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bellofthemeadow · 10 months

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The Road Ahead - ch 1 | Frankie Morales x Female Reader

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For most of your married life, you dedicated yourself to waiting for Frankie. After each deployment, you patiently awaited his return, longing for the moment when he would be by your side again. During those nights when nightmares consumed his thoughts, you yearned for him to open up to you, hoping that he would find solace in sharing his pain. And as his addiction spiraled out of control, you held onto the hope that he would recognize his problem and seek help. However, despite your countless protests and pleas, you now find yourself waiting for him once more as he ventures off to Colombia, engaged in God knows what.

But this time is different. Determined, you make a solemn promise to yourself: You will never wait for Frankie again.

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: Applicable for the entire fic / PTSD, drug use and addiction, postpartum depression, abusive familial relationships, self-hatred, unhealthy coping mechanism, explicit sexual content, violence, mentions of suicidal thoughts, super angsty

Chapter Summary: Now that Frankie is finally home for good, you can start looking to the future

Notes: Welcome everyone! This is a repost from my former blog "mywordhaven" Because of some technical difficulties with my old account, I decided that it would be easier to repost my work with a brand-new blog. It's basically the same chapter as the last one, but I did make some edits (mostly syntax tbh). I will be posting the other two chapters later tomorrow and the fourth chapter should be up on sunday.

I hope that those who were following me on my old blog will join me here and I look forward to meeting newcomers!

At Long Last

You find yourself drowning in the itchiness of the comforter draped across you. Its green, worn fabric scratches your overwhelmingly sensitive skin. Surprisingly, today you welcome this sensation. The uncomfortable feeling anchors your mind to your bed, preventing it from floating away. In this moment, as you struggle to catch your breath, the scratchiness of the duvet reminds you where you are.

Your hands glide slowly across the rough fabric, savouring its familiar prickle. As you trace the worn contours, you recall when you saw that green monstrosity for the first time— It was the day you and Frankie had first moved in together all those years ago, right before his second long deployment. From the moment your eyes landed on it, you despised its discoloured hue as it clashed with your envisioned home's colour scheme. But you had kept silent. Frankie was leaving, and you didn't want your last moments together marred by a pointless argument over a green bedspread, no matter how dreadful it looked.

Now, ten years, 2 home relocations and a marriage later, that green duvet stubbornly remains an integral part of your bedroom decor, painfully clashing with the soothing blues surrounding it. Cornflower Blue, as the Home Depot employee had labelled it. You had agonized for days on which colour to go with, tirelessly checking Pinterest boards in the hope to find the perfect shade for your bedroom— A place you hoped would be a peaceful haven for Frankie. You spent weeks deliberating between countless swatches until finally settling on the current hue. Still, the horrid green persistently clashes with the blue you lovingly chose. Perhaps sage green would have been wiser, you think. But you had refused to admit defeat to an old, worn duvet and instead, had stubbornly gone with your first idea, horrid green be damned! But now, to your frustration, the bedroom remains an enduring battleground of colours, an ongoing struggle where different shades vie for supremacy in their quest to dominate the mood of the room.

Yet Frankie had never commented on the jarring combination of green and blue or their blatant mismatch. Perhaps you were making a mountain out of Molehill as you always seem to do. After all, your tendency to dramatize insignificant matters had been a subject of teasing within your family for as long as you could remember. Your brother had a habit of remarking on how seriously you took trivial matters. For your entire lives, nicknames like "Miss Prissy" or "Your Majesty" had been some of the less painful monickers thrown your way to highlight your over-sensitiveness. And while your family saw it as innocent sibling teasing, these remarks had a way of leaving you feeling bruised, unable to brush the comments off as easily as everyone expected you to.

Your hands pause above your bare, sweat-dampened chest, shaking your head to dispel the unwelcomed and intrusive thoughts. Instead, you focus on the blissful moment you’ve just shared with your husband. The memory of that bothersome, green eyesore and all its associated baggage swiftly retreats from your mind, vanishing as fleetingly as it arrived.

Finally, you begin to feel like the easy joys of savouring life are within your reach. With Frankie by your side, you start to envision a newfound freedom to engage in playful bickering, loud laughter, and sheer enjoyment of each other. The mundane moments hold an allure like never before, beckoning you to revel in their ordinary beauty. It's a longing for a life that seems quintessentially American, relentlessly depicted on daytime television—an idyllic portrait of a family, complete with devoted parents and their brood of 2.5 children, nestled in a cozy backyard. PTA meetings, a simple 9-to-5, soccer practices after school, and piano lessons on weekends create the repetitive rhythm of this picture-perfect existence. In your vision, the pinnacle of concern revolves around selecting the ideal flowers for the summer flowerbed. While some may deem it mundane, for you, it represents an exquisite slice of paradise.

Your husband Frankie had gone through years of military service, and he deserves nothing less, you think. Your hands still from their exploration as you think on the nightmares, anxiety, and fear that would consume Frankie. Even here with you, it sometimes felt as though he was still back there, never truly able to be completely present. Like on those many nights when Frankie was on temporary leave, he would wake up screaming and trashing in the middle of the night covered in cold sweats. Or when you guys would be out and about, and his eyes would shift with practiced zeal as if he was assessing for possible threats. Never really “turning off”. No amount of sweet reassuring words were ever able to soothe him when he found himself stuck within his own mind. Every time you tried to discuss these concerns with him, your husband would respond with calm reassurances, followed by a tender kiss on your forehead, urging you not to worry about him.

You shake your head, a resolute movement meant to, again, brush away the intrusive thoughts lingering on the periphery, refusing to let them dim this precious moment. You shift your gaze, fixating on the horizon of possibilities that stretches before you. It is a horizon where love acts as a healing balm, gently tending to the myriad wounds etched upon your husband's past. Your heart, though cautiously guarded, brims with a glimmer of hope, eager to embark on this journey together.

However, despite your best efforts, thoughts of your mother insidiously infiltrate your mind. Over the years, you've clashed with her on countless occasions, yet now, as a married woman, you think back on her warning before you got married. The resonating echo of her stern voice lingers in your thoughts, admonishing you to unwaveringly stand by your husband, regardless of the circumstances, and emphasizing that his happiness must always take precedence over everything else. Strangely, she never mentioned the reverse. With Frankie's return, you resolve to be more present, leaving daydreams behind and focusing on him and solely on him.

As you think of Frankie, you can clearly see his body and how it bears the evidence of his service, a map of scars, some worn openly, while others hide beneath his weary flesh. Deep wounds that bleed and pain him more than any bullet ever could. Words alone seem insufficient in the face of everything he has sacrificed. But now, Frankie is finally home, all of this is behind you two. And isn't all this what marriage vows were meant for? In sickness and in health, through the lows and the highs, you pledged to be there. As you remind yourself, supporting your husband doesn't diminish your strength and independence. It's merely an expression of love and partnership, you firmly resolve, even though the words ring somewhat hollow, as a voice in the back of your mind whispers, "But what about you?"

You slowly redirect your attention to the persistent itchiness on your skin. Taking three deep breaths, you allow each inhale and exhale to anchor you firmly into the present. As the air fills your lungs, you feel your shoulders slowly ease from the tension you always seem to put yourself under.

Now that Frankie is here to stay, you want nothing else than to provide the emotional solace and respite he needs to rebuild and find peace within himself. After everything Frankie has endured, you decide that he deserves a life that is predictably dull yet safe and warm. You want to build that life for him.

As your imagination runs rampant with visions of the life you're now free to construct together, Frankie emerges in the doorway. Clad in nothing more than a familiar, well-worn pair of briefs, he exudes an aura that is unmistakably his own—a blend of warmth, comfort, and a sense of home. In that instant, as you gaze at each other, it feels as though every small longing you held during Frankie's absence has converged into this singular moment. Nothing else matters to you right now except being with him.

In Frankie's hands, he carefully balances a tray, on it a tall glass of ice-cold water adorned with glistening condensation. The hunger stirs within you and your gaze falls upon two perfectly crafted PB and J sandwiches, invitingly prepared. It's evident that even now, the precise conditioning instilled by the army remains ingrained in Frankie. The unwavering precision, tidiness, and discipline persist, even amidst post-coital bliss. Sloppily prepared sandwiches? Never on Frankie’s watch.

Fondness envelops your heart, causing it to flutter with an intensity that threatens to burst from your chest. At this moment, a culmination of experiences floods your mind—the countless sleepless nights spent anxiously awaiting a call, the fear that gripped you while scouring the news for any shred of information, and Frankie's inability to share the depths of what he went through all race to the forefront of your mind. Now, as you reminisce about those moments when others would claim that being with Frankie wasn't worth the pain or hardships, a profound sense of satisfaction fills your heart. You're grateful for having ignored their words, as every single challenge and difficulty encountered along the way—the long-distance separations, the emotional uncertainties, and the sacrifices made—has ultimately proven to mean something. A smile mirrors your own overwhelming happiness as Frankie starts to walk toward the bed.

"I thought you'd have an appetite after all that exercise," Frankie says, his voice laced with a playful tone. His eyes, warm like melted chocolate, cradle you in their soft gaze. They speak volumes, no words needed, telling you just how much he cares.

A mischievous smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you playfully quip, "Guess it doesn't help that we skipped dinner either, huh?"

"I apologize, mi cielo. I suppose I let my excitement get the better of me," Frankie admits, a touch of boyish bashfulness colouring his tone. "After eight long months apart, how could you expect me not to pounce on you, especially when you look so breathtaking?"

With utmost care, Frankie gently places the tray on the tiny side table, taking special care to move aside the book you're currently engrossed in. With the task completed, he turns his gaze towards you, slowly making his way to your side. Your eyes lock, and in an instant, he tenderly captures your mouth with his own. The kiss is unhurried yet filled with an intense passion, a promise of all that is to come, a fulfillment of the multitude of promises you have made to each other. Now, you have all the time in the world to embrace those promises.

As the kiss deepens, Frankie's hands begin to explore your naked body, their touch igniting a fiery desire that resonates deep within you. It engulfs you in a passionate longing that intensifies with each passing second. Frankie's wandering hands halt at your hips, where he gently strokes your sides while deepening the kiss even further. Breaking the kiss, he presses his forehead against yours, both of you breathing heavily, his warm breath mingling with your own. A playful glimmer dance in Frankie’s brown eyes as he firmly grabs your hips, effortlessly flipping you both into the deep plushness of the bed.

A delighted squeal escapes your throat, and you find yourself on top of Frankie, straddling his warm hips. His devilish smile meets your gaze. Like a tidal wave, a rush of excitement cascades through you, electrifying your senses and igniting newfound energy within.

"I thought we were supposed to have dinner," you playfully tease, your hands resting on the firm planes of his pectorals.

Frankie's eyes glisten mischievously as he responds, his voice filled with playful affection, "Don't worry, hermosa. Dinner can wait another minute. Right now, all I want to do is admire you." With a tender touch, he grabs a handful of the fleshy part of your hips, gently massaging your sides. His voice carries on, laced with adoration, "You know, this angle is my favourite. When I see you from above, naked, and sweaty, you look like my very own Amazon. My fierce warrior queen whom I can’t wait to worship." His grip tightens possessively, playfully swatting your behind, causing your flesh to softly jiggle.

You can't help but snort with amusement, firmly grinding down in a slow sensuous movement Frankie exhales a low moan, his eyes closing in pleasure. Yielding to the temptation, you momentarily cease your ministrations and whisper, "Well, last time I checked, librarians weren't renowned for their battle prowess.”

Frankie's smile stretches, his eyes opening and locking with yours, while his hands gently secure your hips. His soft voice echoes sweetly, "Physical prowess is just a fraction of true strength, mi cielo. It's a mindset, a spirit that radiates courage and perseverance. Believe me when I tell you, you possess that strength in a way that surpasses anyone I've ever encountered."

His words envelop you in a comforting embrace that floods your being with warmth. Reflected in his eyes is an unwavering conviction, a faith given to you unlike any you've experienced before. Such belief, one you've never even held for yourself, captivates you. The weight of his words resonates deeply, shaking the core of your being, even as you strive to maintain a facade of nonchalance. But Frankie effortlessly sees through your charade, knowing you better than he knows himself at this point. He slowly pushes his upper body upward and starts peppering your collarbones with tender kisses. You feel your cheeks heating as you shyly avert your gaze, unable to resist the sweetness of his praise and the even sweeter ministration.

A brief moment passes, during which you nibble on your lower lip, contemplating your next words. Finally, you muster the courage to meet Frankie's eyes once more, you push him back down on the mattress and ask, a mischievous glint shining in your eyes, "If I am to be your queen, does that mean you're willing to obey my every command?”

A playful smile dances on Frankie's lips as he replies, "Well, mi cielo, let's just say I'm more than willing to embark on the thrilling adventure of fulfilling your every desire, one command at a time." With those words, Frankie softly grabs your right arm, the very arm that had been holding him down, and he punctuates each word with a tender kiss upon the palm of your hand. As he does so, his eyes gently close, allowing his lips to linger in their affectionate embrace, locked in that sweet moment.

Frankie surrenders to the present, savouring every precious second that slowly passes between the two of you. The ache of longing for you these past months had been insurmountable, a void that only you could fill. Amidst his world engulfed in chaos, pain, and the remanence of a haunting trail of death that seemed eternally imprinted on his very being, your presence at his side has always been the sole beacon of meaning and coherence. The only thing that ever truly mattered to him. Screw everything else; he should have chosen to stay home long ago, before feeling trapped in the abyss he felt he had dug himself into over the years. In an attempt to dispel the encroaching darkness threatening to envelop him, Frankie inhales deeply, pushing away those grim thoughts, before swiftly flipping you over.

Everything else fades away again, and only the two of you remain. As you draw in a deep breath, the air fills your lungs with a trembling intensity, causing a burning sensation. Your chest tightens, not just from the weight of Frankie's presence, but also from the weight of everything that surrounds you, suffocating you in its bittersweet grasp. Tenderly, Frankie gently presses his nose against yours, once, twice, before planting a soft kiss upon its tip.

“My love, I assure you that nothing can ever come between us. There is nothing that could separate me from you. I belong to you for eternity, and as long as I can share my life with you, my dear, it will have been a life worth living, mi cielo.”

Your eyes well up with tears, and with a quiver in your voice, you whisper, "I love you, Frankie."

"Te amo, mi cielo, te amo para siempre," he replies, his words carrying the weight of a vow between you two.

With intertwined fingers and hearts overflowing with love, you gaze into each other's eyes. As you lie there, wrapped in the afterglow of passion, you savour the tranquillity and completeness that permeates the room. You vow to cherish each day, to embrace the ordinary moments that always become extraordinary when you are with Frankie. Together, you will face the world with open hearts, ready to create this future you’ve always yearned for with Frankie. As Frankie peppers kisses down your throat, you smile, and a shuddering breath escapes you. Food can wait you think giddily. Your hands gently glide along the broad expanse of his back, savouring him in all his glorious being. Nothing else matters now, for Frankie is home.

#reposted from my old blog #welcome to my new blog!#fanfic #fanfiction #a03 #archive of our own #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro boys #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #francisco morales #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales fanfic #francisco morales x reader

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beneathstarryskies · 1 year

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Is it safe, is it safe to just be who we are? (Dante x Reader)

Warnings: fem!reader, oral sex (f receiving), smut, creampie, attempted sexual assault (not by Dante, he saves the reader), alcohol, whiskey dick, maybe yandere themes if you squint, NOT EDITED, post DMC2 Dante Words: 4,936 A/N: This has been on my google docs forever and finally with the encouragement of @actuallysaiyan I finally finished it. (i swear to Sparda she's the only reason y'all get content from me because she just encourages me so much all the time to write the things i wanna write so shout out to Bacon for being amazing.)

Every night feels the same. Ever since Vie de Marli and returning from the underworld, Dante has scoured the local bar scene in search of simple distractions. All he needs is little chunks of time where he can feel pleasure and just not think. In those moments when he’s chasing release, he doesn’t have to remember that he killed his own brother or think about the never-ending cycle of demonic chaos being unleashed. He takes and takes and takes all he can from anyone who is willing to give it to him.

Dante has gotten quite good at picking out the right people to pursue. The ones who won’t care if he goes to their place instead of inviting them to his and won’t put up a fuss when he sneaks off in the morning, assuming he bothers to spend the night at all. Sometimes he even got lucky enough to meet someone who doesn’t even care if they exchange names, much less go somewhere more private.

Tonight was one of those nights. All he had to do was buy her one drink and she was giggling as she dragged him to the bathroom. He couldn’t believe the lack of self-awareness she had for the way other’s judged her for the display. He stumbles behind her, having indulged in more drinks than usual tonight. His vision is so blurry he can hardly make out the details of her face as she pushes him against the bathroom wall and kisses him sloppily. He doesn’t quite like the way her tongue tastes against his, but it doesn’t matter in the end. They won’t see each other again.

“Did ya lock the door?” he slurs.

“Don’t worry about it,” she giggles. “Everyone saw us come in here.”

He leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes as her hands drag down his chest. The kisses she places on his neck are mostly tongue. He tries to ignore the cold sensation from the air hitting the wet spots she leaves on his skin. He opens his eyes again when she pulls away. She’s sinking to her knees in front of him and he wonders if he should feel guilty for having her kneeling on the sticky floor.

‘She put herself there,’ he thinks dismissively.

Her fingers fumble with his belt buckle to the point that he becomes impatient and pushes her hand away so he can open it himself. She giggles out a quick thanks before tugging his pants off his hips. Once again he rests his head against the wall and lets his eyes flutter closes. His head is spinning right now.

He’s only vaguely aware of the feeling of her tongue swirling over the tip of his cock. A soft sigh escapes him but he is otherwise quiet as she sets to work. He tangles his hand in her hair, and this makes her pull away with a scoff.

“Don’t fuck up my hair,” she whines.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and catches a whiff of the whiskey on his breath. He lets his hand fall to the side without looking at her. She licks his tip again and starts stroking his cock.

Dante is waiting for that tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach, but it never happens. He doesn’t feel a damn thing. She stands up suddenly.

“I don’t wanna do this,” she says as she straightens her skirt.

“Wait–”

She rolls her eyes, “You’re not even getting hard, dude.”

Dante looks down and discovers with no small amount of exasperation that she’s right. He’s not even half hard. He tucks himself back into his pants before leaning off the wall. He walks over to the sink beside her where she’s fixing her makeup so he can splash water on his face.

“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,” the girl says.

‘Except to that group of obnoxious friends who probably put you up to this to start with,’ he wants to say but doesn’t. Instead he just nods absently.

He’d be humiliated if he cared enough about this situation. He leaves the bathroom before her and finds a spot at the end of the bar to sit, as far from everyone else as he can get.

“You look like you could use this,” a soft voice says before passing a glass of water to him. You offer a comforting smile as he glances through a curtain of white hair at you.

“Thanks,” he sighs.

“Do you need me to call you a cab or something?” you ask him.

“Nah,” he takes a sip from the water. “I’ll walk.”

“Are you sure?”

He growls, “Whaddya care?”

You’re taken aback by the shift in his demeanor, and you pull back. You weren’t much for the party scene, but sometimes you come out for a drink after a long day. You’d always see him in here. Usually he left with someone, but sometimes he didn’t. He seemed more and more jaded every time.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. “Uhm, just make sure you drink the water before you leave.”

You return to your small group of friends. You wish you’d listened to them and just left it alone.

A few nights later, in the same bathroom he finds more success. This time he’s even managed to get the nameless woman bent over the sink. One hand is clasped over her mouth to keep her quiet as he pounds into her. He doubts she’s enjoying it half as much as she’s trying to sound. If she is, it’s completely by coincidence because he’s not trying. Not at all. He’s too busy chasing his own high.

The proof of her lack of enjoyment comes when he groans a warning that he’s close. She’s pleading behind his palm for more, but it’s too late. Before she has a chance to reach her own peak, he’s pulling out to get out of the condom.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she gasps.

“What?” Dante raises his eyebrow, “I told you I was close.”

“Asshole,” she mutters as she pulls her dress down.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he kisses her cheek. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Fuck off.”

“Your call,” he shrugs before leaving the bathroom.

You try not to look at him when he walks out of the bathroom. A strange mix of disgust and pity fills you up. Why do you care so much? You ask yourself that every time you’re here. Maybe it’s some deluded sense of jealousy because he’s never tried to pick you up.

That doesn’t mean Dante hasn’t noticed you. Ever since the night you brought him a glass of water, he’s done everything he can not to notice you. You sounded so genuinely concerned, and it filled him with a warmth he hasn’t felt in so long. He looks forward to Friday nights just so he can catch a glimpse of you. You’re usually with a group of friends, and in his imagination you’re the crown jewel of your friend group. The proof to him is the way they all smile when you do, that big infectious smile that lights up the whole bar. He tries to imagine the clever things you must say to make them all laugh. He’s seen the softer moments to. When one of your friends drinks too much, you’re the one escorting them to the bathroom to throw up or making sure they get home safe.

He wants to say something to make you smile. He wants you to make him laugh like you do for your friends. Part of him wants to get shit-faced again just to see if you’ll take care of him and fill him with that warm feeling in his chest again. He can’t touch your life, he knows that. He’ll ruin it all if he does. So, he watches from the sidelines and selfishly hopes you never find a reason not to come back here.

Tonight is a little different. You seem upset about something, but you’re trying to stay the jewel. You’re trying to smile, but there’s sadness behind it. The drinks are disappearing quicker than usual. He’s only ever noticed you having one or two, but tonight the table in front of you is littered in glasses.

There’s a moment when he sees something snap in you, and you stand up suddenly. You’re starting towards the door, making hand motions to your friends to indicate for them to stay behind. He can’t believe they’re listening to you.

‘Don’t go alone,’ he thinks. ‘Don’t…’

You stumble outside by yourself. His blood runs cold when a man follows behind you. Dante is bolting from the barstool before he has a moment to think about it. He’s outside and rounding the corner into the alleyway when he hears your small, soft voice slurring.

“Leave me alone,” you whine. “Just leave me alone.”

You’re pressed against the wall and the man is standing in front of you with both hands on the wall to block your exits.

“Come on, just loosen up,” he tries to coax you.

“Leave me alone,” you repeat pathetically. Your eyes widen when Dante’s large hand comes to the man’s shoulder, and he pulls him away from you effortlessly.

“Get outta here,” Dante growls.

The man puffs his chest up, “What are you? Her boyfriend?”

“Just beat it,” Dante warns. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

The man rolls his eyes, “From what I hear you can’t even get it up, so you’re not much of a man are ya–”

Dante shoves the man hard enough for him to fall to the ground nearly a yard away. The man yelps and tries to stumble to his feet while screaming obscenities at Dante, who doesn’t even hear him anymore. He’s already turning to you.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” Dante’s hands are gentle as they cup your cheeks. His thumbs wipe the stray tears off your cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you sniffle softly. You look up at him, into the clearest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. Your heart races, “I just wanted to get some air.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Dante soothes you.

“Thank you,” you say and then there it is, that sweet smile. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were like a knight in shining armor.”

“You think you know better?” he smirks.

“You’re trouble in a red coat.”

Dante chuckles and it feels nice. You’re something different, something special. He’s so happy he was keeping an eye on you so he could get to you before that guy could do anything to hurt you.

“Don’t knights get rewarded for good deeds?”

“Ah, but I decided you’re too much trouble to be a knight,” you remind him.

“Right, right.”

“But, uhm,” you blush before leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Affection blossoms in his chest. You’re slipping past him before he’s had time to come to terms with what’s happened.

“Wait,” he calls out, “What’s your name?”

You let a mischevious smile tug at your lips, “What do you care?”

His heart races as he chases you into the bar again. He wants to follow you to your table and get your name. He wants to hear his coming from your sweet voice. He wants to make you giggle and smile. Maybe if he were to play his cards right, you’d give him a kiss. A real one. He knows, fuck he knows, that he could get so much more from any of these girls if he played his cards right but it wouldn’t feel warm like when you kissed his cheek. He’d sacrifice anything –everything– just to kiss you.

He loses his nerve when you sit down at your table again with your friends. They all ask about you, and he hears you give a half-hearted excuse but not telling them the truth. Your eyes fall on him, and he’s sure there’s a hopefulness in them. You want him to be by your side too, but your friends are so close. He’d have to say something, anything to them to avoid looking like a creep. The script he’s trying to write in his mind for how that would go is just a blank white slate behind his eyes.

So, he smiles. It’s a shy, half-hearted smile just for you. His bangs cover his eyes as he turns away from you. Your heart drops when he walks away.

It’s been two weeks. Dante is there, every night, perched in his seat at the bar holding his breath as he waits for you to come through the door. You never do. His heart breaks more every night he doesn’t see you, and in the depths of his heart he can’t help ruminating on things touched but never held. On love that was in his reach but he let it go…

He doesn’t blame you, of course, if you’ve decided to give up the night life here. You’re not a dumb woman, so you certainly knew what would’ve happened to you that night if Dante hadn’t been there. Maybe you didn’t want to risk it anymore, but fuck Dante missed you. He didn’t even know your name but he missed you just as truly as if it was written on his heart.

He’s given up, but only on the surface. Deep inside he’s in mourning. He tries to pick up girls again, return to his old life but he can’t. Every smile he’s given seems cold compared to yours. Just thinking about you makes something burn inside of him. He’s not sure if there’s some sort of devil instinct attached to this, after all his father was long gone before he could educated his sons on the ways being half-devils may change them.

Dante is pretty sure he’s going crazy. He thinks he sees you everywhere he goes. He’s gotten so used to this phenomenon, he doesn’t believe it when he actually does see you. He blinks a few times, trying to clear the false image from his vision but he can’t. Instead you’re getting closer, and then you’re smiling. He realizes it’s really you when your hand rests ontop of his.

“Hello stranger,” you smile softly. You’re trying to seem casual, but Dante can sense something else underneath it. Truthfully, you haven’t quite been able to get him off your mind for weeks. There was something about him that stuck with you.

“Dante,” he breaths out. “My name is Dante.”

You laugh, and he feels his heart racing in his chest from the beautiful sound. You sit down on the stool beside him and take his hand. You tell him your name shyly. It feels sort of silly to just be exchanging names with a man you’ve wondered a couple times throughout the weeks if you’d somehow fallen in love with. He repeats your name in a soft whisper. Dante is so happy to see you he almost feels like he could cry. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leans over to kiss you. You gasp against his mouth, and for a second he’s terrified you’re going to pull away.

You don’t. Your hand cradles the back of his head gently, and you’re the one who deepens the kiss. Your plump, soft lips move against his like heaven. All the noise in the bar is muffled to his ears, and it’s like the two of you are the only people in the whole world. You’re cheeks are heating up as the realization hits you, and you pull away shyly.

“I, uhm…” you swallow hard. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

He chuckles and kisses your cheek before nuzzling his nose against the curve of your neck. You hadn’t expected him to be so affectionate, but you’re really loving it. It feels so good and so right.

“I’ve been thinking about you too, baby,” he confesses. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He presses a kiss on your neck and runs his hand up your back. You shudder softly, but lean closer to him. You only came here tonight in hopes of seeing him again.

“Walk me home?” you ask, with the slightest lilt that hints to Dante that you want more.

“Of course.”

He quickly pays his tab, and then he grabs your hand to lead you out of the bar. As you begin leading him in the direction of your apartment, the two of your chat. Dante hangs onto every word that comes out of your pretty mouth. You tell him all about how you’d gone out of town for a little bit, and you spent the whole time wondering if you’d see him when you got back. You tell him about your job, your life, your friends. Every thing that makes your life colorful and full, and he hopes you’ll count him amongst those things. He’s never felt like this before. When he’s first taken to you, he was so determined not to touch your life and soil it. Now he’s hoping more than anything in the world to be welcomed with open arms.

Finally, you lead him to the front door and you don’t even ask if he wants to come in. You just open the door and welcome him. He follows you without a second thought. The apartment smells like strawberry cream, and it makes him sigh happily. You close the door behind you and lock it back up. As soon as you’re in reach, Dante is grabbing your waist to pull you close to him. Your noses rub together before kissing so softly. Dante truly can’t believe his luck.

“Baby, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your mouth. “I’m so happy.”

You laugh, “I didn’t think you were so smitten. I mean, you never made a move…”

“I didn’t think you’d have me,” Dante confesses. He kisses you again, “You’re too good for me.”

“Hm, I think I can decide that for myself,” you chuckle. “Come here, let’s sit down.”

You take his hand to walk him to the couch. You kick off your shoes before sitting down. Dante peels off his coat, and tosses it onto a nearby chair then he joins you. He moves in as close as he can with squishing you, and his breath is on your neck. You shiver from the tickle of air, then whine when his lips press against the same spots. Dante can’t remember the last time he cared whether he was bringing someone pleasure or not, but right now all he can think about is making you feel good. You rub his thigh and melt under his affections. Between his kisses on your neck, he’s whispering softly about how much he’s thought about touching you like this.

“You’re so sweet,” you say softly.

“What? Me? No, I–”

“You’re a puppy,” you tease him.

“Hey! Don’t think–”

“A sweetheart,” you say before silencing his argument with a passionate kiss.

Dante moans as you push yourself closer until you’re straddling his lap. His cock is straining against his pants, and you can’t help grinding against the firm bulge. Dante’s fingertips dig into your hips on instinct, and he keeps guiding you to grind against him.

“Baby, you’re gonna get me all worked up,” he growls against your mouth.

“I hope so,” you nip at his bottom lip.

A low, rumbling growl rolls through his throat. In one quick motion, he has you on your back. His eyes almost seem to glow with the intensity of the passion burning inside. His hands are spreading your thighs and pushing your dress up before you fully comprehend the movement. It was so fast.

“Let me–,” somehow with your pretty eyes staring up at him, he can’t bring himself to say anything crude as he would before with others. He swallows hard as he tries to think of a sweeter way to put it, “I need to taste you, please.”

“Okay,” you blush. “I-I want you to.”

As Dante tugs your panties off, you’re panting with desperate lust heavy in your lungs. He presses kisses on your inner thighs and you can feel his teeth scraping against your skin as he resists the urge to mark you up so soon. He spreads your thighs a little more, stopping only once to make sure you’re still comfortable with everything before kissing your mound. You gasp softly at the first contact, and the need erupts in your belly for more. Every breath Dante lets out tickles your folds in the most torturous tease you could imagine.

“Please,” you whine finally.

Dante smirks up at you but doesn’t leave you wanting any longer. His fingers spread your wet folds, and he lets out a satisfied hum.

“So pretty, baby,” he whispers. “So fucking pretty.”

His tongue pushes against your hole, teasing it a little before licking from your hole to your clit. A greedy groan falls from him as he tastes your sweet juices. That’s all it takes for Dante to give in to every bit of hunger he’s pushed down from the first moment he ever saw you. He’s lapping and slurping at your pussy like it’s the last thing he will ever taste. Truth be told, he’d be quite happy if your pussy was the only taste lingering on his tongue for the rest of his days.

He has you right where he wants you too. Your back is arched against the sofa and your hands are tangled in his hair. You’d been so cute and shy at first, trying to hold back your noises. That had quickly changed when he had you coming undone the first time. As he lapped at you through the dull ache of overstimulation to force you toward a second climax, you started letting out desperate moans that would make a pornstar blush. You were begging for release, for more, and pleading for mercy all at the same time. Dante doesn’t stop until you’re so tensed up from the overstimulation that he can’t tell if you’re still breathing.

“You still with me, angel?” he asks softly after lifting his head from between your thighs.

You look down at him, cheeks burning at the sight of your juices glistening on the stubble across his face, then let out the breath you’d been holding.

“I’m still here.”

Dante chuckles softly before sitting up between your legs. There you are, laying underneath him all teary eyes and burning cheeks with your dress a wrinkled mess with the front pulled down past your tits and the skirt pushed over your hips. You look like a dream come true.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. You almost tease him for being soft, but the sincerity in his eyes makes you stop. Instead, you’re reaching out to let one hand rest on his waist and the other reaches for his cheek. He kneels down to meet the touch, purring softly at the way your hand feels so soft against his cheek.

“I don’t understand why we’re so drawn to each other,” you confess shyly.

“Me neither,” Dante sighs. “I just don’t want to fight it anymore.”

He carefully leans over you so he can catch your lips in a passionate kiss. He hopes more than anything that you can feel his emotions through this kiss. You’ll know how serious he is about this. He wants to be better for you. Maybe you can be a reason for him to keep living.

You moan softly against his mouth and grab the hem of his shirt. You pull away from the kiss just long enough to peel off his thin black shirt and toss it aside. Goosebumps prick his skin when you drag your hands down his body. Your fingertips curl through his chest hair, following it to the strip that goes down the front of his pants. Dante grunts when you cup his cock through his pants. You palm at him gently before pulling out of the kiss, your eyes are so heavy and dark with lust as you look up at him.

“I want you,” you say so confidently but he can see it wavering when he’s too speechless to answer right away. “Please.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dante breathes out. He can’t believe someone is looking at him that way; with such tender affection and genuine desire. He rubs his nose against yours before kissing you softly, “You’ll have me.”

Dante can feel the urgency in the way you grind against him, and pitifully plea for him. He had hoped to take a little more time to undress each other and kiss, but he can feel your neediness affecting him too. His cock is just aching as you keep rubbing it through his pants. He finally opens his belt and pushes his pants down past his ass. His erection slaps against his abdomen when it’s free. The red, swollen tip glistens with his arousal and it makes your mouth water. He’s definitely bigger than you’d expected, and Dante can see the sudden hesitation on your face.

“I’ll be gentle, sweetheart,” he promises. “Or we can stop if you–”

“No!” your cheeks burn from your own urgency. “I don’t want to stop.”

“Good, I don’t want to either.”

He slots himself between your thighs and grasps his cock. You whine when he drags the leaking tip up and down your slit. Little jolts of pleasure go through you every time the head catches on your swollen clit. Finally, he settles at your entrance and slides into you slowly. You whine as inch by inch fills you up. Dante is tense from resisting the urge to just slam into you.

Finally, he bottoms out with one last thrust. Your fingers tangle in his hair and you take a deep, shaky breath as you try to adjust to being so full. Dante’s thumbs draw little circles on your hips and his forehead rests against yours. Deep inside of you, he’s twitching with the need to start moving but he won’t move a muscle until you’re ready for him. Your little pussy is already being pushed to the limit just having him inside.

“Does it hurt?” he asks gently.

“N-no,” you swallow hard. “I just…I’ve never been this full.”

“You feel so good, baby,” he kisses you sweetly. “It’s so tight.”

There’s a gentle silence that falls over the two of you as you adjust to this sudden intimacy. You share soft kisses and honeyed words until you finally tell Dante what he wants to hear.

“I’m ready.”

Dante’s thumb drags against your hip again, “Yeah? You sure?”

“Yes, please baby.”

Dante guides your legs to wrap around his waist, then he’s rocking his hips. It’s a slow, easy pace at first. He just wants you to get used to the feeling of him moving inside of you since he’s probably fucking you deeper than anyone ever had. He doesn’t want to hurt you at all. He just wants to make you feel so good, and he’s starting to see that it’s working. Your skin is becoming hotter against his, and those pretty eyes are just glazed over with lust as you look down to watch Dante rock into you. Your hands move from his hair to gently rub down his back, then they rest on his hips.

“Is it feelin’ good, baby?” Dante asks softly. Your eyes are so dazed when you look up at him. Your pretty lips hang open slightly.

“Really good,” you gasp.

“Want me to go a little faster?”

“Harder,” you plead, making Dante chuckle.

“Alright, baby,” he grabs your thighs to pull you closer then your ankles are resting on his shoulders.

He gives you a few slow thrusts to get used to the new angle, but then he’s giving in to what you both want. Cries of love and passion fill your apartment as he pumps into your quivering walls. He grips your thighs hard enough to leave fingertip bruises on your skin. Your wet skin slaps and your hole squelches with his quick, hard thrusts.

“Fuck, Dante!” you cry out. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Good girl,” Dante praises. “Come on, then. Cum for me.”

Your couch squeaks and groans from Dante’s passionate pace. He lets his thumb start rubbing your clit, and you’re pushed over the edge. Heated waves of pleasure flow over your skin, leaving your vision clouded with static as you ride it out. Dante can’t hold back with the way you’re squeezing around him. You’re still in the throes of pleasure when he cums too. His cock throbs with every thick rope of cum.

“Shit,” you sigh as you come down from your orgasm.

Dante gives in to the weakness of his legs and sits on his knees with his cock still pushed inside of you. He presses a soft kiss on your ankle and you playfully tap his cheek with your toe. He caresses you lovingly, still not quite convinced this isn’t a dream.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m crazy about you?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you giggle. “I’m kind of crazy about you too. Even though we learned each other’s names like 2 hours ago.”

Dante gently pulls out of you and finesses his way into laying on the couch with you on his chest. He presses a kiss on your forehead and runs his fingers through your hair.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever. You’re so…I don’t know, magnetic feels corny to say.”

You giggle as you look up at him, “I’ll happily keep you company while you figure it out.”

#dante x reader #dante dmc x reader #dante son of sparda #dante devil may cry x reader #🌟written in the stars

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devilscreekballad · 5 months

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As expected, the person not only returned, but exposed themselves as stalking this blog. So, under other circumstances I would have redacted the name, but, c'est la vie.

A-dorable.

Edit.

Oh, also they put the game into a collection:

If I'd have a nickel for every time someone criticises the game because they seem to lack reading-comprehension and are prone to knee-jerk reactions, I'd have two nickels.

edit: okay, tagging this with IF because if you needed a good laugh today, check this person ramblings in their collections. Like, elect... are you alright, snookums? who hurt you? and why didn't it stick?

(Warning if you check them out: They are exactly the kind of backwards bigot you can expect from someone who's calling worker's unions 'terrorists')

#interactive fiction

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weclassybouquetfun · 10 months

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There was another test screening of THE OLD GUARD 2 and

All I will say (because I can't say anything and I hate spoilers so I would never divulge pre-release info) is that if this film is completed before the end of the year, it would be as miraculous as the existence of immortals.

I've been to test screenings and they always warn the attendees that it is unfinished and maybe the lighting isn't correct or there is placeholder music, yadda yadda yadda. This time they showed a brief production reel to show how some of the scenes will be fixed and showed some of the stand-in footage so that it wouldn't be jarring for the audience. But there was a LOT of stand-in footage and storyboarding in lieu of actual scenes.

I've been to many test screenings where there are several scenes where they have the stand-in footage or unrendered GGI, but never the extent of this one. I was chatting afterwards with someone else who was in the screening and he said he too had never been to a test screening with so much footage still undone.

The guy who sat behind me went to a test screening last week for another film (THE BOOK OF CLARENCE) and despite starting out by saying, "I shouldn't be saying anything with the NDA and all", proceeds to tell the entire film to his seatmates, and due to proximity, me. He loved it FWIW.) and he said that that film was pretty much complete just that they have to erase the wires from the wirework and the stunt pads that were still visible. I would be fine with that level of incompletion.

Of course there is more to TOG2 than action scenes so it's understandable to test to try to get a feel for audiences' reaction to the story and plotting so that things can be fixed in the edit, if needed. Yet, because this is a property so reliant on the action and CGI that not having that completed or, at least, further along in completion, or having stand-in ADR (when someone else does the dialogue so that they can then get the actor to do the ADR later so you're hearing voices obviously not belonging to the cast.)

, is a big enough distraction that I am curious as to how people reviewed the film afterwards. There was a test screening a month and 5 days ago and I'm curious as the feedback that came from that screening.

But, c'est la vie. I can't wait to see the finished project. Whenever that is.

#tog 2 #tog cast #2 old 2 guard #the old guard #the old guard cast #the old guard 2

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sigurism · 9 months

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alain delon adieu l'ami dir: jean herman

#<3 #adieu l'ami #jean herman #farewell friend #alain delon #forever love #mon homme préféré #l'amour de ma vie #my gif #my edit

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clubkira · 6 months

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〔 𝓒𝐋𝐔𝐁 ﹒ 𝓔𝐓𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 〕

⌕ www.theloveclub.ca ⨾ ꠵ © clubkira.

𝒮‎ ؛ welcome! please take a moment to read our rules ‹𝟹

thank you for joining 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁! we are happy you came, but please read our etiquette before you party!

── 𝓒𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝓡𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; 𝓖𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋

❥ CLUBKIRA is a SFW & NSFW ESTABLISHMENT, so we ask that those entering our nsfw rooms be atleast eighteen. CLUBKIRA is not responsible for whatever content a minor may see in our club if they ignore this rule.

nsfw tag : 𝐿𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒮𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁𝓈 ಇ. ꒱ྀི

❥ blank blogs, patrons under eighteen who try to sneak into the nsfw rooms and rude people are blocked from the club’s premises!

❥ please do not enter CLUBKIRA if you are constantly making drama about aging up characters. i don’t know my whole stance on if i will do it myself but i find the discourse pointless. and i have mutuals who age up characters. i do not really give a fuck.

for genshin impact specifically, their ages are left ambiguous. i see many of them as adults (aether, chongyun, gaming, xingqiu etc.) and may write smut of them. if that bothers you then just block.

❥ CLUBKIRA primarily serves haikyuu!!, but will serve other fandoms as well.

CLUBKIRA’S main fandoms currently include : haikyuu!!. genshin impact. persona 5. CLUBKIRA is NOT spoiler free for any of these fandoms.

❥ CLUBKIRA rarely writes or reblogs dark content, but we are affiliated with other dark content blogs and may reblog or write it occasionally.

dark content tag : ꒰ྀི 𝟫𝟧% 𝒶𝓁𝒸. 𝒷𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝓁 ෨ ꒱ྀི ( general tag ) tw trigger ( specific )

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CLUBKIRA has the right to block anyone they see who fits this criteria, be it a follower or a mutual.

❥ CLUBKIRA is both a writing blog & digital diary for the attendant vie, so expect many non-writing related posts.

shitposts tag : with love 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓋𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒 ₊˚⊹ ಇ.

── 𝓒𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝓡𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; 𝓘𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

❥ CLUBKIRA’S attendant vie is very slow to responding to asks, she sincerely apologizes in advance if your ask goes unanswered for a long time! she is quite forgetful . . . (Ｔ▽Ｔ)

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CLUBKIRA can and will block you from our number.

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── 𝓒𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝓡𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 ; 𝓦𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

❥ please do not repost CLUBKIRA’S work elsewhere on tumblr, other platforms, or promote it outside of this site ( like on tiktok ), edit, translate, or plagiarize the club’s works.

❥ CLUBKIRA IS SEMI-INACTIVE, so published works and updates will be sporadic! we run on queue!

❥ please see CLUBKIRA’S reservations status before requesting! CLUBKIRA is very particular about any reservations we take, and we are not obligated to write all or any of them if none interest us.

❥ CLUBKIRA’S attendant vie only writes femaleノafab!readers because it is what she is most comfortable with.

❥ racial appearance traits are not generally stated but readers are written to be as inclusive as possible while coinciding with the fic.

the only exception is filipino coded fics ノ filipino au.

❥ attendant vie does not accept dark content requests.

❥ attendant vie does not write the following ؛ ଓ

male!reader. character x character. scat. vomit. watersports. feet. rape ノ noncon. specific!appearance or race!reader. fisting. raceplay. incest. graphic domestic or sexual abuse. suicidal tendencies. necrophilia. wound fucking. omegaverse. self harm. list is subject to change over time.

she might reblog some of these written by others.

❥ attendant vie may write the following ؛ ଓ

dub-con. cheating ( not by reader or character ). aged up characters (?). stepcest. rpf. professor x uni student. age gap (depending). list is subject to change over time.

she might reblog some of these written by others.

── thank you for reading our café’s rules!! find the club’s masterlist linked in our pinned, the 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁𝐊𝐈𝐑𝐀 ‹𝟹

#𝒰𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓇 𝐸𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒮𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎! ꒱ྀི

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dreamlandxrunaway · 2 years

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pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader (another skz member x reader)

genres: university!au, fluff, angst, social media!au (with some written parts probably), strangers to lovers, unrequited love, love triangle

synopsis: y/n gets stuck on the campus during a storm, as one usually does when it starts pouring unexpectedly. thinking of ways to keep occupied, since y/n’s friends aren’t answering, she gets saved by a nice gentleman who gives her the umbrella he was using, leaving her only with: “no need to give it back, repay my kindness by helping someone else!” completely captivated by the stranger’s smile, she fails to notice that it was meant for someone else, and therefore sets herself up for a possible heartbreak. well, this is something her and her online, anonymously assigned, anonymous friend - yes, that is indeed a thing seniors made - will talk about for a really long time... and oh boy, oh boy, none of them realize they are just enjoying the calm before the storm.

warnings: mature language/swearing, some type of family-caused trauma, toxic relationships, edit: cheating (not by y/n), suggestiveness, sex (but probably not too explicit, smut will be tagged when needed)

tag list: ask in the replies of the parts :))

there’s no fixed schedule. however there shouldnt be a big pause unless im working on a written part :) but it should be always be at the same time from 8pm to 2am CET / UTC+01:00

••Hiatus••

start time: 2022.05.22.

end time: ??.??.??

reminder: this is just a story, none of the personalities are supposed to be representation of their real personalities or the actions they would take in the mentioned situations, nor is the portrayal of them written as such. have fun reading :)

general masterlist

masterlist

profile 1 (y/n group + 3racha)

profile 2 (i.n group)

profile 3 (anonymous + additional characters)

[1] drama incoming...

[2] youre stuck with us now 🥰

[2.5] c’est la vie, and all that (✍)

[3] wet (derogatory)

[4] only emotional damage 💔

[5] kind internet stranger :)

[6] my father will hear about this

[7] babysitter

[8] go sleep, nerd

[×] teaser / moodboard

[9] things that weren’t said (✍)

[10] good luck to that girl...

[11] telepathic connection

[12] nicer than you

[13] there’s always next time

[14] emergency meeting

[15] goodnight, moonlight

[16] i’m right, you’re wrong part 1

[16.5] i’m right, you’re wrong part 2

[17] never ❤

[18] soften the blow

[19] what an honor!

[20] “close-knit family”

[×] teaser / moodboard

[21] just another day (✍)

[22] bees?

[23] ride or die

[24] not THAT big of a deal, right?

[25] Jeongin says hi, btw

[26] for once and for all

[27] works of art

[28] now suffer the consequences

[29] a brawl, huh?

[30] moonlight (✍)

[31] speculations

[32] try me

[33] squirrel stew

[34] cool (terrifying)

[35] hermit

[36] new low

[37] cage with an open door

[38] escape from reality

[39] back to earth

[40] drunk on alcohol v1.0

[41] drunk on emotions v2.0

[42] drunk on power v3.0

[43] corporate gray (✍)

[44] heartache doesn’t suit you (✍)

[45] no time to relax

[46] winter falls in the silent city (✍)

tbc

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happyhauntt · 3 months

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fic aesthetics 2/32 ━━ la vie en rose, by happyhauntt.

It hurts less, here. She had not thought it would. She had thought the souls of her beautiful, dead friends would haunt her, in the shadow of the school where their bonds were forged. When she passes Honeydukes, she swears she can hear James and Marlene laughing; over there on the green, she, Lily and Alice had picnics in the summer. And if the child she adored grows into a boy who does not recognise her, well, at least she can find comfort in this: she is a flower, and her home has become a graveyard. This is where she belongs.

#* type: the fic aesthetic edit.#* my edits.#* fic: la vie en rose.#* ch: josette lafleur.#* type: graphics.#sirius black fanfic #harry potter fanfic #harry potter oc #original character

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years

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…And I’m Wearing Tights

Summary: Steve once revealed a bit of a fetish to you. Tonight, you test it out. (see previous or series)

Warnings: uh…you and Steve being cheeky weirdos and smutty smut (graphic but loving), lightly edited because I is tired. (Minors DNI 18+ ONLY)

It’s not the perfect day or time for this, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned being with Steve Rogers it’s that it’s never the perfect time for anything. You two would never have had a real conversation. You’d never have made it to a first date. You’d never have gotten engaged. Perfect isn’t what you two are, but you do love each other, you are devoted to each other, and that is enough.

Steve’s been pissy--like really pissy,—wildly irritated by something well above your pay grade that he and Stark have been meeting about constantly. You can tell he wants to talk about it, or at very least figure out how to end the waiting game until something is settled. You don’t know when he’ll be back from upstairs. There’s a significant chance he won’t even be coming home before being deployed on a mission, but c’est la vie. They are just clothes. You can take them off and put them away for another time easily.

Gosh, you hope he comes home to see you though. You hope this ends up being as exciting for him as it is for you.

Steve is a very straight-forward man. He doesn’t role-play. He doesn’t think of scenarios. He doesn’t ever imagine he is anyone or anywhere else but him with you. Fine. He doesn’t have to imagine this.

Classic Captain Rogers.

The garter belt is a pale blue. You thought about white, but it felt a little too bridal, and you thought the black might be a little intimidating for him (since it was for you, too). This was the only other option in the store. If you had chickened out buying it right then, it wasn’t gonna happen. You bought the nude stockings two months before, vaguely searching the rest of the ensemble on a few different websites. You’d already pondered—and pondered and pondered—for so long. Now or never. You are strapped in (with everything strapped on) and ready to go.

Personally, you are very grateful that women’s hosiery evolved beyond a seam up the back, but admittedly, the illusion is flattering. Your look now harkens back to the time Steve himself does.

Music. Music will set the mood—your mood—so you bend over to fiddle with the record player. You should choose something he doesn’t always listen to. None of the titles ring too many bells, so you pop song by song down several vinyls and learn some new favorites. You get really into it. Who wouldn’t? You’re feeling sexy, and it was a good choice to keep the pressure low.

You gave him no hints or warnings. If Steve doesn’t come home, no huge loss because now you know that you can deal with a few hours in a thong, a garter, and stockings. You continue to feel yourself and the music with a glass of wine in hand. Why the hell not? It’s not like—

He must have come in quietly while a song rang particularly loud. As you turn around to pick up the record you’re setting aside to try next, Steve stands at the doorway, open-mouthed, eyes fixed on your legs.

But he’s not alone.

Bucky is frozen mid-stride behind him. His face is a tentative mixture of a smile and a very devious thought being poorly suppressed.

You flail to cover yourself, splashing wine over your chest and thigh. Thank god you did not choose the unlined, lace bra…except you are still wearing a thong and probably already mooned both men. The wine was chilled, so you get the wonderful sensation of your nipples pulling taut beneath the soft cushion of a push-up.

Steve’s eyes don’t move at all. “Sweetheart,” he chirps before a swallow rolls thick down his throat.

It’s impossible to contain your nervous giggle which erupts in lieu of shrieking in shock.

Finally, FINALLY, Bucky averts his eyes and begins to back up to the door.

“I’ll just see ya—well, no, not seein’—I’ll just—I’ll talk to ya later, punk.” He runs right into the wall, back first, correcting to grasp the handle on his third try. “What the hell,” you hear Bucky mutter angrily as he rips the exit open just enough to squeeze his bulky body out.

Steve’s…uh…still frozen. He’s short-circuited so bad that he ticks out a hand and says “ok, Buck” a solid ten seconds after his best friend has left the room. His eyes slowly—and you’re talking slow enough to feel objectified—lift back up your body until rosy-cheeked Rogers finds not-quite smooth words.

“Hi.”

Half your lip smiles while the other half twitches. “Hi,” you squeak, opening your arms to show off a reserved stance, knees tucked over each other. You probably should not have waited this long to think of the game plan…or think of maybe wearing a robe until the big reveal. Dang wine and music.

Steve still doesn’t take a step forward, but he straightens up, clears his throat, and remains unblinking as his eyes fall again. “You’re dripping.”

How?

How does Steve manage to sound so dirty while just stating the obvious?

But Steve is hardly there anymore. Something in his blue eyes is gone, off to a world far away as he remains fixated on the slightly darkened mesh of fabric covering very little of you. It’s difficult to describe the look etched on his face. Reverence, maybe? Whatever it is consumes his focus even as you move to grab the hand towel from the kitchen countertop.

Steve mirrors your steps, closing in without moving his gaze. He watches you dab wine off your breast and stomach before reaching out to take the cloth, fingers gentle but firm against yours.

Butterflies take flight in your gut, fueled by what little alcohol you were able to get inside your mouth before emptying the glass which still dangles sticky in your hand. He doesn’t dab you anymore with the towel. Steve simply drops it back onto the countertop, taking the glass and carefully setting it next to the cloth.

This time, his eyes linger on the counter while his finger taps the marble. You’re just standing, waiting for a cue while the record rolls around to the next song. You can’t even listen to the words. It’s probably not the right tone. You can see blue shift towards you. Steve looks at your legs again, and the muscles of his arms tense without moving him an inch.

He takes a sharp breath in through his nose before adjusting face to face. You probably look like a deer in the headlights, but you have no idea what’s going through his mind. Is he furious that Bucky saw you like this? Is he only here to change before rushing off to a mission? Have you just irreparably distracted Captain America from saving the world?

Then this damn thing is well worth the seventy dollars. Fuck it. You don’t even feel shame anymore.

Steve searches your face, brow rapidly scrolling through a dozen emotions that betray how lost he is to his own control, and when he finally breathes out, he’s attacking.

“Shit,” Steve growls just before his lips scald yours, hands broad and roaming, crowding you against the cold steel of the fridge until you gasp. His kiss is quick and needy, head dropping to let him lick the sweet taste of wine off of you. He doesn’t wait for your legs to respond to him. One of his hands grips under your thigh while the other arm encircles your waist and lifts you.

Movement is a blur until your back hits the bed and your body bounces back towards his waiting mouth, this time landing on the delicate clasp across your thigh. There’s wine there too, but you’re fairly certain that’s not what makes Steve moan your name. He is on his knees before you at the foot of the bed. His fingertip brushes over the top seam of the stocking before it curls beneath it. Your leg gets thrown over his shoulder like a prize from a hunt he’s been on. All that pent-up, angry energy leaches out of Steve through the floor as he plants a soft kiss in the indent left on your plump skin from the tight material. He presses his cheek and forehead to the thin shield over sensitive flesh, tilting his gaze up to you propped on your elbows.

“Can I…” He lets out a heavy breath. “Can you leave them on?”

They’re gonna smell like wine forever but sure, bud. You nod with your lip latched between your teeth. Steve breathes deeply again and (since you know he enjoys using all of his senses) listens to your heartbeat through the artery in your thigh. His glassy stare sits forward at the garter and thong while his ear is pressed to you. Then his finger comes up to wrap around the tiny strip of fabric over your folds, his skin just grazing yours.

“Is this a set?” His eyes flick up to yours, expectant.

You were hoping he wouldn’t really notice since the garter sits over half the panty, but not a lot gets past Steve Rogers. You should probably know that by now.

“Ok, so I didn’t want to go overboard and pay another thirty for butt floss but the color seemed close enough and I hate thongs anyway—“

Steve pulls hard, and, rip, there go your underwear. “Good,” he says with the ghost of a smile and bright eyes. He’s not blushing anymore because Steve isn’t embarrassed. He's so polished, hair swept back, button-down pressed and tucked in, sleeves rolled just so. How he manages to be so put together and feel so unraveled is beyond you.

He’s hungry now, and the feast of you is bare before him.

Yeah, you should have prepared yourself to say something, but all language has evaporated from your brain with the heat coursing through you. The heat only grows more consuming when Steve licks a trail from the top edge of stocking up the inside of your thigh. It tickles and makes you shiver when he nuzzles right past the shredded band of thong.

That rat bastard knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s too gentle. His tongue moves lazily around. It is just a huge tease while his hands still grab and pet at the stockings and straps. You’re about to joke for him to put some work into it when he looks up with pleading eyes. Steve can’t voice what he wants, so he sits back on his heels, closes your knees, and pulls at the underside of one. He wants you to turn over.

There’s a lightning bolt crackling down to your core synced with the seriousness of his request. You get a little shaky flipping yourself on the bed, replanting your feet on the floor, and straightening your legs. It puts your ass so high in the air and spreads your cheeks. You can’t meet his eye, but since Steve’s hands immediately trace the full seam from each ankle up, he probably isn’t looking at your face. You're still leaning on your forearms when his mouth finds the back of your thigh again which is great because you would collapse without that support. The attention paid to you is adoring though, so you let him have his fun.

His mouth returns to lave at your clit and dips through your folds, but Steve’s nose gets (in your opinion) dangerously close to your ass. It makes you tense. The record has stopped in the living room. The lights are on. You’re feeling a little overwhelmed even as the back of his finger brushes up and down your calf. Steve senses it but doesn’t say a word. He simply sits back again, lays on the floor beneath you, and nudges you down to your knees.

You look at him questioningly. You’ve never sat on his face before, but he looks eager. Your fiancé wants your body to smother him as he eats you out. It’s so hot and so shockingly…how to describe it? Un-Steve like? No. It’s in his character to dote on you. He thrills in your pleasure. Maybe this should feel like a natural evolution of that? In the midst of your hesitation, Steve begs.

“Please.” It’s desperate and loving all at once, but the sheer care with which he handles you as you sink above him is not only reassuring; you’re entranced. He holds eye contact with you even as he places a light kiss on your knee beside his head.

You don’t mean for your voice to sound so small but your mouth has gone dry. “You sure about this?”

Steve nods his head, making you shiver with the tickle of his hair against your bare skin. He’s supporting some of your weight, hands firm against your hips, but he neither lifts nor pulls you down. He’s Switzerland…but he said please.

“Ok,” you breathe, planting both hands at the edge of the mattress. Of course, you trust Steve with your body. He probably puts more effort into caring for it than you do overall. It’s still a rush of nerves flooding your insides. Luckily, he takes over once you start moving into position.

You sorta get why he wanted this right now in the first place. Steve’s hands tangle in the belt, thumb wrapped around a strap and bunching the lacy hem. Thank goodness it’s all able to stretch or the whole thing would go the way of your thong, and for an instant, you’re sad at how disappointed you know he’d be.

He doesn’t skip a beat or ease into it this time. There’s no teasing, just intense, passionate attention to anywhere that makes you move against him or elicits a sound. The build is steady until one particularly harsh suckle on your clit rockets through you at the speed of light. If you squirted now, you’d have drowned Captain America; the Potomac’s got nothing on this man going down on you.

He keeps you rocking gently until you stop biting the fucking comforter and attempt to rise weakly. You’re practically clawing for leverage on the bed when you hear Steve’s deep chuckle and the sound of his zipper.

Oh, right. He’s still fully clothed.

“One sec, gonna grab a condom.”

“Honey,” you huff out, voice muffled in the sheets, “the whole point of finding the right birth control for me was not having to deal with those.” You sound so fucked already, and Steve’s just asking for permission to begin.

“If you're sure…”

You throw a look over your shoulder as you hear him shuffle off the floor. “Yes.”

He smirks faintly, wiping his palm down his slicked face only to pump himself a few times with you. Waste not. Steve’s a very efficient man. You’re still vibrating from your release, core still aglow with heat, so his swift move to lift your butt and toss you prone on the bed is mind-boggling. His strength, his endurance, his singular focus on you in such intimate moments, it all makes you keen, back arching up while he strips his clothing away. Steve’s body is scorching against you.

“Still ok?” His breath caresses your ear.

Your yes is far more of a moan this time since you’re sensing him writhe to get in place behind you. He runs a broad palm over the baby blue satin and lace across the small of your back and traces his hands down the seams again, all the while saying you’re beautiful. He slowly enters you, pumping just enough each time to force your cum to lubricate his way.

And then you feel one of the straps come loose, probably from the strain of stretching all the way across your purposefully protruding posterior. The force stings your skin. A groan rattles the air above you, a coarse finger pad rolling over the damaged site.

Rational Steve is lost to you. He’s a humping, thrusting mess of muscle pinning you down. He grabs one of your ankles and lifts the leg out and around. It doesn’t strain you; the new angle allows him deeper. Your back curls down to point up into him as best it can under the weight. It’s as if every noise he makes is directed at you, intended to prove how good he feels inside you.

After he releases your leg, his free hand roams to grab you all over: hip, waist, breast, shoulder, back of your neck, hair. His balls slap against your barely exposed clit. On instinct—because even though he does feel amazing this way, you can’t get enough friction to come—you reach an arm under yourself to rub. Instead, Steve’s noises fuel a more devious approach, and you add a bit of grip to his sack. Steve whines and presses himself against your hips so hard you both collapse while you keep massaging.

“Honey,” he pants, “so close.”

You’re honestly here to ruin his brain at this point, doesn’t even matter if you climax again, so you slap your own ass in front of him and tell him to come for you. Write that down. He likes that. He actually mutters ‘fuck’ to that. Steve winds his fingers beneath the nearest (attached) garter strap, grinding hard against you until utterly spent.

It’s oddly satisfying to know that you did not come again exclusively because your show worked so well. Steve completely disappeared into his own excitement, his own pleasure, for once, and somehow the pride that stirs in you is more potent than any orgasm. Fuck yeah, you did that.

He’s even still propped on an arm atop you, tracing the edges of satin all over. He whispers about how gorgeous you are, how soft, how sexy, how much he loves to touch you; it’s probably the most Steve has ever said immediately after sex. He’s almost possessed, giddy, or high on experiencing his actual fantasy made manifest. Even while his breathing returns to normal, his energy hums around you. He cleans you up, rolls you over and into his arms, and settles beside you with a treasuring gaze.

Your whole body feels warm and aches just a little, in just the right way. His hand rests on your hip. He rubs his thumb back and forth on your faintly sweaty skin.

“I’ll be better next time,” Steve says shyly, “prepared.” It’s fucking adorable. He blushes again while his eyes dart to the pale blue bra and belt. He nibbles on his lip and quietly—very quietly—adds, “did…does that come in other colors?”

Steady, Steve Rogers. You’re going to spoil this man…

"So," you drawl sleepily, "which one of us got texted the most eggplant emojis from Bucky?"

Steve cocks an eyebrow. "What do I get if I'm right?"

Yes. I know I'm supposed to be working on two longer stories involving you two, but damn it, this just would not leave me alone. So HERE, take the smut and enjoy. More to come soon! Masterlist here.

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

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#steve rogers fic #fluff and feels #fluff and romance #steve x reader #fools rush in #steve x you #steve rogers #fanfic #series #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut

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