above and to the right of your head. He accidentally pins a piece of your hair under his hand, making you wince a tiny bit.

"Augh.."

Miguel's eyes dart in alarm to search for what he did that caused you pain and he realizes your hair is trapped under his hand. He pulls it away, shaking his hand and flicking his fingers in an effort to free any of your strands from it. "Goddamit...."

He rolls his head backwards in exasperation at his epic failure of having zero game tonight. You hold onto the flaps of his flannel, making him look at you. "Hey, hey come on...it's okay...."

He finally looks down at you and his lips fall open at your beauty, his heart rate speeding up much more quickly now, and he brings a shaky hand to your face. In his mind, he can't help but realize he's being a huge hypocrite, committing the same sins as his horny patrons of getting busy in the library. But seriously though, at least he had the decency to make sure it was after closing when he was off the clock.

You feel your knees go weak as he brings his other hand to your face, pulling down your bottom lip with his thumb. He wets his lips and he leans in pressing his tongue gently in the space he opened in your bottom lip, begging to be let in. You oblige immediately, diving forward into his soft lips, goosebumps appearing on your arms.

Oh fuck....this kiss felt good. He forgot how nice it felt to share intimacy with someone, those feelings that laid dormant for so long rising and nearly bubbling past the surface. It's all coming back to him as he just wills himself to get lost in the warmth of your mouth, the sheer layer of your Chapstick leaving a tasty feeling on his tongue.

You considered yourself decently experienced, but the way his lips move on their own show you he's a force to be reckoned with and you'd be more than happy to sit back and let him handle things...this handsome, geeky, sweet librarian...

The noises you two make as you desperately kiss each other are little shuffles as you bump into the shelf behind you, with an occasional "oh fuck...," from Miguel. Hearing how turned on he's getting causes you to let your first moan escape your lips.

Once he hears it, he needs more. His hands make their way to your ass and hoist you up onto an empty bookshelf ladder and he sets you down on one of the rungs. You grab his shirt in your fists, not tearing your lips away from his.

"Do you care about these?" Miguel says softly, out of breath, his mind running a million miles a minute before his actions can catch up to him, gently pinching the thin material of your tights between his thumb and pointer finger as his palms grip the soft flesh of your outer thighs. You shake your head no, wanting to fuck already.

Then, his hand is in your crotch, ripping a whole right in the middle, tearing away at the fabric concealing your ripe pussy away from him as though it's the cover of a brand new novel. His cold pointer finger hooks behind your panties and pulls it to the side. You gasp loudly as you feel his finger and the cold air hit your soaked heat.

He chuckles, his breaths still coming out in rapid, succession, the baritone hum of his voice only adding to the wetness between your legs.

"Sorry, my hands are cold..." Then you can't believe what's happening when he drops to his knees, spreading you open like a book. His elbows pin your knees against the sides of the ladder, the wood pressing painfully into your kneecaps, but the sensation he gives you next makes you forget about the whole thing.

His tongue glosses over your wet pussy like a finger stroking the edge of a page. His nose tickles the tiny hairs sprouting from it as he takes a deep breath in, the smell of you going straight to his cock. He teases the lips of your pussy for a moment, an agonizing back and forth along the slit...

....back....and..... forth

"God....you're so wet..."

Back.....

"Miguel..." you whimper..

and forth...

"Fuck...." your fingers shake as you ball them into a fist...

before his tongue dips into your wet hole. Your back arches on instinct, making your body lurch forward, accidentally pushing his tongue further into you which he welcomes eagerly by gripping low on your ass to hold you in place.

You shudder and twitch violently, throwing your head back at the insanely divine attention he's injecting between your thighs. Miguel pauses for a moment, tenderly licking the inside of your thigh before sealing it with a kiss as his eyes flicker up to you.

"You okay?...." he whispers.

You release a shaky breath you didn't know you were holding, a slightly empty feeling as the mind numbing pleasure was abruptly switched off.

"Yeah, yeah...I'm okay."

Miguel reassumes his position, tongue fucking you. The soft pad of his tongue fondling the plush walls inside you. He lets out a low groan and he feels you turn to putty in his grasp, his head gently bobbing as his tongue completes lap after lap eating you, enjoying you, savoring you....every drop from that pretty pussy soon seeping out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

Your moans grow louder than they ever have, plucking him from his pussy-drunk state. He stands up in a panic and rips off his flannel, bunching it up as his eyes do a quick scan to make sure you're both still all alone.

"Shhhh.....baby, we need to be quiet.....bite this for me."

His angelic face comes up to look at you, his forehead pressing tenderly against yours and your eyes go half lidded at the sight of your arousal glistening down his chin, shiny on his thick neck from the thin flickers of moonlight that have managed to leak through the darkened windows of the library.

You do as you're told, biting his flannel and he stuffed it hastily in your mouth, making a makeshift gag as your eyes water. His elbows assume their position pinning your thighs back and he's back between them again.

You understand why he made you a gag as he goes directly for your clit this time. You yelp, your sound muffled by the fabric. Your nails dig into his shoulders, two perfect handles while you ride his face. The material of his shirt is thin and you feel every muscle ripple under your palms as he moves to keep fucking you with his mouth.

Your clit throbs to near overstimulation but Miguel doesn't relent. He swirls his tongue with low sighs of appreciation, unable to tear himself away from the wet heaven in front of his face.

His saliva and your slick mix together until it's all the same. The love you're dripping onto him and the love he's licking into you becoming a lewd stream of passion. He groans into your pussy as his bulging cock begs to relieve itself of all the cum built up with tormenting ache.

He decides he wants to watch you cum. He gets up, replacing his tongue with his thumb and his first two fingers, pumping into you with a circular rhythm and easing your clit at a torturous pace.

"On me, baby...." he whispers.

Your eyes struggle to stay open as you look at him, a little unsure of what he said. "Mmmm?...." You ask with a high pitched sigh.

"Keep those pretty eyes on me..." he repeats, his own eyes going half-lidded from the lure of your mouth hanging open. "Fuck...."

He abandons his plan momentarily as he rips his flannel from your mouth to kiss you again. You invade his mouth with your tongue and he mumbles your name again in response. You start to taste yourself and then whimper when you realize the pleasure is beginning to become too much.

"Miguel," you pant. "Baby, it's so much...." your breaths begin to hyperventilate.

Miguel gives a low sigh when you say his name, his cock straining once more when he realized he drew you to say it. He tilts his head at you, his jaw open and curls into a smile when he sees how crazy he's driving you.

"Cum f'me, baby. Wanna watch you while you do..."

You try to look at a spot on the ceiling but Miguel interrupts your concentration when he moves his head to keep himself in your vision. The spiciness of this sexy encounter banishing all fears he had before. No, he won't let you look at anything else when you cum.

He gives a loud grunt and clasps a hand over your mouth, fingers turning white, muffling your cry of sweet release as you squirt all over his flannel, your passion causing a few books to collapse from the shelf.

You shake and start to shiver all over as the sweat you produced during all the action starts to cool. Your hands are tingly and numb. Miguel gives a soft chuckle and presses a soft kiss into your temple with his wet lips and another one on your mouth before he returns his tongue to your thighs, collecting any remaining arousal left behind.

You rest your head back on the ladder rung behind your head, reeling in your come down. He smiles and plants a kiss into your thigh before bidding it farewell, then comes up and hugs you, nestling you in his tantalizing embrace, as he rests his cheek in your hair.

"Thank you..." you murmur, only barely sobering up from your high, his musk and cologne delivering you to a whole new state of intoxication.

He smiles down at you in response and holds your face in both hands, running his thumbs along your cheeks.

"See me tomorrow?"

You practically melt at those big brown eyes of his, glasses still slightly askew and the neck of his wrinkled shirt dampened with his sweat, silently hoping you will.

You beam up at him and nod enthusiastically and he chuckles and plants a line of kisses on your neck as you giggle underneath him. After a few soft hugs and another round of delicate kisses, he walks you to the door. Making you promise you'll call him as soon as you get home as a reluctant compromise at his uneasiness of you walking alone in the dark.

He watches you walk away into the night and doesn't stop until he sees you safely board the bus. He turns around and goes back inside the library, shutting off his desk light with a small click.

#miguel o'hara #miguel atsv #spotify #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara imagine #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x fem!reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #Spotify

389 notes · View notes

imtryingbuck · 4 months

Text

Always

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Summary: you and Natasha are different, could your relationship work?

Word count: 566

Warnings: fluff with a pinch of angst.

Translation: я люблю тебя всегда - I love you always (if wrong please let me know)

Masterlist

Nobody understood why you - a person so full of joy, always walking around with a smile on your face, a ray of sunshine as everyone calls you - was dating Natasha Romanoff - the famous Black Widow, the deadly assassin who always walked around with a scowl on her face.

To be truthful you didn’t understand why she picked you out of all people she could have had but you didn’t complain, you adored her. Nat was complicated to understand by others but to you it was easy once she let her walls down.

You realised early in your relationship with the redhead that because of her upbringing she had to be tough around others but when she was alone with you behind closed doors she loved to cuddle - surprisingly she preferred to be the little spoon - she smiled and laughed more when it was just the two of you, she loved reading romance novels, Natasha’s way of showing affection was through writing on coloured post it notes and leaving them dotted around your shared room so you could find them.

You didn’t care that nobody understood why you two were together, all that matter was that you love each other.

Recently Nat was acting distant and at first you accepted it as the mission she recently had was a tough one, but as time progressed you couldn’t help noticing that she was even pulling away from your cuddles as you two slept choosing to sleep on the very edge of the bed.

So lost in your own thoughts and emotions you hadn’t realised that when you walked into your bedroom that Nat was sat on the two seater couch, her knees pulled up to her chest with tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s wasn’t until you heard her sniffle.

“Natty?”

“Oh Y-Y/n-“

“Bubba what’s wrong?”

“P-please don’t leave me”

The pain in her voice and the way she stuttered caused your heart to throb painfully.

“What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you”.

“T-that’s not what everyone’s saying”

“Who? Whatever their saying it’s not true babe”

Nat proceeded to tell you that she overheard some people talking about how the relationship between the pair of you wouldn’t work due to the difference in your personalities, that Nat wasn’t capable of loving anyone.

Her voice broke at the end, her head shaking as she retells the words that she had heard.

“Sweetheart-“

“I do love you though, Y/n baby I love you so much an-and I was always afraid of being in a relationship, because I can't always be affectionate like people expect me to be. But you always seem to know how far we can go and I trust you so much."

“Nat-“

“I’m sorry I can’t always be-“

“Natty bubba you’re the most affectionate person I know, I have never once felt unloved by you in any way” taking her hand in yours “baby please don’t listen to anyone who says differently about us, they don’t know shit”

Seeing her smile made your heart flutter, hating the people who brought tears to her beautiful face.

Yes you and Nat had different personalities and out look on life but the love you two had for each other was what made your relationship work.

“I love you Natasha, I’m not going anywhere and neither are you”

“я люблю тебя Y/n всегда”

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

460 notes · View notes

togrowoldinv · 6 months

Text

Worth It

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

When the media is far too invested in your relationship, you and Natasha have a conversation

Note: This is a little something loosely inspired by Taylor Swift’s new song, Slut. Everyone stream 1989 Taylor’s Version!

Natasha Masterlist 1, Natasha Masterlist 2, Natasha Masterlist 3, Main Masterlist

Dating Natasha has caused you some new problems you never thought you’d have to worry about.

Sure, you knew the Avengers had to answer to the media at times, but you didn’t know that anyone would care about the Black Widow’s dating life. And Natasha herself has even been shocked by it.

When you go out tonight, there’s a few photographers waiting at the road. You ignore them and get in your car to meet to Nat. She meets you at a restaurant in the city.

She looks amazing. Natasha has a magnetism about her that you just can’t get over. You’ve been lovestruck since you met her.

Just like all of the others, this date goes well. It’s only at the end that any trouble happens. Right outside the door is a group of paparazzi.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says, letting go of your hand to open the door.

“It’s okay,” you say. “For you, it’s worth it.”

You give her your best smile and walk outside of the restaurant with her. The cameras flash like crazy, but you just keep walking. Natasha keeps her hand in yours. You know she’s got you covered.

Once you get into the car, Nat doesn’t start driving yet. She drops her keys back in her jacket pocket and turns to you.

“Y/n,” she begins. You swallow your nerves as you take note of her serious tone. “Do you ever think this will just blow up in our faces?”

You think for a moment before you answer.

“Our relationship?” You ask for confirmation. She nods. “No, but even if it does then I’ll just do it anyways. It’s worth it this once.”

“Really?” Nat asks. “These photographers, the media, it’s just crazy. I never wanted that for us.”

“I know that, Natasha,” you tell her. “It’s not your fault. But hey, you know I think our love can shield us from all of that.”

She hasn’t said it yet. Neither have you explicitly. But you know it’s love.

“Yeah?” She wonders.

“Yeah, babe. Let them look at us. Let them call us what they want. We have each other,” you say. “I’m not saying it’s not hard but I know you’ll rescue me if I need you to. And I’ll do the same for you.”

Natasha smiles at that. She places a soft hand on your face and pulls you in for a slow kiss. The kind that assures you that she wants this to last.

Everything is worth it for her.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff comfort #1989 taylor’s version

462 notes · View notes

brooooswriting · 6 months

Text

Reasons

Natasha Romanoff x reader (Angst to fluff)

Set after black widow movie, talk of the red room, torture etc.

A/n: I haven’t written for Nat in a while but this came up in my head and I couldn’t stop myself.

“I promise she's cheating on me” Natasha whined to Clint who sat on his bed, ice pack on his knees after a long mission. He was gone for about 2 months meaning that Nat couldn’t talk to him, so she kept her problems inside until he came back.

“Nat, she loves you. Why the hell would she cheat on you?” He asks groaning, you only ever had eyes for her. Even before your three years relationship, all you ever saw was Natasha.

And it was true, you loved her more than your own life. There is nothing you wouldn’t do for her, you would destroy yourself for her which is what you were doing at the moment.

You barely left your lab at the moment, constantly being locked up in there with your new lab assistant, Sarah. Tony hired her for you and the redhead hated her the moment she met her, she was trying to steal you from her and her suspicions confirmed when you locked away with her.

“I promise you it’s Sarah, she’s stealing my girlfriend. I bet they are doing it right now” by now she couldn’t even hold back her tears, they were streaming down her face wildly. Clint sat up and wrapped her up in a hug to calm her down.

“How about this, try to get her to talk tonight no matter how late and if she doesn’t wanna talk, if she’s ignoring it. Go to bed and end it in the morning” the archer said, his hand stroking her back while she nodded into the crook of his neck.

That night at 2 a.m you finally came back to your room. The day has been exhausting and you couldn’t wait to lay behind Nat and cuddle into her, you missed her terribly but everything you did, you did for her. What you didn’t expect was your girlfriend awake sitting in your bed with her upper body against the headrest. “What are you doing awake love? It’s late” you whispered as if you could wake somebody up as you got rid of your shoes.

“Yeah, it is late and you haven’t been back at dinner time again! Where were you?!” She hissed at you, the glare making you cower.

“In my lab, I’ve been working” you explained with a soft smile changing into your pjs to finally go to bed.

“I wonder with who. Let me guess Sarah was there too huh?” The moment she said your lab assistants name her voice was filled with venom. She’s always had a problem with the blonde and you never knew why.

“Yeah, that’s what she gets paid for. Can we not talk about this right now? I wanna sleep, with you in my arms” you mumbled as you move towards her, crawling under the blanket.

“Stay away! You don’t wanna talk about it, fine. You do not touch me” she gritted out, turning away from you. You sighed, you really wish you could tell her but you couldn’t. Not yet. So you turned towards her, not touching her. Just starting at her back as you fell asleep.

The next morning you were gone when she was awake so she got Clint and started packing her things. You weren’t gonna come back until late at night and until then she’d be gone. She’d move into Clint’s room until she figured out what else to do.

What she didn’t expect was for you to come back to your room at 9 a.m with flowers in hand. “Nat? What’s going on? Why are you packing your stuff?” You questioned, flowers still in hand when she glared at you.

“We are over. Go fuck with Sarah, I mean, y/n be honest. This is what you wanted! You cheat, you loose me. I’m doing what you didn’t have the balls for. I’m ending this. I hope you’re happy with her” she spit out, speed walking past you. You were about to follow her but Clint stood in your way, blocking your path.

“Clint, come on. I gotta follow her” you said, trying to push past him but he refused. “Barton, you know I wouldn’t cheat on her” you tried again but no luck.

“I thought the same but now? Now I want you to stay away from her” he said pushing you back a bit. You took that as a sign to leave, turning to go back to your lab, the flowers thrown on the floor.

You came back to the lab with tears streaming down your face, anger fuming inside of you. “Are you alright y/n? You didn’t wanna be back unt- oh, you’re crying” Sarah said, coming over with a tissue.

“I’m good, I-I’m managing. Natasha broke up with me” there was a moment of silence. While Sarah was desperately afraid of the redhead, she still thought the two of you were the cutest couple she knows.

“Do- do you wanna stop all this?” She asked carefully, gesturing towards your project. After a second of silence you spoke up again.

“No, no. This isn’t just for her. This can help thousand of others too. So let’s finish this alright? How long is this going to take? Half a day max. We made it too far to stop” you explained as you stood up.

After 7 hours 98% of the tests came back positive making you break out in tears again. Sarah gave you a smile and pulled you into a hug to comfort you. “You did it y/n/n” she cheered you on, her arms still around you.

“Y/- oh my god. So what Nat said was true?! You cheated on her? With the woman Tony paid for you?” Steve growled as he walked in on you and Sarah hugging causing you to abruptly pull back. It was amazing how fast words spread in this tower because from the moment Steve left after screaming it took about 15 minutes for a fuming Wanda to come down to your lab, eyes glowing red and Yelena behind her.

“You’re dead Y/n Y/l/n” the widows sister called out and you could already feel Wanda’s energy radiating around you. This was gonna be your end. No question.

“No, wait. Please. I promise on my life that I didn’t cheat” you whimpered out as you were lifted into the air. Sarah stood in shock as you were thrown against a wall. “Wanda! Come on. Take my hand, you can feel if I’m telling the truth” the two women looked at each other for a second before Yelena nodded at the witch. So she approached your form that was sitting on the ground, leaning on the wall you were thrown against.

She took another of your hands, a red glow started to engulf them as she gave you a nod. “I never cheated on Nat, never have never will” you said looking at the woman in front of you.

“She’s telling the truth” Wanda confirmed, pulling you up as your hands were still connected.

“But then what is all of this? Why did you pull away from her? Why’d you do this?” Yelena asked desperately, in her mind she could still hear Natasha cry.

“I can’t explain right now, give me two more hours. In two hours send Nat down here please” you looked at Yelena especially, knowing that she was the one who could convince her sister to do this.

“Why?” Was the only thing you were met with. You sighed, this was gonna be complicated.

“I can’t tell you Yelena, Tasha sees right through you. I can’t have that happen, not after I nearly destroyed our relationship because of it” you explained, tears welling up in your eyes at the thought of your shattered relationship.

“Then no can do” was the answer you received, making you groan. You should have guessed that this wasn’t gonna be easy.

“How about I tell Wanda and she can tell you if it’s worth it or now” after Yelena agreed you leaned forward and whispered into the witches ear, her heart melting at what you told her. Once her eyes were brimming with tears she pulled back and nodded to Yelena.

“She’ll be here in exactly two hours” were the last words the woman spoke before they disappeared.

“Well, now quick” Sarah laughed and you two started to work with full speed.

“You know I might have to fire you right? To save my relationship” you mumbled as you read through the latest updates F.R.I.D.A.Y ran for you, making small changes.

“I know and it’s alright. I’d do the same thing if I ever love someone as much as you love her. I mean I’d be happy if you don’t have to but I get it. Oh, and I ordered flowers, Champaign and chocolate for the two of you” she smiled as she read through some of the statistics.

“I hope so too but I’d do anything for her”

Two hours later the lights were dimmed, the champagne was in the fridge and chocolate on the side table. You were changed into a trouser and a top instead of an oversized shirt and joggers. Now you were just waiting for the love of your life.

“You better have a really good reason to have Yelena get me down here!” Her voice could be heard before she could be seen. Her eyes were a bit red, her voice a bit rough and her posture everything but relaxed.

“I do, I wanna tell you and show you what I’ve been doing down here. Because it definitely wasn’t cheating, love” she tensed up even more at the nickname making you cringe. It was a habit after two years.

“Don’t call me that” was the only answer you received.

“Okay. Im sorry. Do you remember our mission 8 months ago? After you ended the red room and one of our enemies decided to- you know?”

“Yeah”

Flashback

“And what do you think the world would say about all of this, huh? Black widow. What would they say about your graduation ritual and the training you went through? What would she say?” He pointed at you. Before either of you could do anything, something was attached to both of your heads and suddenly you saw everything through Natasha’s eyes.

“Nooo, please don’t. Please!! I promise this won’t distract me” young Natasha screamed and suddenly you felt a sharp pain at your left cheek. The man had slapped you hard enough to make your head turn.

“You will sit through this and you’ll remember this pain every damn time you disobey me or get distracted” the man said and suddenly you were strapped to an O.R. Table, your stomach was cut open with barely any medication making you scream in pain. Somewhere there you blacked out from the pain. When you woke up again there was a jar in front of you, everything they pulled out of you was in that jar.

“You’re now a widow. This will remind you that you are nothing more than that” was the last thing you remembered before Steve finally saved you.

To say that the two of you weren’t okay after that for a while wasn’t a surprise to anyone. You hung onto each other, mostly staying in your room always having some kind of physical contact. There was a lot of crying, a lot sleeping and a lot of mental pain. After a while things went back to normal.

“What about that?” She finally asked, shaking the memory of the mission off.

“After that I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about what they took from you, about through how much pain you went and how broken you looked when you told me that you can’t have kids. Something you’ve always wished for” you had planed the whole speech for about a month now but you were still nervous and the fact that Natasha was mad at you didn’t make it easier.

“So what? You called me down here to make me live through all that again?” She hissed and you had to hold an eye roll back.

“No, I didn’t. And you remember when we had to foster that 6 year old girl 5 months ago?”

“Yeah, Mia. We kept her for 3 weeks, she was cute” the redhead said, looking at her feet.

“No matter how many times you’ve told me that you didn’t need to have kids and that you were fine I couldn’t help but not believe you. I want you to be happy and I would do everything for you which is why I was down here. Constantly.” You explained further hoping that she’d look at you again.

“And you thought cheating on me would make me happy?” You took a second to take a deep breath before you stretched out your hand.

“I didn’t cheat. Please give me the benefit of the doubt and let me show you. Please, I’ve been working on this for months, for you.”

Your pleading tone was what made her give in and carefully take your hand as you pulled her along to oke of your microscopes, gently pushing her in front of you. She took that as a sign to look into it as you stood behind her, one hand on her waist. “What am I looking at?” She asked rather bored, not having any interest in the scientific stuff at the moment.

“Something that will involve into this” you told her as you pulled her further into your lab where she saw a hologram from an uterus. “This is a “

“I know what this is y/n” this time she rolled her eyes as she looked at the hologram.

“You kinda do, but not really. This is a uterus I made, it’s made from Stem cells and I can plant it into anybody, there it can keep growing to the point where it is a part of them and they’ll be able to have kids. I mean right now I specified it to the way the red room removed them but I could change that. This might not fix the world but I hope that it will help thousands of women who had to suffer like you did. And I hope it helps you” your voice was shaky at the end of your monologue. To some it may have seemed as if you were just out of breath but the redhead knew you better, she knew that it were your emotions that got a hold of you.

“Wh-What does that mean?” She asked, her voice trembling and her eyes glossy as one hand rested on her stomach. The spy was anything but stupid so you knew that she got what you said but she just didn’t wanna believe it.

“It means that after the treatment you can be a mother, Natasha and I just know that you’ll be the best mom ever”

Silence. That’s all there was for a long moment. The second you realized that she wasn’t going to say something about it you took the turn you hoped you wouldn’t need. “I mailed Bruce the instructions so he can do the treatment with you. The first few days after the treatment you might be very emotional, so make sure the team is there for you or your future partner. Every detail is in the files, they’re under your name, the code is your birthday. If you don’t want Bruce to do it with you I left a document with names of people who would do it with you” you told her as you tapped on one of the tablets.

“More”

“What?” You asked as you tried to piece her word together with that she meant.

“Show me More” you nodded and led her to another corner of your lab.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. open Natasha 3.1 alpha” you told the A.I who immediately started. A picture of a blonde woman showing on one of the screens, her stomach showing a small bump. “This is Alia, she was a widow too, she escaped just like you. She wanted to have child for a while, but they didn’t let her adopt. Not everybody could wipe the blood out is what they told her, so I told her that I could try this on her, she could be the first one. She’s 4 months pregnant now and the baby looks awesome” you told her, watching her as she stared at the screen.

“How’d you find her?” Natasha asked as she skipped through the pictures you had of the woman, stopping at the ultrasound. Her mouth slightly ajar.

“Your mother hooked me up once I told her about my project” you explained walking to stand behind her slightly to the left so you could look over her shoulder.

“You talk to my mother?” You could see her surprised look through the screen making you chuckle.

“Yeah, I talk to your whole family”

“Even though they make fun of your Russian and are extremely exhausting?” She asked, slightly turning her head.

“Well, they’re important to you so that meant that they’re important to me too. And I hoped for them to become my family too one day so” you explained giving her a small smile as you stepped back. “F.R.I.D.A.Y Next please” you said as Natasha turned around to you.

Suddenly the room got darker and soft music started to play, better said Nats favorite music making you freeze.

“Congratulations on finally telling her miss y/l/n. Here are your things” F.R.I.D.A.Y presented the champagne, the chocolate, the flowers and a small ring box making Natasha’s heart skip a beat.

“No, F.R.I.D.A.Y. wrong document” you rushed out but the damage was already done as you saw Nat focus on the box. “I’m so sorry, I’ll get this out of your way. I didn’t plan it like this. Shit” you rambled and kicked a carton that was on the ground out of pure frustration.

“Y-you wanted to marry me?” She mumbled as she watched your back while you tried to gather your thoughts.

“Want” was the only thing you said as you turned to see the redhead with the box in her hand. “I wanted to marry you immediately after that mission 8 months ago just to reassure you that I wasn’t leaving but I thought that that might have given the wrong impression. I was scared that you would have felt pressured to say yes”

“You did all of this for me?” She asked still trying to comprehend everything that happened. You gave her a timid nod, shoving your hands in your front pockets. “And you didn’t stop once I broke up with you?” This time you shook your head no, with a small smile. “I’m an idiot aren’t I?” She asked with a sad smile. You shrugged before shaking your head no.

“No, no matter how good my intentions were I neglected you and made you feel bad about yourself, something I promised to never do so it’s on me. But if you let me I’d like to make it up to you” you couldn’t comprehend the fact that the spy was running into your arms full speed until your ass met the ground with her on top of you. She grinned down at you before pressing her lips to yours. “I’m guessing that’s an I can?” She nodded before kissing you again.

Once you were back on your feet you could see all the avengers and Sarah standing at your door. “Ask her” Sarah mumbled but you quickly shook your head making her frown. “Do it now, or I’ll do it for you” she threatened making you flip her off before getting the box.

“I know this might not be the best moment and I actually planned all of this very very differently but that doesn’t change that you’re the love of my life and no matter if you want a family or not, I want you for the rest of my life. Natasha Alianovna Romanoff will you marry me?” You asked after you got down on one knee in front of her. Her mouth hung open as you opened the box, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Yes, yes” she mumbled over and over again as she knocked you on the ground again causing everybody to laugh.

With a big smile you slid the ring on her finger and holding her hand up for your audience to see who applauded. “I love you Natasha” you mumbled into the kiss you had shared.

“I love you too”

———————————————————————————

The next day Nat got her treatment, Wanda holding her hand while you worked as careful as you could. You two decided that you’d get married, than help some widows and then you’d get pregnant and you couldn’t wait. Tony was nice enough to sponsor the whole project, ‘your wedding gift’ as he said. That was also the first time Nat hugged him.

“There, we are all done love” you said as you discarded your gloves and walked up to her to press a soft kiss to her lips.

“This is the beginning of the rest of our lives” she smiled at you making you grin. You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with this woman.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

“About Sarah…”

“You can keep her y/n, I get it I misinterpreted things” she grumbled as she cuddled into your arms making it clear that you were supposed to carry her upstairs.

You were already loving the clinginess that came with the treatment.

#reader insert #brooooswriting #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #natasha x you

733 notes · View notes

superficialdomina · 3 months

Text

Fray (Into Submission, Part 4)

Part 3: Lost

Series masterlist

AN: An Avengers training session gives you a chance to show Loki how fun it would be to let you win.

As always, an enormous thank you to @acidcasualties for making this whole series happen. Special thanks to @lokisgoodgirl for checking the accuracy of my swordplay!

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: 18+; minors DNI. Thirsty with some reminiscing, but nothing explicit in this one. Inaccurate descriptions of combat training. Mostly just lurid descriptions of Loki's smoking hot bod in workout wear, with a touch of plot development.

Days. You hadn’t seen him in days.

There were hints of him; you knew he was still in the Tower. You’d heard his voice a couple of times, and yesterday when you’d stepped into the elevator you could smell that he’d been there minutes before. But he’d upped his avoidance game. It made you sad, and a little afraid.

The look of anguish he’d worn as he’d cast you out of his apartment remained etched in your memory, leaving the subtle ache of guilt in your chest. Had you gone too far?

You mulled it over as you pulled on your gym gear. Loki might still refuse to talk to you this morning, but you were confident that you would at least see him. After several of your coworkers had missed Saturday afternoon’s impromptu training session, Rogers had rescheduled for first thing Monday morning, with strongly worded insistence that everyone be in attendance. His WhatsApp message didn’t quite single Loki out by name, but none of you was in any doubt about its intended target.

The spacious training hall gleamed with the sunlight that streamed through the large 26th story windows, casting a warm glow on the polished mats. The luxury of the Tower was as prominent here as on every other floor. The gym was loaded with state-of-the-art equipment and comprehensive accessories, all meticulously maintained - as though getting your arse kicked by a handful of superheroes would hurt less because there wasn’t a speck of dust on the yoga mats, you thought wryly. You peered hopefully around the room as you entered. I just need to know that he’s OK, you told yourself.

Loki and Thor were sparring hand-to-hand in the open rink, the soft thudding of their bare feet resonating as they moved around one another. Occasional grunts carried as one of the pair landed a strike. Despite Thor’s size advantage, they were evenly matched; Loki was always a fraction faster, seeming to know exactly where Thor would move next, as though each step were choreographed and practiced to perfection. Observing them was like watching an ancient dance. Which is exactly what it is, you thought, momentarily awed. A fierce, millennium-old dance.

Thor’s bare chest, though impressive, was still somehow less appealing than Loki’s lithe form, clad in workout wear that clung tightly to his broad back. You let your eyes blatantly traverse him. His elegant ankles smoothed into perfectly sculpted calf muscles; his Godly hamstrings flexed under the hem of his training shorts, which in turn restrained his flawlessly rounded glutes. His body was utterly splendid. A delight of form and function, forged by centuries of practice and power. A work of art.

If he would just put that phenomenal dedication and discipline to good use in service to you…

“Time!” Rogers called loudly, and the brothers stepped back, arms lowered, chests heaving. Thor clapped Loki on the back amicably, and for the briefest moment, you saw Loki wince. The small movement made your blood run hot.

Pain.

“Three minutes, everyone!” Rogers continued, before consulting the pairs listed in the complicated run sheet on his ridiculous clipboard. “Two and eight,” he began. “Three and twelve. Four and… Sixteen.”

You groaned inwardly, pushing thoughts of your recalcitrant conquest from your mind. The Black Widow. Not exactly a leisurely start to the morning, then.

“Come on, sixteen,” Natasha laughed. “Show me what you’ve got.”

The room filled with the sounds of Avengers in practice: thudding boots, wordless shouts, the familiar hum of mutual respect and collective, focused power. As you sparred, you began to relax into the collaborative energy, muscle memory activating as your training partner led with her familiar fighting style. Nat feinted here, and you responded there; the two of you were strong, and graceful, and -

Thump. You landed flat on your back on the hard mat. Again. At least this time you’d seen it coming. Your body just… didn’t move that way. Or that fast.

“You’re getting better,” Nat insisted as she hauled you to your feet. “You almost avoided that one.”

“I saw what you were doing,” you agreed, somewhat reluctantly. “I just couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

“They rarely can,” she winked, as Steve’s obnoxious whistle sounded again.

“Drinks!” he shouted, “then re-pair for weapons.” He returned to his spreadsheet, muttering numbers to himself, as you reached for your water bottle and your thoughts – and eyes – returned to Loki.

He was sauntering towards the group with Bucky, shoulders thrown back in haughty masculinity, animatedly wiping sweat from his brow with his sinewy forearm. Whore, you thought lustily. They looked almost amicable. You gazed at him, curious; confused. He seemed… fine? Loki caught you watching him and gave you a wink. A wink. Almost like…

Like old times, you thought. What is going on?

You turned away, chugging water, then wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. He seems fine. Was it real? If he was truly so nonchalant, why the vanishing act over the past few days?

You were still standing there, bemused, when the team began to pair off again. In your distracted state, you’d missed the next call. Who…?

Only one person remained by your side, and his imperious gaze left you in no doubt as to your next partner.

Loki.

You moved together to one end of the training mats. This close, you could see the fine trails of fresh sweat across his bare shoulders; smell the sweet scent of it heavy around you when he raised his arms to pull his curls back into a messy plait. You imagined the saltiness of it gathered in the valleys of his muscular, sinewy body, with which you had so recently become better acquainted; the way it would pool and concentrate in the deep hollow of his jugular notch.

I could make you sweat like that.

He continued to smirk at you mischievously as he moved into position, as grandiose and egomaniacal as ever. “Short swords, Agent?” he drawled, a short, thick blade appearing in each hand with a flicker of green.

“Just one, Laufeyson!” Rogers shouted, before you could respond. Loki raised an eyebrow at you, flirting with the idea of arguing; but he wordlessly vanished the weapon on his left.

“You didn’t want to lend that to me?”

“Darling, they are hundreds of years old,” he drawled coolly. “I don’t lend them to anyone.” Turning to fetch a training sword, you hid a smile at his words. Had he forgiven you?

Or he’s just feeling cocky.

The gym’s practice swords were hung neatly at the far wall. You tried to pick one that was long enough to be effective, but not so long as to be cumbersome. It was highly irrelevant; he was faster, stronger, and infinitely more skilful than you. You selected a narrow doge sword that at least felt comfortable in your grip.

The gym echoed with the ring of steel on steel as your peers sparred. How many rounds had it been? Each time you lasted barely a minute before he outdid you, the sharp edges of his blade finding their mark at your shoulder, your thigh, and once, your collar bone. Despite your budding fatigue, you found yourself mesmerised by him. He wielded the ancient sword with harmony and fluidity, so fluent was he in its unwritten language, so familiar with its little quirks. Like an old lover, you thought madly, as you struggled to steady the vibrations of the blade with each parry and clash.

His weapon whistled again; this time the flat of his blade struck your hand, and you dropped your own sword. He stepped back to patiently wait for you to ready yourself again.

His fitness was phenomenal - you were breathing hard, your arms burning, and he barely seemed to have slowed. The smirk he’d given you earlier was once again pasted across his beautiful, pretentious face. Patient, but smug.

“Where have you been, Loki?” you asked as you retrieved your weapon, buying time to catch your breath. Dammit, your knuckles stung; you hoped it wasn’t obvious.

“Here and there,” he replied easily. No denial this time. “Are you ready?”

“I was worried about you.”

“If you mean that you feared for my safety, I am most able to defend myself.”

“That’s not what I meant.” For a second you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability return to his features. If you did, it was quickly swallowed by his traditional haughty confidence. “I just… Well, as long as you’re OK.” Ready, you lifted your blade - and a thought occurred to you.

The timing had to be perfect; if he hadn’t been looking directly at your mouth, he might have missed it. Provocatively raking your eyes down over his long body, you bit your lower lip, and gave a tiny, breathy moan.

It was horribly overdone, but it worked. Loki hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes widening, and you took advantage of his momentary distraction to slip below his guard; the steel of your sword captured his, and you pushed - hard. There was the harsh sing of metal-on-metal as you slid down the blade, checking his weapon against his chest. His move was forfeit. He stepped backwards off the edge of the mat, losing his balance - and you pinned him against the wall.

You pressed your body into his, your mediocre blade below his chin, and carefully assessed his face. Was he irritated by your trick? If anything, he seemed… amused.

“That,” he said lightly, looking down at you over his long, regal nose, “was an interesting tactic.”

“You know what they say,” you muttered, still breathing hard. “If you can’t beat them…”

“I dare say it would not be widely effective,” he added.

“More than you think, perhaps.”

And then you noticed it: the slight flush to his cheeks, which could be excused by the workout. The twitch of a muscle at the corner of his jaw. The feel of his perfect cock swelling slowly under his training shorts.

Not amused… Aroused.

Loki knew the moment you’d realised his state of mind. Or rather, state of body.

You’d opened your mouth in mock astonishment, your eyes bright with barely contained glee.

“Are you enjoying this?” you had asked, quietly delighted. The crossed swords had still been pressed unrelentingly against his chest, his blade locked tight under yours. It made his pulse quicken pleasantly.

Loki had given a small, wordless huff, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. In truth, he’d found it highly enjoyable; your control, your audacity, your erotically mischievous little decoy. His own powerlessness. But how could he admit that to you?

The sounds of water splashing off bathroom tile brought him back to the present. Gingerly, he stepped under the heavy jets; steam enveloped him. Lathered soap formed clouds of bubbles that washed away the training-hall grime, the sticky salt that clung to his skin like a fragrance. The precious soreness that assured him that he had worked for this. That he had earned it.

How could he admit that to you? The question turned over in his mind like the soap in his hands, slippery and fraught. It should be simple, really; the evidence was laid bare before him, stripped of illusion and ego in the privacy of his mind. The chamber. The Genuflexa. The young man, beautifully bound. The way your body had risen in his mind's eye to bring him undone, not just then but so many times since…

He let the water run through his long hair, raking his fingernails to help it penetrate all the way to his scalp. He liked the way their sharpness felt on the sensitive skin.

… And in counterpoint, the betrayals of his youth. The early memories of hurt and rejection that had sown the seeds of distrust. The expectations of masculinity and dominance, and the familiarity of the long-worn mask.

Loki lifted his chin to shake the heavy, saturated mass of slick curls out behind him, squeezing the last of the water from it. He thought of you; of how much he would like to tend to your sore muscles, to soothe the bruises you would surely have sustained in combat today. To gently run his fingertips over your scalp, and hear you sigh with contentment.

There was only one sensible question, he decided as he stepped from the lustrous shower recess. Steam was clearing to reveal his glistening face in the bathroom mirror. Did he trust you?

He dried his hands, and picked up his cell phone.

Alright, Agent. Prove me wrong.

Almost immediately, he received your reply. The tone of it sent a little shiver down Loki’s spine.

9pm, my apartment. Be punctual.

Before he could interrogate his feelings about it, his phone gave another gentle ping.

Wear your cape.

Tags: @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @infinitystoner @lady-rose-moon @coldnique @thomase1 @kats72 @holymultiplefandomsbatman @tomlugirl @lokisninerealms @missmushroomsstuff @ladyloki3 @fandxmslxt69 @sinsandguilt @sarahscribbles @lunarnights95 @meowmeow-motherfucker @simplyholl @divine-knight-hand @gigglingtiggerv2 @eleniblue @loz-3 @redfoxwritesstuff @wolfsmom1 @beksib @nyx2021 @lokischambermaid

#sub!loki/femdom!reader #sub loki #loki fic

166 notes · View notes

fireismine · 6 months

Text

DAENERYS TARGARYEN APPRECIATION WEEK 2023

Day 4: Character Parallels → Rhaena the Black Bride and Daenerys Stormborn

The Queen in the West:

In the Red Keep of King’s Landing sat the Queen Regent Alyssa, widow of the late King Aenys, mother to his son Jaehaerys, and wife to the King’s Hand, Rogar Baratheon. Just across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, a younger queen had arisen when Alyssa’s daughter Alysanne, a maid of thirteen years, had pledged her troth to her brother King Jaehaerys, against the wishes of her mother and her mother’s lord husband. And far to the west on Fair Isle, with the whole width of Westeros separating her from both mother and sister, was Alyssa’s eldest daughter, the dragonrider Rhaena Targaryen, widow of Prince Aegon the Uncrowned. In the westerlands, riverlands, and parts of the Reach, men were already calling her the Queen in the West. - A Surfeit of Rulers, Fire and Blood

Dany knew she would take more than a hundred, if she took any at all. "Remind your Good Master of who I am. Remind him that I am Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, trueborn queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. My blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, and of old Valyria before him." - Daenerys II, A Storm of Swords

Three Husbands:

Rhaena was married to Aegon the Uncrowned, Maegor the Cruel and Androw Farman.

Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . – Daenerys IV, A Clash of Kings

The Queen in the East:

“Done,” the king said…mayhaps too hastily, for it must be remembered that Aerea Targaryen, a girl of eight, was his own acknowledged successor, heir apparent to the Iron Throne. The consequences of this decision would not be known for years to come, however. For the nonce it was done, and the Queen in the West at a stroke became the Queen in the East. - A Time of Testing: The Realm Remade, Fire and Blood

"The best calumnies are spiced with truth," suggested Qavo, "but the girl's true sin cannot be denied. This arrogant child has taken it upon herself to smash the slave trade, but that traffic was never confined to Slaver's Bay. It was part of the sea of trade that spanned the world, and the dragon queen has clouded the water. Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives. Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row our galleys, fight our battles. And now when they look east, they see this young queen shining from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that. Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation." - Tyrion VI, A Dance with Dragons

Refusing to Cry

When word of the battle reached the west and Princess Rhaena learned that both her husband and her friend Lady Melony had fallen, it is said she heard the news in a stony silence. “Will you not weep?” she was asked, to which she replied, “I do not have the time for tears.” - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

His business done, the captain of the Indigo Star bowed and took his leave. Dany shifted uncomfortably on the ebony bench. She dreaded what must come next, yet she knew she had put it off too long already. Yunkai and Astapor, threats of war, marriage proposals, the march west looming over all . . . I need my knights. I need their swords, and I need their counsel. Yet the thought of seeing Jorah Mormont again made her feel as if she'd swallowed a spoonful of flies; angry, agitated, sick. She could almost feel them buzzing round her belly. I am the blood of the dragon. I must be strong. I must have fire in my eyes when I face them, not tears. "Tell Belwas to bring my knights," Dany commanded, before she could change her mind. "My good knights." - Daenerys VI, A Storm of Swords

Gains Confidence After Bonding with a Dragon:

At the age of nine, however, Rhaena was presented with a hatchling from the pits of Dragonstone, and she and the young dragon she named Dreamfyre bonded instantly. With her dragon beside her, the princess slowly began to grow out of her shyness; at the age of twelve she took to the skies for the first time, and thereafter, though she remained a quiet girl, no one dared to call her timid. - The Sons of the Dragon, Fire and Blood

Day followed day, and night followed night, until Dany knew she could not endure a moment longer. She would kill herself rather than go on, she decided one night … Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her. She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce. And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. "Khaleesi," Jhiqui said, "what is wrong? Are you sick?" "I was," she answered, standing over the dragon's eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shell. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers … or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously. - Daenerys III, A Game of Thrones

#danyweek2023 #daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #canondany

249 notes · View notes

sassypossumm · 1 month

Text

Metanoia

You were just an average person, living an average life. That was until you were bit by some stupid spider three weeks ago. Now you're getting pestered by your nosey brother and trying to keep that pesky Spider Society at bay. And if you could just stop secreting deadly venom that would be great. The ups and downs of being your worlds one and only black widow variety of a Spider Woman. Or if you rather, the tale of two idiot hard asses being terrible at feelings.

If this picks up traction, Migs and Y/N are both gonna be super bad at feelings but I'll just say, the spider mating... EPIC... so if you like, let me know!!! (This part is mostly world building, Migs makes a cameo appearance at the end though!)

Word Count: 3,726

Hey.

You're not answering your texts.

I'm going to assume that you're dead.

I got pizza.

Ok you're definitely dead.

Todd's asking about you.

Ok that was a lie. If it makes you feel better he's been on a bender since thursday...

And by thursday I mean two thursdays ago

This had been going on for the past three weeks. Ever since you'd went off the grid.

Wade texted. Todd drank. You sat alone in your apartment. Currently you sat eyeing your phone warily. Wade went radio silent two days ago, and that made you nervous.

It was never good when your idiot brother didn't pester you. Shaking your head, you sighed and turned your phone off. No use staring at a blank phone screen, waiting to ignore the texts that weren't going to come. Flopping back on the mattress you stretched the kinks out of your legs and glanced to the side, trying to ignore the foul odor coming from your closet.

With a groan you sat up and for the first time really looked around your apartment. It was filthy. Running a hand through your greasy hair, you paused to look at the mousy ends. Your surroundings were a grody reflection of how you felt on the inside. Your eyes flicked again to the closet door that was slightly ajar and you instinctively itched at an aggravated red bite mark on your arm.

In all honesty, you hadn't gone radio silent simply over what had occurred between yourself, Wade, and Logan.

There was another reason.

Looking away from the closet door you flexed your jaw and groaned. The feeling of filth crawling across your skin won in the end, and after a week of nesting in your mound of blankets and pillows, you rolled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. Shuffling past the mirror you shucked off your nightshirt and tossed it on the floor. You didn't have to look at your reflection to know that you looked exactly how you felt. Like dog shit.

Turning on the water, you stepped in the shower and hissed at the practical ice that hit your back. Cursing yourself for not waiting, you angrily turned the knob until the water came streaming out at an unbearable temperature. Anything to feel something.

If you'd checked your phone before deciding to DIY a molten skin peel in the shower, you'd have seen the pivotal text.

Im coming over

Your skin was a brilliant vermillion hue by the time the pipes began squealing in protest, and you quickly turned off the water before receiving another beautiful blast of frigid water to the face. The faucet continued dripping, and you scrubbed your hair dry to the steady sound.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Bang! Bang!

You jumped, hitting your head on the shower wall and hissed. Your front door was none too gently flung open, and you scrambled for anything to defend yourself, huffing when your hands landed on the plunger. It would have to do. Slinking behind the door, you crouched as the distinct sound of heavy footsteps came down the narrow hall towards the bathroom. You tensed and readied to defend yourself.

"Sis?"

Wade.

You slumped against the wall, exhaling heavily and dropped the plunger.

"Sis?" The bathroom door slowly creaked open.

"I'm naked you idiot!" You screamed, slamming it shut. Wade swore on the other side. You sighed and rested your forehead heavily against the flimsy wood. "Why didn't you call?!"

"I texted." He sounded defensive. Banging your head against the door you groaned.

"Let me get dressed." Wade shuffled back down the hallway to give you space, and you waited until his footsteps faded and you were certain he was in the living room before inching the door open. Peeking out and seeing the hallway empty, you quickly tip toed back to your room.

And hissed.

You didn't have any clean clothes. Your eyes darted around the filthy room until finally landing on something vaguely brownish in the corner. Snatching it up, you gave it an exploratory sniff.

"Clean enough." You grumbled, yanking it over your head and trudged back to the bathroom to wrap your still dripping hair in a towel. Pausing in front of the mirror you groaned. To your growing mortification, you realized that this brown... thing had been the gag gift you'd received at last year's Dirty Santa party. Staring back at you was the demented face of that planter's peanut, and under it... Goofy Goober. "Just great." You muttered, tugging at the hem of the shirt and reluctantly headed towards the living room.

Wade sat sprawled out on your ratty old couch and perked up when he heard your footsteps. Looking up, he noticed your shirt and smirked.

"Kinky." You merely rolled your eyes and folded your arms, leaning against the door frame.

"Why are you here, Wade?" He fidgeted with his phone, and tossed it on the couch, nervously rubbing his palms on his thighs.

"We, I was worried about you."

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine." You gestured to your surroundings with more confidence than you felt. Wade glanced around and looked back at you with a raised brow.

"Yeah, as fine as Todd." You tensed.

"Don't mention him." Pulling away from the frame, you shuffled to the kitchenette and rinsed out a mug. Wade followed you and sat at the small folding table.

"We've all been trying to reach you." He said gingerly, folding his hands and twiddling his thumbs.

"I know." You filled the mug with water and popped it into the microwave. "And I thought it was obvious I wanted to be left alone." You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know that Wade bristled at that. Good. You thought bitterly.

"I'm worried about-"

"You lost the right to be worried about my well-being when I caught you railing my boyfriend in my apartment, Wade!" Your voice sounded tinny even in your own ears, but you didn't back down as you stared down at your brother bitterly. Wade's eyes shuttered and he opened his mouth to protest, but at your heated glare he backed down.

"It was a shitty move." He whispered.

I'm sorry.

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" You responded.

You're an idiot.

"Yeah." He met your eyes. Nodding woodenly, you rinsed out another mug and stiffly went through the rote motions of making two cups of coffee. The instant stuff. It wasn't good, but it was cheap. Plopping the mugs on the collapsable table, you sat heavily in the folding chair, and took a sip of the rusty brew. Wade turned his cups in circles and stared into the black liquid. "No creamer?" His eyes flicked up to you. You shrugged and took another sip.

"Assholes don't get creamer." He winced.

"Fair enough." He muttered and drained half of the scalding coffee in one gulp. Wade looked at you over the rim of his cup and studied you, his eyes focusing in on the angry red mark that still lingered on your arm, even after three weeks. "How've you been?" He chanced to ask, hesitantly.

"Not great." You smiled tightly, and he couldn't miss the way your left eye slightly twitched.

"Have you gotten that checked out?" Wade gestured to the red mark, which you quickly covered with your free hand.

"It's fine, Wade." You hissed.

"You're hiding something." He narrowed his eyes. Your grip on the mug tightened, and the distinct sound of glass cracking could be heard. Coffee began spurting out of a large crack in the side of your mug, causing you to hiss again as the hot liquid hit your hand. Wade's brows raised and he jumped back with a loud, 'Woah!', when you growled again and flung the mug at the wall.

He wasn't taken aback by the blood covering your hand, rather it was your reaction that had him jumping up, knocking over his chair in the process. You were glowering down at your hand, jaw slightly unhinged and... something was dripping from your...

"Fangs?" He breathed, and your eyes shot up to meet his. "Yo!" He scrambled over himself, backing towards the couch. You stood stock still, hand still dripping blood, but you were something otherworldly in that moment. Your jaw had unhinged like a snake, and you indeed sported a pair of fangs that currently had some sort of venom dripping from them. Wade sat heavily on the couch, and you quickly came back to yourself, eyes clearing as you rushed to the sink to tend to the cut.

While you were busy running cold water over the cut, and squeezing out the blood that continuously oozed out, Wade sat in shock, running his hands through his hair. You glanced over your shoulder at him, nervously and turned off the water.

His head shot up, and you turned off the water as he stood and sniffed the air. Your heart stuttered to a stop.

He smelt it.

You'd become so accustomed to the stench; you'd taken for granted how horrid it was. Your horror grew as his eyes drifted down the hall towards your room. You followed his line of sight, and slowly your eyes met again. Wade's eyes narrowed and he glanced back down the hall, and then down at your hand, dripping blood again.

You rushed to grab a hand towel, and Wade strode to your room. Cursing under your breath, you wrapped your hand and tripped over yourself in a panic to cut him off.

No dice. Wade flung your door open, and you found him on the floor, staring into your closet dumbly.

The blood rushed to your head; your hands felt clammy. Reaching out a hand, you braced yourself against the doorframe and stared at your brother, staring at the box in your closet.

The box overflowing with dead pigeons.

Finally, he tore his eyes away from the grisly sight, and looked up at you, ashen faced.

"Wade." You choked out before everything went black.

You came to with a groan as a cold cloth was placed on your forehead. Cracking your eyes open slowly you realized you'd been moved to the couch. Groaning again you tried to sit up.

"Easy." Wade admonished quietly, helping you into a sitting position, grabbing a throw pillow to prop behind your back.

"How long was I out?" You held the cloth to your forehead and gingerly felt the back of your head, breathing a sigh of relief when you didn't find a bump. Wade sat back and waived a hand dismissively.

"About five minutes." You nodded silently and closed your eyes, willing your head to stop spinning. Wade fidgeted and rubbed the back of his neck.

"So," He looked around the room before back at you hesitantly.

"So?" You opened one eye and considered him critically. Wade crossed his arms and raised a brow.

"We gonna talk about the you know... fangs and dead pigeons?" His leg bounced, and the corners of his lips lifted derisively. You flopped back against the couch.

"You are not seriously playing concerned big brother right now?!" You grumbled, covering your eyes with the cloth. "Hey!" You shouted when he yanked the cloth off your face. Shooting up, you glared at him and grabbed for the cloth, which he easily held out of your reach. "Give it back!" You huffed.

"Not until you start talking, Dracula." You narrowed your eyes and hissed. Wade tossed the cloth in your lap and folded his arms, nonplussed. Holding it to your forehead you again lay back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. "That gets old real fast."

"What does?" You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes. Wade rolled his and leaned back in the folding chair he'd dragged over to the couch.

"The hissing thing. You sound like a deranged cat." He chuckled when you stuck your tongue out at him.

"If I weren't a lady, I'd tell you to get,"

"You're not a lady." He said dryly. You rolled over and propped yourself up on your elbow and pointed the limp rag at him.

"Fine. Get fucked." Pausing you sat up and looked at him with an exaggeratedly shocked expression. "Oh, wait... you already did. By my boyfriend."

"Ouch." He easily caught the rag you tossed at him. "Does it make you feel better to know you have excellent taste in men?" Your expression went flat, and you smiled thinly.

"Are you planning on trying out every man I bring home?" Wade visibly flinched and your brow twitched. "Aw, what's the matter, little sister's burns too much for you?" You taunted, sitting up and crossing your legs. He snorted and placed the rag on the back of his neck. You smiled widely, your newly acquired fangs flashing briefly, and your smile slipped when you saw the flash of apprehension on his face. He turned his attention from you back to your surroundings.

"I'm the last person to comment on someone's digs, but this place has really gone to shit, Y/N." Wade looked back at you, concern in his eyes. You frowned, and your tongue ran over your fangs thoughtfully. A new tick you'd picked up since they'd appeared. You were honestly a bit surprised that your tongue wasn't bloody and raw from as many times as you'd passed it over your sharpened incisors.

"Yeah, well, the last three weeks haven't exactly been a walk in the park, Wade." You uncrossed your legs and stood, snatching the rag out of his hand and headed towards the bathroom, Wade hot on your heels. Tossing the rag in the hamper, you turned to see Wade's attention had strayed to the cabinets over the toilet.

Your blood ran cold.

It was one thing for Wade to find your box of... experiments, as you called them. But you definitely didn't need him snooping further into your latest escapades.

"What's this?" Wade grabbed the black slip of fabric and held it up to examine it.

Too late.

You closed your eyes and grit your teeth, willing the rest of the world to dissolve. Just five minutes. Was that too much to ask? Five minutes of peace?

"Y/N?" You cracked an eye open to see him looking at you pointedly, holding up the garment for emphasis.

"It's nothing." You bit out, snatching the garment from his hands and stuffing it back into the cabinet, slamming it shut.

"It's clearly something." Wade folded his arms. "The fangs and hissing thing again, right?" Sighing you leaned against the bathroom wall in resignation.

"Yeah." You slumped to the floor and hugged your knees to your chest.

"What gives, kid?" He gave you a concerned look, sliding to the floor beside you. "Y/N?" Wade gently nudged your shoulder.

"I got bit." Smiling tightly, you looked sideways at him and shrugged. "I don't know, some crazy spider, I think."

"And that's when you went all 'Elvira mistress of the dark'?"

"Pretty much." Instinctively you itched the aggravated bite again.

"So, I shudder to ask, but what's up with the dead pigeons? Are you trying to create an army of zombie birds?"

"No, idiot." You cracked your first genuine smile in weeks.

"Then again, what gives?"

"Experiments." You offered simply. Wade raised a brow and leaned back to study you.

"You know that's giving major Frankenstein and his monster vibes, right?"

"Maybe I should just bite you to test my theory." You said drolly, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the grimy wall.

"What's this shady theory of yours?"

"Hmm?" Cracking one eye open you acknowledged him before closing it again. Wade scooted closer and nudged your knee with his.

"What's cooking in your noggin', Frankenstein?" You wrinkled your nose at the dig and sighed, turning to face him.

"I'm pretty sure the stuff I've been orally secreting,"

"Venom?"

"Yeah, venom," you hissed bitterly. "I'm fairly certain this venom, is poisonous, fatally so. At least to small animals."

"And you tested this theory out on little critters? That's kinda twisted, sis."

"Says the Merc with a mouth!" You punched his shoulder.

"Ouch!" Wade winced dramatically and rubbed his shoulder. "Easy, killer." Your face hardened and he instantly regretted his choice of words.

"Obviously I'm not going to risk finding out if my venom is fatal to an actual person."

"Why not?" He leaned forward, startlingly animated.

"You're joking?! You were just negging me for biting some pigeons. Little animals are off limits but whole people are fair game? That's twisted, big brother." Wade rolled his eyes and waived off your tirade.

"I'm not saying you should grab some rando off the street. I mean, hello! You've got the perfect test subject right here!" He gestured to himself.

"You want me to bite you?" You looked askance at him. Wade pulled a face and shrugged.

"Why not. If it's not fatal, no harm. If it is fatal, I'll regenerate anyways. It's a win win!" You folded your arms, unimpressed.

"You just want to get bit by a vampire." You folded your arms, unimpressed. Wade sighed heavily and scooted even closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and rested his chin on your shoulder.

"This is the closest I'm gonna get to that! Come on, sis, don't take this away from me!" He whined, jostling your body. You struggled against his grip, but Wade doubled down and gave you that insipid puppy dog pout you hated.

Naturally it didn't work on you, but you'd do anything to wipe it off of his face.

"Pest." You hissed, and turned, biting down on his neck harshly. Wade clenched his jaw as the venom burned hot through his veins. You pulled back hesitantly and wiped your mouth on the back of your arm and watched him. At first, he had no reaction beyond a light layer of sweat beading against his hairline.

He turned to look at you and opened his mouth when his eyes rolled back, and he twitched violently before going stiff and flopping over.

"Wade?" Your blood ran cold, and you reached out a shaky hand to touch his arm. He twitched again and you recoiled with a choked sound and scrambled on top of the toilet. Moments of sheer panic and dread passed as you watched his skin take on a grey pallor. It felt as though your heart might jump out of your chest.

Gingerly you climbed down from the toilet and inched closer to him until you were standing by his head.

"Wade?" You whispered shakily and nudged at his cheek with your foot.

He opened his eyes and gasped for air.

His hand reached out and clamped around your ankle.

You shrieked and kicked him in the face.

He grunted and roughly yanked your leg out from under you. Another shriek turned into a sharp exhale of air as your back made contact with the hard linoleum.

"Was that really necessary?" You growled, biting back a sound of pain.

"Says the woman who just killed me." He groaned, rubbing the side of his face. You turned your head to meet his eyes.

"You recovered." Wade barked out a short laugh.

"At least we know two things now." He rolled over and sat up with a grunt and offered you a hand.

"Yeah?" You took his hand, and he pulled you into a sitting position. "What have you deduced, Sherlock?" You stood and stretched out your back muscles and offered him a hand up. Wade took it and stumbled to his feet.

"That I'm never going near your feet again, and I'm gonna make sure not to piss you off in the future." He gestured to the puncture marks on his neck. You narrowed your eyes playfully and bared your teeth with a hiss. Wade held up his hands to shield himself and dodged you easily with a chuckle. "Oh, no, please, scary vampire lady!" Your smile faded and your eyes shuttered. "Aw, sis, I was just kidding." He wrapped an arm around your shoulder again and squeezed.

"I know." You offered a halfhearted smile and elbowed him gently in the ribs. "But all jokes aside, Wade, I'm a threat." You've seen, when I'm pissed it's hard to control. It's like I instinctually need to put something in my mouth." You groused, folding your arms. Wade smirked and coughed to cover a snort.

"I could do so many things with that statement." He snorted again. You rolled your eyes.

"You're disgusting, Wade." He opened his mouth to argue when there was a knock at the door. "Not again." You grumbled and marched to the door.

"What's not again?" Wade called out, and when you didn't respond he followed, curiosity leading him.

"The fourth time this month! I swear they won't leave me alone." Ignoring his presence, you grumbled to yourself as you stormed to the door, building steam as you went. Wade would've asked what you were so angry about, but his neck was still smarting, and he wasn't exactly jumping to have a repeat experience.

Grabbing the folding chair, Wade straddled it and folded his arms over the back. Reaching for the doorknob you whipped your head in his direction to glare at him.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just here until intermission." He smirked and propped his chin on his folded arms.

He probably should've reminded your that you were still wearing that idiotic goofy goober sleeping shirt, but what the heck.

Gripping the doorknob, you yanked it open roughly, splinters flying back as the wood split with the force of your hand. Wade flinched.

"I told you I wasn't interested, Peter," Your anger instantly evaporated as you took in the giant of a man staring down at you stoically.

"Not Peter." His voice was flat, his expression unaltered as he stood there, arms folded. You took a step back and looked down, realized the knob was still in your hand.

"Great." You muttered, closing your eyes shut and squeezing the doorknob. You didn't have to look to know that you'd most likely ripped the door off its hinges. Again. Sighing deeply, you opened your eyes and forced a smile before turning back to the behemoth.

"Can I offer you a shitty cup of coffee?"

#wade wilson x reader #deadpool x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv #atsv miguel #deadpool #wade wilson #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 x reader

95 notes · View notes

222trin · 7 months

Text

heres some pics i just took in my black widow cosplay from today's stream ☺️🤍

#cosplay #anime #black widow #marvel #anime aesthetic #pretty #latina #sexy #beautiful #hot #fashion #gamergirl #video games

191 notes · View notes

margowritesthings · 1 year

Text

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm.

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds.

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk?

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?”

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.”

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection.

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day.

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet.

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known.

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to.

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp.

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees.

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception.

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man.

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit.

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder.

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one.

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers.

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon.

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.”

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact.

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly.

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down.

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you.

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him.

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-”

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them.

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.”

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen.

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.”

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there.

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways.

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger.

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt.

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins.

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will.

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over.

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear.

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted.

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

#dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #dutch van der linde x you #dutch van der linde x y/n #dutch van der linde smut #dutch van der linde fanfiction #dutch van der linde imagine #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #dutch van der linde fanfic #dutch van der linde rdr2 #dutch rdr2

373 notes · View notes