#But don’t hold your breath they will actually speak about anything substantial | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

michimichim · 3 years

Text

in-dee-ca | rosé

disclaimer: dom!fem!poc reader x sub!roseanne, substance use, semi exhibitionism, etc.

improved version

the church bells chime a brassy and insistent sound; an ear-splitting, melody you still struggle to get accustomed to as you leave the bustling building. your friends fall into step with you and together you trudge down the steps of assembly hall, hands in the pockets of your school blazer while they chortle with laughter.

a shiver wracks over your body as the breeze drifts into your hair and frost your cheeks.

“honestly,” it’s one of your closest friends who speaks up, “what does ‘stricter regulations’ even mean? as if the school doesn’t already have a stick up its ass.”

“it means open up your books for once, dipshit.” jennie, a senior and representative on the school board, snides as she brushes past you along some of her friends busy trailing after, hot on her heels.

you bite back a laugh whilst a ruckus of guffaws resonate around your small crowd.

“fuck off, kim.” your friend shouts after her, eyes rolling in nothing but annoyance, however their expression remain soft. they watch jennie’s retreating form before resting their eyes on something behind you. “here comes miss sunshine.” or rather, someone.

you spare a glance over your shoulder, an agitating feeling erupting in the pit of your stomach when your eyes fall on a familiar sight. she's surrounded by a total of three girls, all tittering as they saunter up the steps of the assembly hall. the dark red and blue of the school uniform brings out the peachy color of her skin, singling her out from the small crowd that’s assembled around. picture perfect she is with her plaid skirt hiked up. all pretty, pale thighs and slender legs. eyes naturally veer her way; she always seems to capture everyone’s attention, and it wasn’t solely due to her father being the headmaster, but rather the vivacious and nonpartisan aura she constantly carries around.

roseanne is the epitome of natural beauty. some still whisper about her loose hair and ruddy cheeks, and stout red lips, and lithe slender body that never seems to walk but rather float through the walls. she's perfect in every sense, the type of perfect that draws in boys and girls alike, girls like yourself.

as if sensing the heat of your gaze, her eyes flicker to yours and you stare back, eyes unwavering, challenging her to glance away first with a slight cock to your eyebrow. doe orbs scale down your body – syrupy and casual posture leaning against chilly stairs; it gives you an air of nonchalance – in such swift manner it might have never occurred, but attention from roseanne park could never be forgotten. dulce creamed, dreamy eyed with stars in her nebulas roseanne could never be forgotten. she averts her attention back to her friends.

“what’s it with you and the park girl?” it's someone else that speaks up near you, voice tinged with nothing but curiosity.

you turn to face them; their eyes seem to trickle with a mix of wonder and apprehensiveness.

you shrug in a dismissal manner, “nothing.” you hate denying it, but you learned to be discreet even when the questioning comes from your friends. even when you despised their questioning. even when you despised them for attributing you a role – one that doesn’t include roseanne in it, the golden girl who knows everything, does everything right. you disdain it and so does she.

the conversation lapses into one of silence and your friends say nothing else, some assess you before emitting out a low hum and dropping the topic.

you tune them out, distracted, as your attention returns to her, the latter’s laughing along to something – could be anything, really. it's not hard to get her laughing. you return your gaze to your friends and stand up. “i’ll text you.” you throw over your shoulder, willing an apologetic smile on your lips as you trade down the stoned stairs.

the sun’s seeping through the arched windows, a kaleidoscope of warm and golden light gushing out over your bodies, tangling with roseanne’s blonde locks. the room she pulled you in belongs to an abandoned and obsolete west wing of the school. no one actually comes here; it has been forgotten, gradually, by its founders until room 144 became nothing but a discarded memory. something close yet hidden.

the furniture around you is covered with white silky material, gently flapping from the frigid breeze sipping through the cracked open window.

your hand absently brushes up and down her smooth thigh, drawing arbitrary patterns; she's delicate under the pad of your fingers, a skin so silk angels would exchange for their wings. the hem of her blue plaid skirt is sitting higher than it ought to, her blouse unbuttoned lower than the hall surveillants would ever permit, and between her lithe fingers, something her father would pop a vein over – she’s at her best here with you. your rosie who plays the sweetest of melodies with your heartstrings.

the sound of fluttering pages fills the cracks of the comfortable silence and she shifts, her legs twirling down over your lap, shoes swiftly thrown off and her gaze, unknown to you, flicks towards your face. she calls you by your nickname, head tilted, exposing the slim curve of her neck as she releases a blanket of smoke through the cherry glossed curve of her lips.

“hm?” you hum in response and with one hand, the other effectively occupied with multitasking where they usually reside, turn the page of your book.

a laugh escapes the sheen of her lips. “i'm sensing some sexual tension between you and that book, am i interrupting?”

the side of your face ticks up into a half-grin, warmth infiltrating your ribcage and through your chest. you glance up from your novel, “kinda,” you tease, eyes softening into a warmer hue once they connect with pools of deep, hypnotizing browns. “mind giving us a moment?”

“ha. ha." the corner of her lips curve upwards, sarcastic, as she removes the blunt from her parted lips. she sits up and slide over the wooden floor, much closer to you and the substantial, sweet floral aroma of her jasmine and basil fragrance mingles with the herbal scent of weed as she hands the joint over.

“your mother was the one to assign this to me, you know.” you slump your weight against the soft beige wall, holding the blunt between your lips, before taking a drag out of it, inhaling, holding and releasing it through parted lips.

“of course she did,” roseanne replies, vexation beneath the delicate pastel shade of her words. you abstain from calling attention to it because here, golden girls like roseanne shouldn't feel anything synonym to anguish. golden girls like roseanne have everything, so why would there ever be a fold between her brows? here, golden, beautiful girl roseanne never has anything but euphonious laughter.

but the glint of sport in her eyes never wavers, so casting the book aside, you resort to laying a comforting hand on her thigh because you know the golden girl with saccharine smiles, the one who evoke tropical storms in your chest is solid bones and perfect imperfections in a sea of deceptive beings.

“what’s it about?” she adds, her fingers stringing with yours as the syllables overflow on her smiling lips. her smile, all-too-familiar, whirs something up your spine and her touch seems to burn into your palm, through the cracks of your fingers.

you take a drag, holding it until it burns, and pass it back to her, “charles duhigg,” your hands never part as you reply, a blanket of smoke slipping out. “the science behind habit, creation and reformation.”

“so, tell me,” she quips, rustling, inching closer, all hot breath and intoxicating perfume, the tip of her ears crimsoning when you maintain eye contact, “would you rather kiss charles duhigg or, me?”

"roseanne," you taunt good-naturedly, a laugh looming around to waver your lips. "are you jealous of a forty-something-year-old?"

you follow her eyes fluttering down to your lips, sharp and wanton. she breathes in another hit then says, "can you blame me for wanting all the attention?"

she wraps her lips around the opaque blunt once more, the scene arbitrarily sinful but then, rather than inhaling it, she cradles your jaw and hovers your lips. exhaling her breath into your willing mouth; it's undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed, and if possible, it heightens the smoke wafting in your gut with a coiling warmth.

“there’s no way i can blame you when you’re pulling shit like this.” you breathe out, slightly dazed from the smoke or her. you don’t really know.

“i know,” she whispers, several beats too late, breath ghosting atop your lips until they’re meeting in a smooth plash of lips, fluttering lashes and warm breaths.

the second roseanne’s tongue presses into your mouth, light and pliant and sweet-tasting of hot chocolate, imbued with the smoky aftertaste, you float through a state of euphoria. your hands linger down to the soft curve of her ass, squeezing. you can’t resist the urge, sticking a resounding slap on the round of her ass, loving the surprised moan that’s torn out of her.

she captures your bottom lip into her mouth, teeth toying with the flesh and something about that is thoroughly gratifying to you, as is her quiet pant against your mouth when you draw away – dizzy from lungs running out of air, she pecks your lips a final time before shifting back.

she sinks herself comfortably between your legs again, perched on your lap while you continue passing the second joint back and forth. as it shortens in size, you grow more physical. your hand never leaves her ass, ghosting over the silken lace of her underwear. roseanne is not far off; she sighs under every single one of your touches, hands threading down through the collar of your shirt, nails roaming up and down your back, scratching lightly at the plains of your shoulder blades.

you take two to four more hits, you think, you’re not too sure. you've lost count because now the haziness in your head is growing stronger, the sounds are softly intertwining with themselves that you have to haul her closer by the waist as to anchor yourself and think.

“you think,” you clear your throat, trying to swallow down the dryness. “you think we could order something to eat?”

roseanne turns her head languidly from the tiny spirals of smoke wafting in the air, her eyes fleeting to yours following a couple of seconds. she peeps at you, “mmhm," she utters. "i guess. well, yeah, it would make sense ... right?" and she titters.

after holding a straight face and retaining the roach (that you still haven’t noticed has been extinguished) for a few moments, contemplating, “rosie,” you let out a stifled laugh suddenly, like a blend between a snort and a chortle. “you really think the delivery guy, like, the car … can get up here?”

your bones feel weightless. like you’re soaring, there's nowhere else you'd rather be, and every bone in your body is at ease for the first time today. roseanne shakes with gentle laughter, cradling the scrap of the joint in her hands like religion and setting it aside, next to your knees.

she clumsily knocks the ashtray over, cursing. it's too endearing, you can’t help but mirror her accent, giggling when she pouts and steady herself from falling as you dissolve into a weed-induced puddle of laughter, stomach shaking, fighting a new hurricane of giggles herself. you just have a way of imitating her accent that is almost uncanny.

“asshole,” she leans her body into yours, pressing your chests together, feeling yours lift against hers. she then stretches her hand to descend the tip of her nail down your collar.

“your one and only.” you drawl, drawing in a long, faint breath.

the warmth hasn’t left your body still, it seems to be making its way from your chest to the rest of your being. you tip your head back so it’s resting on the back of the furniture, eyes lazily drifting over to the window. outside, the sky is clear, a stunning tone of cantaloupe, the sun about sitting so low in the sky it dazzles you through the clefts of the buildings and canopy of trees. this place has become your favorite; it’s all just so peaceful and beautiful here, away from the day-to-day activities.

you're feeling the floor below you stir like you’re in one of those massage chairs at the mall, combating the inexpressible comfort of roseanne’s weight on you and the sudden mass of your eyes – it wouldn’t be the first time you fall asleep right after smoking. usually, you'd instantly pass out to the steadfast rise and fall of her heartbeat, and she’d follow suit, curling in on herself against your chest.

“this weed is,” the sway of her voice brings you back from your daydream, “wow.”

picking your head up and letting the blood rush back down your neck, your brow ridges and you shift, sitting upright and inching closer to gaze into her eyes – they’ve turned a reddish hue, heavy-lidded, but as breath-taking as ever with pools of deep, mesmerizing, mocha brown, and you say, “well, it’s definitely hitting.”

you're becoming increasingly conscious of her nail gliding lower between the top buttons of your white buttoned-up shirt – you don’t recollect exactly when they’ve been popped open, but you don’t have it in you to think long and hard about it. the finger’s tracing the dark bites that have been pressed against the soft mahogany flesh of your skin, progressive shivers creeping up your spine.

“babe,” she whispers, and it’s the lilt of her voice that makes you glance up at her. when exactly did she pick the blunt back up? the shape her lips make to get those flawless smog rings remind you of the other instances when her mouth’s carved similarly – it’s when she first wraps her lips on your thumb and she teases, tongue swirling around the digit, just playing, taunting. she'd push it in and out of her mouth with suction and with her tongue, she’d bob her head, maintaining your eyes locked through the ordeal. knowing all too well that she's gorgeous with your fingers in her mouth.

“you’re okay to keep going?” she questions, moaning when you bunch her skirt up to press your hands back on the soft, small plump of her ass; they fill both of your hands, moulding back against your palms. you land a kiss on the sweet, red blossomed apple of her cheeks.

“how can i refuse when i’ve been eyeing this ass all day long,” you murmur, running a hand up, snapping the waistband against her skin.

that’s all she needs to press her lips against yours.

you lose yourself completely in how thoroughly your lips effortlessly glide against each other, it turns sweeter, cotton candidly sweeter. then lustful and something entirely more celestial. it could just be the weed accentuating the brush of roseanne’s tongue against yours but you know it would feel almost as good when sober, or even better – you’re not quite sure, each time always feels different than the last.

“rosie,” you ripple against her lips and she hums, moans mingling for a few moments, your hands gripping up the juts of her waist as she detaches from your lips to start mouthing at the junction of your neck and jaw, teeth scouring down your throat.

she grips, getting a fistful of your shirt in one hand with the other curving within the heated skin at the base of your neck. your bodies are so close, warm, and she wants to look at you but she’s in some kind of stage where all she aches to do is let her lashes wave shut, so that’s what she does along driving her hips instinctively down against your thigh.

even through all the layers of clothing between you, you can feel the wetness sliding through the flimsy fabric of her underwear on your bare thigh; the delicious friction of against each other.

your hands part from her hips to shed your school blazer instead, and roseanne opens her eyes to unbutton her shirt as you grab at yours, unceremoniously yanking it out of your skirt and sliding your palm up the delicate valley of her stomach. hand sliding up further still, you’re cupping, kneading her breasts, bringing an exceptional churning in her gut when one of your thumbs stroke her nipple through the lace. it's off with a quick push of your fingers.

she stretches out her stomach, feline-like, curves her back and chest out, granting you the sight of her petite breasts as she swivels back and forth back along the length of your thigh. “touch me,” she coos, “please, baby.”

“touch you,” you reiterate, finger tracing the outline of the damp spot lining up her labia. she pushes up her knees to raise herself only the slightest bit higher, “here?” she whines as your touch makes her nerves jump, stroking her lips slowly through the cloth, hoping to further drive her out of her mind.

slipping your fingers into the hem of her panties, the cloth clings against her sex until you push back against it. you shuffle a little so that you could capture her nipples between your teeth, sucking on the bud. her entire body tenses above yours, arms wrapping around your neck, cradling your head closer to her chest.

slick is smearing all over your panties, merely from relishing her like she’s a fucking gift from the gods, preening when her hands quaintly smooth over the back of your neck and your fingers play, lazily and easily through her lips.

she gasps against your ear as your fingers run over her entrance, pressing and teasing, slow and calculated, sliding in the slightest so rose could feel the webbing of your fingers just barely inside of her.

a final tug on her reddened nipple, you withdraw your fingers.

without notice, roseanne’s vision tilts, and she finds herself yelping with her back on the polished, wooden floor with your body hovering hers and a dopey smile adorning your lips. her focus narrows into the manner your eyes dilate – lust and the effects of weed in them. “was that … indica?” you ask, a childlike nature to your voice while sliding her panties down her legs, then yours. you drop them near and kneel before her.

“i don’t –” she cuts herself, contemplating the fleeting body-warming euphoria that expands through melting and blissful relaxation. “mhm.” she titters, letting the word draw itself out slowly.

she gives you that look – peering up at you, heavy eyes open and telling as she spreads her legs, revealing parted, wet lips, swollen and pink from what feels like hours of teasing. you stare longingly, pupils blown, squirming and urging to get your mouth to taste her.

you dip down. roseanne feels the warmth of your breath, and then the first hot touch of your tongue on sensitive skin. she breathes out, tilts her hips up against your mouth, so you move the muscle brusquely, forward at an angle that catches at every lap.

you’re ridiculously skilled at this; seriously, no one, not even her fingers, knows her body as you do. no one else makes the pleasure overtake her mind as you do, as you flick your tongue and suck on her clit, thoroughly enjoying the way her sweet, even as a salty mix dribbles down your tongue. you're murmuring what sounds like appreciative, sugary words that roseanne can’t entirely make out, she succumbs in the soothing oscillations of it, punctuated by the intervals when you prob and poke with the tip of your tongue. she pushes back into it, chasing the feeling of that tongue gently opening her up, exploring for more.

then, still feeling quite indolent and mellow, you're nonetheless agile to move, sliding roseanne’s long legs over your shoulders. and with a quick mewl and purr tumbling out of you, you grasp her skirt in the balls of your fist and shove it up her stomach, then gather yours to situate yourself over her glistening lips. the first thrust is everything. she had sealed her eyelids shut again, laid back down and gone docile, allowing you to rut freely against her like – contented with being handled however you like. but when her hips roll up to press back against yours, it startles a moan from you, the sensation of it making both of your bodies sigh.

there's a certain rush; like the one you get when you’re veering the wheels of your bike for the first time, or the one where you’re getting away with something you should not have. this rush is the one currently coursing through your veins, a rush of want that floods through you, feeling almost surreal, rendering you lightheaded. you're almost, almost worried something else was laced in the blunt, but roseanne’s pussy proves powerful for it gently coaxes you out of your anxiety-inducing thoughts.

they're gone with each thrust sending her body forward. you can’t help speeding and hardening the rolls of your hips in quiet appreciation. each jolt makes her whine and thrill— you have to grit your teeth to not reach your high before hers, intent on coming at the same time. you grind harder onto her, make her feel each thrust— no area of her core left untouched.

“you look so beautiful, rosie,” you lick your lips, the feeling jubilant. past rapturous you can hardly finish your sentence. "and warm, you’re so fucking warm.”

chest heaving, her throat’s enticingly on display and you think of wrapping your hands around it to feel the pounding of her pulse – it beats against your fingers, singing in no particular rhythm. but it remains a sound you wouldn’t mind feeling and listening to, over and over again.

you rub harder into the body lying beneath you, brutal and animalistic, carnal taking up your nature to feel more. the space between your bodies is so wet and she might be unbelievably tight, you regret not doing this at your place so you could fuck the living out of her with one of your straps.

“—fuck,” you hear her gasping, her nails drilling into the hand wrapped around her neck, “keep going, don’t stop—”

the wet sounds of your flesh meeting, the grip on her hipbone and your hand roaming all over her body every time you buck against her clit, hard and faster —the more you can’t take your eyes away from the jiggle of her breasts. you stroke your thumb up and down, feeling out the little lump of her thin nipple and her mouth opens in mid-gasp, grasping your ass when her hips give out, lazing prone on the cold wooden floor of the room as your body blankets over hers. your hips don't stop thrusting.

you're rendered voiceless and utterly reckless, letting natural reactions taking over. the sparkle in your eyes burn for a split-second, then a gut-wrenching moan, cut from deep inside you. roseanne throws her head back, returns travelling on her series of heresies, combined with a bit of praise in the mix. “god, babe, right there … mmm—my fucking god,” she cuts herself off as you almost effortlessly pin her hips down, not enough to hurt, but more in a show of dominance.

and the release that hits you just never fucking ends; it comes in waves. sober, you’d be surprised at how quick you’ve come, losing your thread altogether, but it only takes four long, premeditated but frantic rolls for you to send yourself in a complete state of a body awakening – it's almost too much to move any more than just the bare minimum – two more to enhance the sensations for both you and roseanne, the latter’s body reacting before her mind could race to a conclusion. her eyes flow open, hands scrambling to clutch your asscheeks tighter when she feels herself pulsing, thrumming and seeing white behind her lids.

“holy -”

“fuck.” you finish for her, elbows coming down on either side of her head, so close to collapsing if it wasn’t for the way roseanne’s staring up at you. it's the look of admiration she always gives you when you’ve fucked her just right.

you kiss down her body – but not without a little slap on her ass. as you lay pecks on her thighs, kiss bruises and marks onto them, you bite and nibble on them, clit twitching at the familiar scent of her dripping heat. it just has that thing that makes you delirious, like alcohol. you give a tentative lick.

she jerks from over-sensitivity, while her cunt throbs for what is to ensue. walls stretching to accommodate the length and thickness of your fingers slowly entering her, lewd sounds and heat licking deep through her chest. you dip the second digit in earnest, your burning touch only seems to make her core burn with greater need.

then, in the spirit of simply breaking her, you find her g-spot easily, ramming your fingers into it repeatedly with faultless confidence before pulling away.

roseanne clenches, whining at the emptiness. being filled just a few seconds ago to feeling friction, to her walls abruptly empty. the pressure inside of her gone, she squirms around trying to find your finger to sink back into her body. she moans, then tries again when all she receives is a giggle, hearing the teasing in your voice, but not possessing the patience to deal with it right now

... “daddy, please.”

it comes out breathy —imploring and wanton and you almost shake in rapture.

“you know i love it when you call me that, rosie,” you come up to murmur against the shell of her ear, words dripping an avid rush of honey. it repels any form of weed-produced laziness that’s taken ahold of your limbs.

roseanne guides your hand back towards her entrance, gripping down so you can’t move away from her – except, she knows it wouldn’t take much to overpower her, but she does it anyway. she feels the plush push against her walls, then you’re slowly filling her again, setting her nerves ablaze and she let herself cry your name, light curses, whatever comes through her mind out as you rub the spot that makes her toes curl.

you're gradually lured into snapping your hand, just to wallow in the release of breathy sighs and cries of ‘daddy’ in the crook of your neck that leaves the blonde’s lips every time you force the sound out of her.

you press your body flush against her form and writhe your fingers in a single-minded purpose inside her dripping entrance. you lick at her pounding pulse and plunge deeper in to make it soar higher and faster than weed ever could. she presses her hands into your shoulders, digging half-crescents into the fragile texture of your skin; clutching for more of your warmth against her.

with the windows open, people could definitely hear the mundane debauchery taking place right up inside the building. but she simply can’t hold in her moans, despite her best attempts at deadening them.

body unfurling, as your prodding fingers slides out at her entrance, pressing harder and harder until they slip back inside to hook deeper into her warmth — she sighs and throws her head back, body moving, torso arched, light nipples on opaque skin scrounging for your tongue. however, you’re pre-occupied with sliding in and out of her, kissing the pretty gasps out of her lips.

your palm hits against her clit each time, her inner muscles beginning to contract and squeeze around your fingers. she's so fucking close, you know it, so before she can start thrashing, you get better leverage. you push one of her legs wider with your knee to get deeper and pump freely inside of her, and the increased volume of her moans send a wave of arousal through you.

the more stimulation to her body causes the buzz to alter in one way or another. her vision is fuzzy as lazy eyes squint up at yours, body like jello that could collapse into a puddle any second. for the briefest instant, it’s almost too much to wrap her head around. it's some sort of fucking extraterrestrial experience, her almost entirely useless brain offers, as it proceeds to liquefy completely, overwhelming orgasm burning down her abdomen like scalding lava, leaving her breathless.

a while later, when the sun’s stopped blossoming in the sky and a blanket of stars have taken the grace of a breeze over your heads, you’re back in your original position – roseanne straddling your waist, buttermilk hair brushing over her breasts, lissome and comely body draped back in her bra and skimpy panties.

she leans down and inches her chin forward so she can seal her lips and mouth over yours. she drags her tongue, asking for permission. the taste of your skin, your perfume and scent of your body is intoxicating. the high’s worn off, now she could get drunk from just having her thighs wrapped and caging around you, kissing you for hours on end.

“hol’ up” then she’s pulling away, before leaning over the side to reach for your bag, procuring a small plastic bag.

you eye her with amusement, “while i don’t mind lighting up another one,” you start, the sweet, nonetheless imposing, concern in your voice is palpable, “grab my sweater first in there.” you nod towards the bag. you've closed the window but the weather is known to seep through bones once blankets of dark clouds had already rolled in.

roseanne smiles and rolls her eyes, dropping to kiss your cheek, then neck, then cheek once more. she has to tear herself away with a fit of laughter when you reach up and get a hand in her milky curls, directing her mouth to yours in a show of biting and toying with the sheen of her lips.

the wool blend of your sweater looks the best on her, it draws down to expose one finely boned shoulder and you wish to paint constellations on the exposed neckline, to dart hot kisses against the silky skin.

you watch, admirably as roseanne uses your abdomen as a workplace to pack the bits of weed into the blunt wrap she had also pulled from your bag. her nimble fingers work everything expertly into a rather attractive roll before bringing the blunt to her lips to lick down the length.

“the joy of roleplay,” she mentions, quite pleased from the attention. “we should do it more often.”

cocoa eyes peek at you from under long lashes before swiftly looking bavk down at her work. “daddy~” she adds.

“christ, rosie, don’t make me take you here again.” you deadpan, embarrassed, looking at her as though she’s meant to understand the gravity of your statement.

roseanne just laughs, conspicuously displaying how perfectly aware she was on the effect of her recurrent use of your ‘nickname’ in the most inappropriate choice of settings and moments.

you slide one hand up, rubbing and massaging the curve of her waist while she soothes down the edges with her fingertips, and grabs the discarded lighter from the floor to light the end up.

“professional,” you chuckle, and wrap your arms around her. she blows smoke halos in your face, bubbled laugh when you playfully gust them away before bringing you into a kiss. she hums as she closes her eyes, and glides her tongue across your bottom lip. “we’re never getting out of here if you keep this up.” your words a breathy pant between grazes of tongues.

“good,” she whispers, connecting your foreheads, unfocused gaze of seductive, glassy-eyed squint burning as she flicks them down to look hungrily at you. “because i'm taking what’s mine until i'm satisfied.”

and you wisely do not voice an objection. one of your last sober thoughts before your skirt’s tugged down your legs.

#blackpink smut #rose smut #kpop smut #sub kpop #gg smut #wlw

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parvulous-writings · 3 years

Text

Not on My Watch // Jesse McCree x F!Reader

Request: Howdy! Perhaps another Mccree fic? 👀 Mccree and fem S/o decides to have a chill leisure and some dude catcalled s/o and Mccree witnessed it? what do he do? 😳🤠 (loved the previous fic you did for me im still reading it til this day!!)

Requested by: @fragolaaaaaaa

Summary: McCree takes you out, and you get cat-called.

Warnings: catcalling, alcohol, explicit language.

Words: 1.2K

Notes: Howdy! I had quite a bit of fun with this one! I’m happy to hear you’re still reading my other fic for you! Makes me smile! My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist!

Not my gif

It was one of McCree’s rare days off, and he had insisted on taking you out for the evening to one of his old local haunts, an old bar in the middle of Deadlock Grange. The entire town may have had some less than savoury memories, but he was hoping that spending some time there with you would clear those away or at least push them to the side. All he wanted was to share a drink with you on a day off, hear you laugh and see you smile at something stupid he’s said. That was his plan- share drinks with you (preferably something involving whisky for himself), maybe get a little less sober and have some real quality time together, away from the buzz of the Overwatch complex.

That was his plan. Initially, things had gone really well- you were now a couple of drinks in, and absolutely loving your time together. You personally couldn’t see why Deadlock Grange was so bad, even after all the tales you had been told. Jesse had gone to get the third round for the pair of you, more than happy to be paying for all of these drinks. Whilst he was gone, someone else saddled up on the stool behind you. You didn’t think anything of it at first, anyone in the facility had right to sit at the bar, rather than at at table. It was when he started speaking to you that the problems started to arise.

“Well, hey there, doll,” He greeted, leaning closer to you- so close that you could smell the alcohol on his breath; practically taste it as you turned to give him a distasteful look, to try and show him you were not in any way interested. However, he seemed to take this as the exact opposite of what you had intended. He shuffled so that he sat on the edge of his seat, his face mere inches from your own. “Haven’t seen you round here before... You new?” “Not exactly, could you please-” “Show you around? Sure thing... I’d love to...” He gave you a lopsided grin, brushing some of his greasy, auburn locks from his forehead, clearly trying to make himself appear more attractive. It didn’t work very well at all. “No, that’s not what I was going to say.” You reply, giving him another disgusted look. He seemed to pout a little bit at your words, but you did not cave in to those green faux puppy eyes. “Shame...” He half laments. “I could’ve shown you my place.. Real special, I think you’d like it. ‘Specially the bedroom.” He gave you a sly wink that made your skin crawl.

You move to turn away from him again, but he puts his hand on your shoulder and pulls you back. “Oh come on, now, doll.” He coos. “Don’t be that way, I was being so nice to you, weren’t I?” He pauses, quirking his brow. “Or did you want something more?” He started to grin- but not the kind of grin you would have wanted to see on someone’s face. This one was sick, and twisted, and outright vile. He used his hand on your shoulder to slowly but surely pull you closer to him, till you were practically sitting on his lap. His arms were like the coils of a constrictor as they slowly wrapped themselves around you, holding you in place and preventing your plan of escape.

You heard someone clearing their throat near McCree’s seat- sure enough, it was the gunslinger himself. “’Scuse me, sir.” The needless honourific was drenched in Southern venom, a poison you hadn’t heard him use often at all. This kind of tone was used for people like Reyes or O’Deorain- people who had wronged him substantially, and caused his blood to boil even to this day. The man turned his eyes to Jesse, giving an unsavoury look in his direction. “Can I help you?” He quipped back, and though your eyes were fixed on McCree, you could hear the snarl on your aggressor’s face. “Yeah, actually.” Jesse put the tray of drinks- two pints and some shots- on the surface of the bar. They landed with a clank, and it was surprising that they didn’t topple over or break with the force of the landing. “That’s my girl,” He gestured to you as he spoke. The man just scoffed. “Yeah I don’t think that she is.” He replied with a roll of his eyes. This just infuriated Jesse; you didn’t think you’d ever seen such fire flash behind those earthy irises of his.

His hands started to ball into fists by his sides as he tried desperately to keep his nerve. “I suggest that you step away from ‘er, right now.” He warned, his tone dark and dangerous. You could just tell he was seconds from snapping, and you’d never even seen him this angry before. “And what if I don’t, huh? What’re you gonna do?” The man challenged, “I could give you a new one of those, real easy.” He gestured to McCree’s metal arm. “You can’t do shit, cowboy.” The man slowly got to his feet, flicking the brim of Jesse’s hat as he finished his sentence.

It was then that McCree snapped. He grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt and yanked him away from you- with such a force that it caused Jesse’s victim to yelp, and not quietly either. It caused close tables to stop their conversation, as McCree started to drag the man who tried to woo his girl, his sugarcube outside. It was something he simply could not accept, something that could not go unpunished. Once he had gotten the man onto the dusty road outside the bar, he tossed him to the ground face first. “You stay the fuck away from her!” He growled, kicking the man back down when he tried to get up. The man’s auburn hair stuck to his face and got in his eyes as he groaned. “I didn’t even do anything!” He protested weakly. “You tried, and that’s what I’m angry about. You leave her the fuck alone, or you’ll be gettin’ more than some bruises, I promise ya that!” He vowed, and even this stranger seemed to get the memo. Finally.

With that final threat, Jesse returned to you- taking off his hat and placing it on the bar as he sat beside you. “Sorry about that, sugarcube....” He apologised, seeming genuinely remorseful that he had left you alone, even for a moment. “And for losin’ my cool...” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. You placed a hand on his, showing him some affection to comfort him. “It’s fine Jesse... I liked it, really.” You chuckled, brushing some of his deep brown locks from his brow. “It shows you care... And it was pretty damn sexy.” McCree looked at you for a moment, slightly baffled, before he began to smile, reaching for one of the drinks still on the tray. “Well, if that’s the case... I’m mighty relieved I could be of assistance to ya...” He took a small sip of his drink, before he felt your warm lips against the stubble on his cheek. “You know, cowboy, I meant it when I said that was sexy...” You whisper to him. He seems to get your hint, and starts to chuckle. “Finish your drink off, pumpkin.” He tells you, “Then maybe I’ll give you a lil’ something’.” He winked at you- and his wink was one you genuinely adored; it sent shivers down your spine and made butterflies flutter in your stomach. “Alright, cowboy...” You smirk, picking up your drink, starting to sip at it. It will be a fun night indeed..

#jesse mccree #jesse mccree x reader #mccree x reader #overwatch x reader #mccree overwatch #ourcree

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teawaffles · 3 years

Text

Albert’s Drinking Contest: Chapter 2

“——This is, the twentieth!”

Announcing the number of glasses he’d drained, Moran set his empty wine glass on the table with a thud.

He was still clear-headed, and able to hold a conversation. But those wild features of his were now flushed, as red as the copious amounts of wine that had entered his stomach.

“Ready to give up now, Albert?”

In his tipsy, trembly vision, Moran beheld his opponent before him.

But far from giving up, Albert was completely sober. There was no discernible change in his complexion; as if he’d started drinking right there and then, he tipped back his glass, and downed his wine with ease.

With that, they were now tied at 20 glasses each. Ignoring the man staring at him with twitching eyes, Albert called out to Louis, who was still serving as their waiter.

“No matter how many glasses I drink, this profound flavour never ceases to delight. To have procured such an excellent vintage — your selections are exquisite as always, Louis.”

“Thank you very much. As I recall, this is an import from America.”

“Ah: I’ve heard that the French vineyards are still afflicted with blight. [1] It’s a pity we won’t be able to enjoy their splendid red wines for some time to come; but it’s also our good fortune to have learned about the quality of wines from the New World.” [2]

“…………”

Albert was being much too relaxed, and had even started to digress into areas completely unrelated to the match; hearing that, Moran shot him a look of displeasure.

Incidentally, the challenge had been much too great for Fred: he’d been the first to pass out, flopping onto the table with his glass in hand. Immediately after, they’d covered him with a blanket so he wouldn’t catch a cold, and the man was presently fast asleep.

“Well then, both sides have managed to consume twenty glasses. It seems both of you still have room for more, but…… if I were to speak from an impartial standpoint, you appear to be at a slight disadvantage, Moran.”

Having observed their match, William leisurely shared his views.

Moran knew his analysis was unbiased, and that was precisely why he let out a groan of frustration. His face flushed, he grabbed the bottle of wine, intending to pour his next drink; but when he realised that not a single drop had trickled out, he waved the bottle in the air.

“Sorry, Louis. It’s empty, so could you bring a new one?”

“Understood.”

Louis promptly retrieved a fresh bottle, and with brisk efficiency, filled both their glasses.

“This’ll be, the twenty-first.”

As soon as his glass was full, without any intention of savouring the wine, Moran chugged it all in one breath.

But the next moment, he was swamped by an intense wave of vertigo: somehow, it seemed he was much nearer his limit than he’d thought.

In contrast, Albert merely tilted his glass, observing the colours and clarity of the freshly-poured wine. Then he swirled it once, bringing it near his nose to savour its aroma, and took a sip to taste.

“Is this a Madeira?” [3]

Standing beside them, Louis revealed the bottle label with a smile.

“Indeed — your wine tasting is accurate as always, nii-sama. Would you like some salted cheese to complement it?”

“I’d prefer to pair such cheeses with a sweet port. [4] Or perhaps we could have a chicken with that, like Sir John Falstaff.” [5]

“In exchange for one’s soul, indeed.” [6]

Watching the two brothers quote Shakespeare as they chatted, Moran was incredulous.

“……Y’know, this is a drinking match on which I’ve staked my dignity as a man — not some wine-guessing quiz at a party,” he protested.

However, in a long-suffering gesture, Albert merely shrugged.

“Although this is an earnest match, Colonel, it’ll become a dreary affair if you leave no room for entertainment. Moreover, this wine was used to toast the American Declaration of Independence, making it perfect for tonight’s celebration.” [7]

At that bit of trivia from Albert, Moran looked positively fed up.

“Oooh, if you have so much time to share your vast knowledge, then why don’t you hurry up and drink already?”

But far from being put out, an elegant smile rose to Albert’s lips.

“Oh dear; you’re in an awful rush, Colonel. Could it be a sign that you’re nearing your limit?”

“Wha……! N-No way. I can still continue.”

Albert had hit right where it hurt, and Moran uttered a groan that was rather different from before. It seemed his opponent had observed his giddy spell from earlier.

Although the match was far from over, Moran was now consumed by a crushing sense of defeat. Seeing that, Albert made a show of draining his glass at a leisurely pace.

Even after downing a substantial amount of wine, the eldest son of the Moriarty family was unruffled, and Moran shot him a complaint.

“You’re not actually drinking some deep red tea instead of wine, are ya?”

Perhaps it was because the liquor had addled his brain, for Moran put forth a suspicion that he wouldn’t normally have entertained.

To that, both William and Louis burst into laughter.

“That’s a very unique deduction, Moran,” said William, as he struggled to rein in his mirth. “But even I can’t devise a magic trick like that.”

Louis was also trying very hard to suppress his amusement. “I filled both your glasses from the same bottle: how could it be that alcohol came out one time, and tea the next? It’s so unlike you to even consider such a ridiculous idea, Mr Moran. Wouldn’t you agree that it’s time to cut back on the liquor?”

“S-Shut it. I was just saying. And I’m not giving up now.”

Their teasing had completely soured his mood. Glancing to the side, he saw Fred, who was sound asleep.

“Somehow, I think he might’ve just laughed at that too……”

Moran gazed at the man he thought of as a younger brother, dead to the world with a peaceful look on his face. Then he fixed his blanket, which had slipped a little out of place.

When his two brothers had finally managed to regain their composure, Albert spoke up.

“In fact, Colonel: it would better protect your good name if we were to pretend that outlandish trick was true. Or perhaps we could give you a handicap, and allow you to alternate between wine and tea.”

“You don’t say. Then I’ll have two drinks the next round.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, coming from you. If you’re the one to set up the cause of your own defeat, then it’ll make a convincing excuse to others, I see.”

“Urgh……”

No matter what he said, Albert had a ready riposte. As such, Moran swallowed his frustration, and returned his focus to the match.

“Anyway: Louis, keep it comin’, please.”

Seeing Moran try his utmost to put on a brave front, Louis was even beginning to find that a little cute; muttering his acknowledgement, he proceeded to fill Moran’s glass once more. Then, with great force, the man poured its entire contents down his throat.

“…………”

The alcohol burned like fire as it flowed into his stomach — all of a sudden, Moran came to his senses. Placing his glass on the table, he pondered.

His vexation at the Moriarty brothers’ teasing. His alcohol-induced befuddlement. And above all, Albert’s ability to hold his liquor, which had far outstripped his expectations.

His irritation at those three things had wound up completely flustering him. But once Moran calmed down and took stock of his situation, he realised William was right: he was clearly on the back foot.

Until now, he’d been unconsciously averting his eyes from his predicament by being oddly stubborn. But this pickle wouldn’t resolve itself if he just kept running away. If he continued to drink without a scheme in mind, then in his mind’s eye, he could see the outcome plain as day: he’d be out like a light in no time.

However, if he lost, then he’d have to listen to anything the victor said. Moran had originally set that rule as a way to spur himself on, thinking that there’d be no way he would lose. But now, it had lost virtually all effect in rousing his will to fight — all that remained, was the dread of what Albert would make him do upon his defeat.

He absolutely had to win. But the way things were going, it was all but certain that he’d lose.

In that case, the only option left would be——.

Within him, that conflict crystallised into a single decision.

“William,” he said. “Won’t you join in the match? Or rather: please, join.”

“Me? But why?”

Up to this point, William had been serving as an impartial judge, and he asked that with curiosity. But Moran did not answer; instead, his expression twisted into a bitter one as he continued.

“That’s not all. On top of you joining in…… If you’re agreeable, Albert, let’s ignore the count thus far and start afresh……. This is, truly a personal…… request from me.”

That faltering reply was very much unlike him, and William broke into a meaningful smile.

Moran’s decision — was to request that they increase the number of participants, and restart the game.

Despite his frustrations, Moran was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to beat Albert alone. Hence, he thought he’d bring in more opponents to counter him: even if it was just one more person.

The other part of his plan was to reset the match. If Albert agreed to that, then compared to the two existing players, someone joining in halfway would naturally have the advantage. But from Moran’s point of view, even if he was defeated, it would still be better than having Albert directly exercise his “winner’s privilege” on him — such were his complicated emotions. It was an absurd request, to be sure; but at least he hadn’t proposed having Albert compete against the combined total of both his and the other participant’s tally: perhaps that was a reflection of whatever faint scraps of self-respect Moran still had within him.

Perceiving Moran’s complex tangle of emotions, William placed a hand under his chin and pondered.

It’d also be fun to take on his suggestion. Although he did have his role as the judge, it wasn’t as if the match had any strict rules to begin with — they could easily do without one.

However, if he were to join in, and the match were to be restarted, then both Moran and Albert would be at a disadvantage. When it came to wine, he knew his elder brother’s stomach for it was bottomless; but still, it was clearly unfair to have a new and virtually-sober participant waltz into an honest drinking match. And yet, then again, he didn’t want to dismiss Moran’s “request” out of hand.

In this situation, the best option would be——.

But the instant William made his decision, and tried to voice his answer, Louis quietly raised a hand.

“Hold on a minute. Could it be that you were thinking of taking up his suggestion, nii-san?”

“……Yes, I was just about to say that. Seeing as Albert nii-san doesn’t appear to have any issue with that.”

William looked at his older brother, seated across from Moran. Then, Albert flashed them both a slight smile. Although it would mean that he would gain a new opponent, and the contest would start again from the top, it seemed he didn’t mind one bit.

Registering Albert’s generosity, Louis pointed at himself.

“In that case, may I participate?”

“……You, Louis?” Moran asked.

Louis proceeded to explain himself briefly. “I cannot countenance the possibility — however slight — that after joining the match, my brother will end up drinking too much and impacting his health. Hence, I believe that issue will be negated if I were to join the match in his stead.”

“But in that case, I would end up worrying for your health, Louis,” said William, furrowing his brows slightly.

At his brother’s kindness, Louis unwittingly cracked a smile.

“It makes me very happy to hear that. But it’s rare to hear Mr Moran make such a serious request, and so I can understand how you’d want to help him out. Of course, as Mr Moran said: this is only if you’re agreeable, Albert nii-sama.”

“Alright. Having heard that much, I shan’t object,” replied William. “What about you, nii-san?”

His elegant smile unfaltering as ever, the eldest son of the Moriarty family nodded.

“I don’t mind. If you’re certain, Louis, then I shall respect your decision.” Then, Albert’s expression turned solemn. “However, as you mentioned yourself, you absolutely must not reach the point of destroying your own health. Even though the colonel can’t help it, Louis, my condition is that you cannot drink recklessly. Is that alright?”

“Understood, nii-sama. ——Well then, it’s settled.”

Nodding in assent, Louis quietly took a seat beside Moran. Absorbing how his ridiculous request had been granted, more than gratitude, Moran’s expression was one of astonishment.

“Is this really alright, Louis? I know I was the one who asked, but Albert’s no pushover. If we lose, then you’ll have to suffer the forfeit too……”

However, Louis smiled wryly as he replied.

“I already knew that when I asked to join, didn’t I? To be honest, I don’t want to stand opposed to either you or Albert nii-sama. But now that I’ve made my decision, I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

“……Louis.”

That resolve had shaken Moran, so much so that he began to tremble. Watching him out the corner of his eye, Louis filled both their glasses; then Albert too filled his glass by himself, and raised it toward the two of them.

“Well then, once again, let’s give it our all.”

“I won’t be holding back either, you two.”

“Oh, both of you will be sorry real soon.”

Having gained a dependable ally, Moran’s enthusiasm was now back in full force.

Looking at the three of them, William spoke.

“So with Louis’s entry, the contest shall start again from scratch. But for both Moran and Albert nii-san, the next glass will be your twenty-third: please take care not to injure your health.”

With that word of caution from William, the drinking contest had resumed.

Footnotes:

[1] French vineyards had been devastated by aphids in the mid-19th century, and then fungal diseases after that. (Wikipedia)

[2] The “New World” refers to the Americas, in contrast to the Old World, or Eastern Hemisphere of the Earth. (Wikipedia)

[3] Madeira is a fortified wine made on the Madeira Islands, off the African coast. (Wikipedia)

[4] Port is a fortified wine produced in the Douro Valley in Portugal. (Wikipedia)

[5] Sir John Falstaff is a character featured in several of Shakespeare’s plays. (Wikipedia) He is renowned as a drunkard and glutton, whose favourite food is capons — roosters reared specially for their meat. (BBC article)

[6] A reference to Faust, who traded his soul with the Devil in exchange for worldly pleasures. (Wikipedia)

Aside: As far as I can tell, this line doesn’t actually appear in Shakespeare’s works. But in the legend of Faust, Faust makes his pact with the Devil via the demon Mephistopheles — who is mentioned in Shakespeare’s play The Merry Wives of Windsor (Wikipedia), which stars Sir John Falstaff as its main character.

[7] This is apparently true: Wikipedia

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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whosjunglejim4322 · 3 years

Text

Alpha!Hybrid Au, SMUT, PWP, soft dom Yuta bc ur his baby, bestfriend!to lovers, arguing, pussy eating, jealousy, BREEDING KINK, unprotected sex (pls wrap ur willy), monster cock agenda

He's in trouble. The huge, colossal, has to hang his head in shame type of trouble. The worst part is that, he doesn't really feel bad about it, that kid had it coming and - fuck, no, he shouldn't think like that. But he can't fight the instinct, as hard as he tries.

"I'm so sorry, I really am I-" he stutters, trying to find the right words as you stomp away from him towards your room, continuing your maddening silent treatment that he knows only means he's really fucked up.

"I shouldn't have done...that, I know, I know." His voice is strained, desperate in his feat to prove his sincerity. It's nearly impossible to describe its magnitude when he has yet to admit how he really feels about you. It makes the whole situation that much worse.

"You...you actually growled at him, Yuta. Mark Lee. He's a friend of mine, a good friend! And you-" you've finally turned to face him, kicking your shoes off and slinging them to the nearest corner, your anger a tangible force. "you nearly scared him half to death!" You scold, still shivering at the thought.

He looks like a puppy whos just been reprimanded, no pun intended. He allows you to push past him to the kitchen, following behind you with urgent footsteps and continuing his pleads of understanding. This is eating at him in more ways than one.

"I couldn't help it, you know that-" you scoff, interrupting him while you turn to meet his wide, guilt ridden gaze.

"Don't give me that alpha bullshit." You know it's a low blow, probably the lowest you could muster but you're just so damn annoyed. He doesn't know what it's like to be a human so close to such a guttural sound as the one he used to establish dominance earlier tonight. It's like being next to a hellcat, the roar of an engine that reverberates throughout every bone in your body.

You'd been so shocked, so embarrassed for Mark that you hadn't even registered the fact that it licked such a hot flame inside of you, furthering your outburst and only igniting feelings that you shouldn't be having in the first place.

Your unrequited feelings for your best friend probably just add fuel to the fire, considering you're mostly angry at yourself for the way your body actually had the nerve to like the prospect of Yuta being jealous. You should be embarrassed.

"Hey, that’s not fair," He practically whines, losing his sanity with each passing second. "I'm not lying when I say that I couldn't help it." You know he's telling the truth, and he knows that he couldn't have fought it off even he wanted to.

He could smell Mark's change in scent whenever you laughed at one of his jokes, could see the way his eyes would linger on you whenever he thought no one could tell. It came to a head when the human boy actually had the audacity to slip an arm around you while in one of his laughing fits. The feeling was like a dam bursting, hot lava through his veins pushing the sound from within his chest.

You rip open the door of the fridge in search for a bottle of water, and he waits for your response, his heart pounding in his ears like thunder.

"He'll probably run for the hills next time he sees us, if he even wants to talk to me again at all considering the stunt you pulled-"

"Why is that such a bad thing?!" The words spill from his mouth like he hasn't got a choice, the truth so close to trickling off of his tongue. "He clearly has such an obvious, nauseating crush on you and actually thought he was being oblivious - he wanted his scent on you."

Yuta takes a step back, shoving his slim fingers into his raven hair before rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes, frustrated. Your heart suddenly thuds at an uneven pace in your chest, belly flipping wildly with a mixture of emotions.

Without even having to think about it you're stepping closer towards his trembling figure. He's got his fists clenched and you know his nails are likely digging into his palm, a habit formed from nervousness, or other emotions when they become too overwhelming for him.

"What are you even talking about, He doesn't-"

"Yes he does, I would know what it's like firsthand," surprisingly the words are easier to say than he previously thought, cathartic from the way he's held them in for so long. It's like once he starts he can't stop.

Your jaw has gone slack, body sweltering as you stare at him from a few feet away. He looks like he's holding on to the edge of ration, trying so desperately not to scare you away.

"I can barely think straight when I'm around you, it drives me crazy and that human - he was practically glowing from your presence alone and I couldn't stand it I- he doesn't even know what it's like to love you."

You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you, feet planted steady on the ground but somehow you feel like you're spinning. Your body feels like it's been lit like a live wire, his utter vulnerability and the sheer magnitude of the feelings swarming in his warm irises, spearing heat through your lower abdomen.

He looks pained, suddenly. More so than before and the need to reach out and touch him, to do something to soothe the agonized furrow between his sharp brows, feels borderline unbearable.

"I should go - fuck, I'm so sorry I'll leave I never should have even come tonight."

He's backing away further, nails still digging into the meat of his palms when your feet finally unthaw from shock, moving towards him before he can twist the doorknob.

It's like placing your hand on a heater, the temperature almost scalding. He's still shaking like a leaf in autumn, his breaths ragged and skin glossy.

He's still flinched away from you, as if scared to so much as glance up at you, and it feels like your chest is being cracked open.

"Don't leave, stop, okay?" The break in your voice catches his attention and suddenly his eyes are boring into yours, low and dark, riddled with too many emotions at once.

Your hands are suddenly grabbing his, much cooler than his scorching skin as you uncurl his fists. The crescent moons are already healing.

"You don't have to be sorry, I haven't been honest with you and I - I love you, too." You speak softly, bashfully almost as you pull him closer, stroking his cheek with the back of your knuckles. He feels as though he might combust.

"You...you do? Really?" He's dumbfounded, shaken from his core in a way that has him trembling in a different way all together. He steps closer and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek, the heat radiating off of him in waves.

You reach out, moving his dark, disheveled hair from in front of his eyes, chills rising from your skin as he leans into your touch. He looks dazed, lost in everything you say. He's so beautiful up close, golden and silky and glowing. You squeeze your thighs together.

You don't miss the way he glances from your lips and back to your eyes, nostrils flared slightly as you nod back at him. You even forget how easy it is for him to sense your emotions, to know exactly what it is you're feeling.

"Say it again." The timbre of his voice has lowered substantially and it has your knees weak as you grasp onto his sturdy shoulders, his pink tongue darting out to wet his unfairly plump lips. You're the one with the fever now.

"I love you, Yuta. I love you."

He groans.

"Oblivious, so oblivious. Don't even know how fucked you have me, do you?" His hot fingertips graze the side of your neck and you press your chest against his, the surface of your lips barely skimming past one another, noses touching.

Finally, with a fleeting permissive gaze into your eyes, he closes the space, giving air to your lungs and dousing gasoline on the blaze.

All at once he's crashing against you, soft mouth feverish in the way he suckles your bottom lip, wet tongue lapping into your mouth. He swallows your petulant whine, shoving you as gently as he can against the kitchen counter, needing to keep you steady against something.

Your fingers grip handfuls of his hair as your pelvises meet, rubbing against the other with a roll of your hips. It's like a magnetic force, stronger than anything either of you has ever felt.

"Please, please." He begs sweetly. your hardened nipples rubbing him through his thin tee shirt, thigh suddenly hiked up around his narrow hips. You don't even have to ask what it is he wants, ready for any and everything he offers. It's like nothing else, kissing him like this, hearing the product of your effect on him. Your fantasies could never do him justice.

"Yes, Yuta." You reply through the desperate kisses he presses to your mouth, his forehead against yours, one hand locked at the nape of your neck. A sound a bit less menacing than the one that started this whole ordeal in the first place, vibrates through his chest and he's all too aware of the way it sends a satisfied tremor through your body.

"I've dreamt of this," he strains, as three dexterous fingers slip into the waistband of your bottoms, yanking them down at inhuman speed. Your gasp is against his cheek, before he's gone suddenly.

Not gone, in between your legs. You look down when you feel a hot puff of breath against the soiled patch in your underwear.

"so many nights I would cum to the thought of you, just so I could come over and not make a fool out of myself. Fuck, you have no idea."

His admittance has your thighs wavering as he pulls them apart, marveling at your clothed sex and running the tip of his slim index finger over your covered slit. He keeps you steady by the back of your knees.

He gazes up at you through the thick of his lashes, eyes topaz and thick with fog from the way your arousal has gotten him worked up. You can't believe this is actually happening.

"I- I do have an idea." He keeps his eyes on you while he mouths the innermost skin of your thighs, the feeling warm and ticklish, causing a whimper to fall from your lips.

"Tell me, baby, go ahead." Fuck, he still sounds so sweet despite the pure desire dripping from his tone. It's need in the rawest form. His teeth nip at your skin, softly, and it pushes the words from within tour throat.

"I've touched myself so many nights- to the thought of you and - ohhh, mmm," You throw your head back, muscles twitching as he places his mouth over the wet spot in your underwear, licking and sucking as if to torture himself. You feel the faintest prick of his nails against the back of your thighs before the feeling disappears, most likely him trying to stay centered.

"Yuta, please." You reach down, pushing his dark muss of hair away from his forehead, being driven mad by the way he's mouthing your pussy through such a thin layer of fabric. He's tempted to hear you beg some more, the sound unbearably sweet.

But he's too hungry for you to not only deny your pleasure, but also to deprive himself of such a delicacy. He all but rips the flimsy fabric from your lower half, lips parting with unbridled appetency from being so close to the sweetest source of honey.

He can't find it in himself to tease anymore, succumbing to his all consuming desire before you can gasp for the second time tonight.

It's heat, seering and wet and sloppy with the way he takes your clit into his mouth. The sounds are so raunchy, he's practically cooing against your sex while his thick pink tongue comes out to lap at your entrance.

If he weren't holding you up by the backs of your thighs you would have fallen straight to the floor by now, entire body fizzling with a burn that melts you to his touch.

"Mmm." He hums against your slit, dark lashes fanning against the highs of his cheekbones as he closes his eyes in bliss - nose pressed against your mound as while shakes his head back and forth. His plump lips - lips you've dreamt of being right where they are now, on your most sensitive of parts - suckle your folds before circling your swollen bud with the tip of his pink muscle. His wild hair tickles the inside of your thighs.

He's practically bursting from his jeans but he channels that energy elsewhere, cock throbbing angrily at it's neglect but he's too focused to care. He's wanted this for so long, never thought it possible. He always knew you smelled different around him, sweeter. He's not dumb. He knows the effect he has on you.

But now that he's sure, it's a whole different experience. You're dripping, barely able to hold yourself up as he eats you like a man starved. He kisses you as passionately as he did earlier, these lips just as soft and addicting as your others.

He takes his index and ring finger, spreading you open and licking at you with deliberate, indulgent stripes. The sight is too much to even witness, your best friend, your Yuta, heartbreakingly beautiful as he's always been. Except this time he's eating you out in the middle of your kitchen.

"Y-Yuta m'gonna - oohhh, fuck." He doesn't take this as a warning, he takes it as a challenge. You're not sure you can handle anymore, body on overdrive, spilling over with pheromones. This makes him all the more hungry, all the more enthusiastic.

After all, that is your bestfriend. Always going the extra mile for you, always there when you need him. His eyes open and he's peering up at you like you're the sun, strong hands wrapping around your soft hips and rocking your hips against his mouth.

You can all but read his expression, the urgency in which he wants you to fall apart. He coerces you with his penetrating gaze, and you wonder how you've held out from cumming this long.

All at once it hits you, a stroke of his skilled tongue while he moves you against it, making up for your lack of strength. The sound he lets out is close to a whimper, forcing your thighs open when they threaten to close around his head.

It's like having every single one of your nerve endings doused in pure euphoria, it fills you like a balloon and bursts into a thousand sparks. You're almost afraid he's not going to stop, that he's gonna lick you raw until he's kissing you again.

Your eyes are still closed shut from the magnitude of your orgasm, the taste of yourself suddenly on your tongue as his lips move against yours. Despite your state, you're quick to respond, spent but not completely satiated. Not when you know that this is really happening, that the line has already been crossed and more than that - he actually loves you back.

He's still holding you steady when your shaky hands paw at the waistband of his jeans, missing and stroking the firm appendage that's bulging out to the right.

He convulses, lurching against you before you're wrapped around his waist, being carried into another room you suppose but it doesn't take very long. Your back hits a bed and you realize he's carried you to your room.

So many nights spent with him here, binging countless shows that are really only entertaining because he's there to watch them with you, him letting you play with his hair and styling it every which way when you're bored and have nothing else to do.

But even bad nights as well. Nights where everything in the world felt so overwhelming, crying in his arms seemed like the only thing that could give you some sort of release. And he'd always be there, waiting and ready for you no matter what mood the day might have put you in.

You arch against him when he begins to mark your neck, right over your carotid artery, moving to the sensitive skin under your ear. You suddenly feel very alone in your nakedness and your patience is wearing thin, your eagerness to see him in all of his glory an emotion that you hadn't realized was so strong.

His chuckle is warm and familiar in your ear, his smile bright and provoking a strange surge of urgency to move through you when he hooks his finger onto the hem of his shirt and pulls it from his body.

You almost want to yell at him, to curse him for ever holding out on you this long. You've seen him shirtless before, he's spent the night and showered at your place plenty. It's just that, now, it's different. Completely different. And you're grateful for the way he allows you to marvel openly.

He's panting while your palms are placed on the lean, tanned planes of his body. From his shoulders to his chest down over his sides, you wish you could kiss every inch of him.

It's when your fingers pass the fine dark hair just under his navel that your eyes finally land upon the intimidating hard on he's sporting, his stare heavy as you go to to undo his button.

He helps you in pushing them down his thighs, before he places his forearms on either side of you, caging you against him while he kicks the garment off. Your hands wander any expanse of his brilliant skin as they can reach, and you know that he's basking in it.

Especially the way you breathe his name when his clothed cock nudges your naked center, reminding you that this is really happening and that he's going to be inside of you.

It's thrill, swirling in your belly, and as potent as pure adrenaline when your curiosity and desire overpowers your nerves and you cup him through his underwear. Your expression gives away your exact thoughts, the unabashed surprise and wonder at feeling him like this.

His eyes seem to darken even more, if possible, as he tongues the inside of his cheek, smug.

"You want it bad, don't you?" He taunts, this side of him making you feel whiny in the best of ways. It causes you to pulse around nothing, the way he peers down at you with such a cocky, avaricious expression.

"Yes, Yuta I want it bad," you wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the soft hairs there as you pull him down to your mouth. "Please fuck me, please."

He grunts, his hand cupping your jaw one second and gone the next. You feel his knuckles graze your pelvis between your bodies, and you realize he's taking his underwear off, the butterflies suddenly in your throat.

You feel it before you see it, bare and naked against you, that is.

It's big. Bigger than you expected, and you already suspected that with confidence like his, it was generous in size. He drags it through your folds, hugged between the softness of your lips, nose nudging your jaw.

"You're so beautiful....m'so lucky baby, so so lucky." He pants, your thighs tight around his torso, heels digging into his lower back. Your cheek is pressed against his hair and the scent of his shampoo calms your raging pulse, your heart is surely giving away just how much this is affecting you.

The tip of his dick grazes your entrance and you throb, bucking up against him in a manner that causes him to groan, further grinding his hips against you and allowing just the head to begin pushing into you - the easier portion of him to take at first - before he suddenly stills.

"Condom, fuck I didn't even think-"

You interrupt his pained admittance, the words spilling from your mouth before he can even finish, your senses overpowered.

"It's okay, just fuck me raw."

This has his body convulsing again, a guttural sound reverberating in his throat as one hand suddenly cups your face, like its as breakable as fine china and as delicate as a honeysuckle. The expression on his beautiful face has you pushing up against the head of his dick again, his jaw tight.

"Don't just say that, please," He fights back the urge to plunge into you all at once, honey eyes locked onto your half lidded gaze as you writhe underneath him. "such a dirty fuckin' mouth, do you really mean that, darling?"

You're nodding fervently but he needs an answer.

"Yes, I mean it I really mean it, Yuta." You whimper, and its the confirmation he needs to continue. Slowly but surely - only as to not hurt you - he's sliding into you, and the stretch is more overwhelming than you thought it'd be, nails digging into his skin.

He watches your expression the entire time, thumb stroking your face and lips kissing the swell of your cheek.

When he's finally bottomed out, the fullness makes it hard to move, though it's not much of a setback when he's being so caring and attentive, prepared to make you feel good.

"Are y-you okay? Does it hurt?" He stutters, expression laced with genuine concern as he swallows. You don't even pretend not to stare at his neck, his chest.

"Just...it's just a lot, you're so big," He stifles a gruff sound in the crook of your neck, your hand rubbing up and down the hot expanse of his smooth back. The discomfort doesn't last long when you're here with him like this. "you can move Yuta, move."

You don't mean to sound so pressing but your body feels touch starved, like you want more and more and more. That desire is fulfilled when he begins to drag himself out of you before pushing back in, clamping his teeth into his bottom lip as he does so.

He's not slow for very long though, not by a long shot. In between making out he's on his haunches, looking down at the sight before him, taking in the squelch of your wetness around his thick cock while you paw at his waist.

It's different, so different and so good. You're all but shell shocked, mouth agape while he rolls his hips into you. Every time he thrusts back into you you’re jolted, squeaking due the depths he's managing to hit.

"Oh baby, you're taking it so well. Knew you would, always knew you would." He's breathless, gripping onto your hips with fervour, kissing you sloppily.

Everything feels so vibrant with him, so visceral. You're barely able to speak coherently, and it's causing a stir within his belly that threatens to burst. You claw at his waist when he thrusts at a particular angle and you keen against him.

"Ooohhh,Yuta Yuta Yuta." You coo, face suddenly covered by your own hands as you feel tears welling in your eyes from the way his bulbous tip massages that spongey spot deep inside of you.

Between just a breath, you're on your stomach, the absence of his dick leaving you feeling all to empty just for a second, before he's plunging back inside.

You fist the sheets while you rock back against him, the sounds leaving his throat deep and resonant. You're not propped all the way up, he knows it might be too much for you like that right now but it's enough. Enough for the dirtiest thoughts and needs to boil inside his blood, to spill from his mouth. Like he can't even help it.

"Mmm, wanna fill you with my cum like this, have you dripping with it. Bet you'd look s-so pretty, fuck." He's dissapearing inside of you at a faster pace and you go limp, his strength too much to try and keep up with along with the fact that his admittance is leaving you even more fucked out than you were before.

"Y-Yes, want you to fill me up Yuta. Oohh!" You're sure his fingertips will leave bruises but you're too gone to think about it, not when he's suddenly got a hand around the back of your neck, front pressed against your back while he pumps himself into you.

"Yeah? Bet you'd like that, walking around being stuffed full. I want you all - shit - all to myself, get you big and swollen." He shudders against your neck when a ripple of pleasure has him momentarily reeling, pace sloppy and fierce. You're gripping onto the sheets for dear life.

"Fill me up, I want you to give me your babies. Want you and only you."

This provokes something inside of him that he hadn't ever thought really existed, at least not when it came to how he would feel in this particular situation. It's a carnal feeling, seeping down his spine and into his hips and has him pistoling into you too fast-

He keeps going as thick ropes of his cum fill you up, more abundantly than you thought possible. You can feel it, the warmth in your insides and even as it trickles out and down the back of your thighs. He kisses the cheek that isn't pressed against the mattress, still groaning while he pumps it into you.

And he doesn't stop.

His dick is still rock hard, covered in his release and your arousal alike and the glide is like silk, the sound loud and invasive and perfect. You're reaching back now, carding your hands through his hair and he senses your need to touch him.

Once again, it's a blur before you realize the position has changed. You're on top of him and his knees are locked underneath you, heels raised on the mattress while he takes you like this from below.

You openly adore him for a second, like this. He's glowing in his post orgasm state, ethereal in all forms. His broad lips are pursed, slightly parted and kiss bitten to a pretty plum shade. His high cheeks match, and his hazy eyes stare up at you with all the admiration in the world.

"You like when I fuck my cum into you like this baby? Gonna make an even bigger mess for me?" He says it so sweetly you feel like you might cry, everything far too much for a moment while you bury your face in the safety of his neck, the scent of his skin sweet and familiar.

All you can do is whine really, the wanton sound pathetic and weak and adorable in every sense. He wants to give you the world more, the moon and stars.

"That's it baby, I got you. You can let go for me, my sweet girl. Bet your little pussy just wants to cum so bad."

His strong arms wrap around your body and cage you to his figure when the pleasure finally overflows, wracking your body like an earthquake and leaving you unable to do anything other than bear it.

He kisses the side of your head, makes sure to circle his hips while you pant his name over and over in his ear, pussy clenching around him and fluttering wildly. He can hardly believe he's actually just gotten to make you fall apart, that he is the one who has you nearly in tears against his chest with his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

He doesn't dare move. Even after a few minutes, you're still shaking and twitching, and he holds you all the while. It's more than perfect, it's everything. That might be dramatic for some but for him, for you, it's like finally coming home.

Because, it's been so long. So long since the moment you two first met, and since you realized that this person was not someone you could live without. For so long, it felt impossible to admit your feelings.

The risk of losing each other was too great, excruciating even.

But now that you're together, in the purest form there is, connected in the most intimate of ways, and he wishes that he would have told you sooner. You both do.

Never again. You'll never slip through each others fingers, ever again.

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savagesbonergarage · 3 years

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ok, i need SMUTTY thrawn. like anything you wanna write

Don't we all 😏

I’m weirdly a little upset with Thrawn right now for ridiculous headspace reasons, so this is gonna be interesting. I think I have a good idea, though...We’ll see how this turns out lol

Update: Wow this has a lot of feelings??? Apparently I needed to get that out of my system *shrug*

A/N - Tried to write this for a gender-neutral reader so let me know how that works 🤐, longer than I expected but what else is new, yeah feelings like I said, but it turns into you domming Thrawn so I think it’s worth it, face-riding, cumming in pants, role-play? kinda?, the smut’s at the end

Thrawn

“Neglect”

“What is this?” you asked with a knowing curiosity and no small amount of irritation in your voice.

You held the painted helmet in your hands, Thrawn’s gaze never leaving it until he eventually answered you through a defeated sigh. “It belonged to one of the rebel captives I’ve been tracking. The boy Jedi.”

“I see...” you retorted unflinchingly, inspecting the crude loth-cat design on the front of it through hardened, yet undeniably sad eyes. “So this is what you’ve been up to this entire time? Spending your vacation working instead of...”

Instead of being with me, like you’d promised.

The chiss finally rose from his seat, although he still couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. He was fully aware of the situation he’d created, of the promises he’d made and failed to keep, and most importantly the lies he’d told in order to continue tracking this particular band of rebels. “I...I apologize for disappointing you.”

You uttered a scoff, nearly rolling your eyes at his words. After finally catching him in the act when he’d sworn he was too tired to stay up with you and was heading straight to bed all these nights, it was difficult not to take this revelation a little personally. Not to mention his superiors had specifically instructed him to use this shore leave to actually relax and enjoy himself after his continuous dedication to the Empire and his duties without fail or complaint - and when he’d arrived with more luggage than usual, you interpreted that to mean that he was intending to stay the entire length of his trip this time with no intention of returning to work early as he typically did - however, that extra baggage was ultimately filled with rebel artifacts that he was fully preparing to study.

“I’m not disappointed, nor am I surprised,” you admitted through a sigh, moving to stand straight across from him with only the width of the helmet between you as you continued, “I don’t know why I was expecting this time to be different from any of the others. I know you. When you’re dedicated to pursuing something, there’s no stopping you or trying to change your mind.”

His lips parted as though he had something to say, but ultimately decided against it. He must have seen through your facade of trying to keep your expression firm as he gently spoke your name, and you silently cursed yourself for never being able to keep a straight face. You caught his hand when he moved to bring it to your cheek, only holding it firmly in mid air as you kept your head down while you asked him the question that had been plaguing your mind for years.

“Are you still pursuing me?”

You clutched his hand even tighter, your frown already shifting into a grimace as you stared straight down into the visor of the helmet. This talk wasn’t one you’d been particularly looking forward to having, especially since you more or less already had a preconceived notion of what his answer would be. Perhaps your relationship really had changed, and rather than voice it outright, Thrawn expected you to determine the status of it through context to avoid having an uncomfortable conversation. It certainly didn’t feel like the two of you were lovers anymore, and with this revelation that he had the time for intimacy if he desired it and was choosing his usual activities over being in your arms, there was little reason to believe otherwise.

The helmet was abruptly removed from your hands and placed elsewhere, with the hand that was holding yours moving to snake around your waist as you felt him pull you against his broad chest. It was a kind gesture, but what you really wanted was a definitive answer.

“Thrawn-”

“I’ve always been adept at coursing after my targets,” he began with an ounce of regret in his somber tone, “yet I find that the ones affecting my career operations tend to take precedence over the ventures in my personal life.”

You’d already known that much, and yet the sinking fear that came with the prospect of the inevitable “it’s not you, it’s me” parting discussion still began to overtake you. It felt like you were going through all the stages of grief all at once - denial, anger, bargaining, depression...but you weren’t ready to accept this just yet. You weren’t sure you ever would be. Anger was definitely occupying the forefront of your mind; anger at Thrawn, anger at the Empire, anger at yourself...you wouldn’t be enduring all of this if you’d never fallen for him in the first place. You just had to go and fall in love with a man that was emotionally and physically unavailable, didn’t you? You’d known at least some extent of what you’d be getting into when you agreed to be his significant other - that your rendezvous together would be short-lived and few and far between, with his work always taking priority over you, but this...knowing that given the choice, given the mandate, he was still choosing the rebels over you...

It hurt.

You were tensing up in his arms, doing all that you could to keep the tears from forming. If only to encourage the transparency you wanted to see from him, you began solemnly pouring your thoughts out against his chest, the release of the words you'd been keeping to yourself for so long aiding in your preemptive recovery somewhat.

"I've often thought about joining the rebellion just to reclaim some of your attention," you admitted, the statement sounding more pathetic to your ears than you'd anticipated, "I've never been an artist, but I like to imagine what it would be like if I made rebel propaganda for you to find. I've wondered if you'd even be able to figure out it was mine, and that with every stroke it was really just me trying to tell you..." ...that I love you.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until you felt yourself involuntarily choking on a sob, and before you could hide your face from him his hands were caressing either side of your jaw and pulling you up into a deep, tender kiss.

How long had it been? When was the last time you felt his touch like this, let alone a kiss? It almost didn't feel real, and you instinctively returned his vigor to make sure it wasn't all just a fantasy. Your tears were stinging against both of your faces now, and Thrawn drew back to wipe them away with the pads of his thumbs. His glowing red eyes were so melancholy, his brows threading into a line as you held his indigo hands to your face and leaned into them, as though the warmth of his skin was a rare sensation that you were savoring to remember back on when you'd be without it again.

"My love..." Thrawn began, his voice soothing as he brought his lips to the tender flesh of your ear, "if I've been so neglectful of your needs that you would become my enemy to be closer to me, then I've failed you so much more exponentially than I ever could have surmised. For that, I am so, so very sorry."

Part of you perked up at the implication that perhaps he wasn't intending to cut ties with you just yet, although it was clear he had much more to say. You brought his hands down to your chest and interlocked your fingers with his, holding onto them for dear life as he continued. "I...I have become consumed by my mission. My mind won't allow me any reprieve unless I've made substantial new discoveries and analyses concerning these rebels on a constant basis. I haven't faced any challenging opposition like them in quite some time, and to feel the invigoration of facing a worthy opponent with the potential to outmaneuver me...it's...addicting."

You listened to his confession intently, relieved to have him opening his heart to you once again. You brought his hands up to your mouth and smiled with amusement before you placed a kiss against them and bore into his concerned gaze with a look of alleviation gracing your own features. “I think I’m beginning to understand where your superiors were coming from when they demanded you take this leave.”

Thrawn’s countenance softened as he returned your smile, even managing something of a titter while he brought your own hands to his lips. “Am I that insufferable?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

He flashed his teeth in an impudent grin, moistening your skin with his lips as he resumed speaking against it. “Reassuring, as always.”

“Thrawn...” you spoke gingerly as the seriousness of the conversation recommenced and you withdrew your hands, rubbing the place where his warmth had just been while you gathered up the courage to proceed with your thoughts, “I need to know where we stand. It would have been stupid of me to expect our relationship to be like anyone else’s...I’ve been aware from the beginning that your duties come first, and I’m perfectly content with that. I want to see you succeed, and I love that you’re so persistent and driven. But...”

“I know,” he interjected, his guilty conscience evident simply by the tone of his voice, “my behavior as of late has been inexcusable. You mean so much more to me than I’ve led you to believe. It has been despicable of me to overlook your wishes in favor of my work when it is unnecessary. I...I love you, and...I’d like to make it up to you.”

Your heart breathed a sigh of relief, remedied by the fact that it still belonged to him. Before you knew it, you were back in his arms in an instant and planting another passionate kiss at the corner of his mouth while you grasped at his light civilian clothing. “Do you mean it?” you asked before he could properly perform the action in return.

“Of course. There are few things I wouldn’t do for you.”

For you, that was about as good as anyone else saying that they would do anything. Some things were off the table, such as leaving the Empire or betraying the Chiss or halting his investigation of the mysterious alien race that posed a threat to the entire galaxy - but other than that, he was yours, and that was more than enough.

“I might already have a few ideas...” you admitted pleasantly, capturing his lips in a more heated kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. His smile granted you more access to the rest of his mouth and you obliged, nipping at his skin and warring with his tongue as both of your actions became more lascivious. It wasn’t long before you felt his warm, strong hands snaking up your bare abdomen while you fumbled with the clasps of his shirt, though it become more difficult to concentrate once he reached your chest and focused his activity there, drawing a moan from deep within your throat. Taking note of your struggle, he briefly took his hands away from you to discard his top and aid you in removing your own.

“I’m intrigued by these ideas, if you wouldn’t mind enlightening me,” Thrawn said as he reached both arms around you to grasp your behind and knead it through the fabric of your pants while he continued to kiss you along your temples and hairline. Your mouth was too busy peppering his pecs with kisses and love-bites to really say much, but that was alright - you were more of a demonstrator, anyway. You brought his hands to your sides and he helped you slide your bottoms down, giving your ass an excited smack once it was bare for him. He attempted to sneak a hand around the supple flesh of your inner thigh and curl a few digits upwards, but you smacked it away.

“Ah-Ah,” you tsked, guiding his arms away from you entirely. He started working at the sealing strip of his own waistband, but again, you stopped him. “No.”

“No?” he asked, a brow raised in amusement but also plenty of genuine confusion.

“No,” you reaffirmed as you stepped completely out of your pant legs and planted your palms onto his chest, pushing against him with enough force to influence him to step backward. The pressure was continuous, so he didn’t stop until his back hit the cool metal of the durasteel wall behind him. “You’ve kept me waiting for a long time, Admiral.”

“I...yes,” he uttered, slightly taken aback by the firmness and determination in your voice, and especially the mocking tone you used with his moniker, although he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy it.

In an impressive display of flexibility, you raised your leg up until your heel rested in the curve of Thrawn’s neck and over his shoulder, holding him in place as you stared him down with an air of dominion. “I’ve lost most of my patience,” you explained as you applied a significant amount of strength down through your foot and into his muscle, indicating once again that he was to move. He did so silently this time, enraptured by your confidence as he slid down until he was sitting on the hard ground. Your foot didn’t let up, adding more pressure as your tone became a little more demanding. “Down. All the way.”

He obliged, shifting downwards so he could lean back onto his forearms and lower himself completely onto the floor. Your foot remained on his shoulder, a smile contorting your face as you could see he was taking in the view and enjoying it, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His eyes eventually met yours, giving you an innocent and questioning look as he spoke.

“Would you like to take this outside of the office? To the bedroom, perhaps?”

“Here’s fine,” you retorted smugly, and for a moment your attention was captured again by the painted rebel helmet that was perched atop the desk beside you. You took it, examining the artwork on the front one more time before you smirked at the curious Chiss beneath you and donned it upon your head. His breath hitched when you suddenly dropped to your knees over his chest and slid your hand around to the apex of his skull, lightly grabbing a fistful of previously perfectly slicked-back hair before gazing straight down into his crimson orbs.

“Are you still curious?” you asked with an inflection of authority.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion before he spoke lowly, just above a whisper. “I believe I understand.”

“Good,” you began, positioning yourself directly over his face as you pulled his head forward so that the tip of his nose was only centimeters away from the source of your pulsing heat, “...you kriffing Imp.”

With that, you saddled his face and sighed when you felt the hot wetness of his mouth envelop you, the room quickly filling with the sounds of the obscene slurps and smacks of his ministrations on your flesh. Your other hand grasped another lock of his hair as you bucked against him, his tongue finding all your most sensitive spots as it darted over them, and all the while you carefully supported his neck while he fucked you religiously with his face. You looked down at the master tactician through half-lidded eyes before throwing your head back in ecstasy, feeling the creep of your climax edging closer and closer. You were having a difficult time catching your breath, and eventually you decided that this sensation ought to be somewhat mutual.

You reached your hand back behind you and starting palming Thrawn’s erection through the fabric of his pants, earning an approving sigh between your legs as you stimulated the head through the still-expanding wet stain of his precum. You jerked him as well as you could in tandem with his movements, struggling to suppress the moans and expletives that erupted from your lips as he went at you even harder. His hands gripped your hips with a cautious desperation as both of your breaths became increasingly ragged, and it wasn’t long before your thighs were quivering against his ears as your orgasm crashed over you in waves of absolute pleasure. Your gasps of euphoria coupled with the intensified friction of your touch had Thrawn stilling and slightly jerking his hips not long after, finally leaning his head back away from your entrance as his face flushed while he came in his pants.

The both of you relaxed as you were overtaken by the surge of your highs, and after a while you managed to shift downward so that you were straddling his waist as you removed the helmet and set it aside. You returned your attention to the handsome, feverish warrior panting beneath you and moved a stray strand of his mussed hair back into place. You leaned forward and kissed him gently on his swollen lips, not minding the taste of yourself as you rested on top of him and listened to the accelerated beating of his heart together with yours.

And when his arms wrapped around you while he planted a loving kiss on your forehead, you looked up at the ceiling and pondered just how much work he’d get done the next time he studied that helmet.

#thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawn smut #lemon #star wars rebels #star wars x reader #star wars smut

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reyescarlos · 3 years

Text

someone to you || a tarlos fic

read on ao3 || word count: 6.1k

Summary:

Ever since the start of the semester, Carlos has been harboring a crush on the cute guy in his weekly lecture. When the boy begins appearing at the coffee shop Carlos works at, attending weekly open mic nights, Carlos finds himself falling a little bit more with each song. After one slightly awkward introduction, Carlos goes from being unknown to seen. With a friendship fully in place, Carlos' feelings only grow but he slowly starts to see that maybe, just maybe, he isn't alone in thinking they could be something more.

story mood board by: @sunshinestrand literally just reposting this story because Paige surprised me and blessed me with this graphic and it needs to be seen! thank you so much, my love! I loved writing this fic for you. now we’ve come full circle 💜💕

I’ll make the moon shine just for your view I’ll make the starlight circle the room And if you feel like night is falling I wanna be the one you’re calling

“If you don’t say something to him one of these days, I just might lose my mind,” Michelle says with a sigh as she approaches the counter where Carlos is standing.

He chews absentmindedly on his bottom lip as he looks over at TK. Everything to the guy is so effortless. Somehow he makes sitting down in a coffee shop look like an ad as he holds up his mug aloft and laughs at something one of his friends says.

Carlos would give anything to have that kind of access to TK, to be able to share in jokes and to simply know him. Carlos is fairly certain TK doesn’t even know they’re in the same lecture every Tuesday. But even in a hall filled with students, Carlos is always able to spot him, constantly dialed into his frequency like his favorite radio station.

Realizing that he’s been blatantly staring, Carlos clears his throat and looks away, mindlessly pouring sugar into a dispenser.

“It’s just a stupid crush. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Michelle rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well the way I see you gawk at him every week he shows up here says otherwise.”

Carlos can’t help it. In their class TK almost never speaks but each time he makes it out to an open mic, Carlos gets treated to TK quite literally under a spotlight, up on stage singing and playing his guitar or the keyboard.

“He’s really good. I like his sound is all.”

“Is that a euphemism?” Michelle teases, bumping her hip against Carlos’ as she passes by him. “I think it’s safe to say you like his everything.”

He jokingly glares at her before laughing. She’s definitely not wrong about that. Carlos has been crushing quietly since he first saw TK in their lecture at the start of term a little over two months ago. TK has been coming to open mic nights here at the cafe for the last month. Each week he performs, Carlos feels himself fall a little harder, swept up in his beautiful voice. Whether TK performs original music or a cover of something, he always brings the house down.

Michelle glances at her watch. “Oh, I have to start in just a few. Are you okay up here?”

“Yeah, I can tackle the counter. You go ahead.”

She pats his arm once with a smile before moving from behind the counter to head towards the stage to double check the microphones and setup for the evening’s session. He turns his focus back on refilling the dispensers in front of him. A shadow casts suddenly over the countertop, darkening his work area. Carlos looks up, his hand jerking forward in surprise to see TK smiling at him. Sugar spills against the surface, Carlos quickly tipping the bag upright to stem the flow.

“Shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” TK says, grabbing a tissue and trying to clean up the grains of sugar.

Carlos grabs a dry rag from under the counter and wipes it away.

“No worries. It’s cool. Uh, can I get anything for you?” he asks, looking back at TK, doing his best to ignore the way his heart is hammering. This isn’t how he pictured his first substantial interaction with TK to go but he saves face as best he can.

“Could I trouble you for a scone?” TK says, jutting at the case with his thumb.

Carlos holds his breath and nods, clearing his throat, picking up the tongs and a plate. “Yeah, sure thing.”

TK smiles and Carlos can feel something inside his chest melt at the sight. Before he can dwell on it or potentially embarrass himself by randomly saying something to prolong the moment, he quickly puts the pastry on the dish. TK already has his card out, ready to pay for it.

Carlos ignores the slight tremble in his hands as he takes it, mentally reprimanding himself for getting so worked up over his brief and truly mundane conversation with TK.

“Here you go,” he says, handing back TK’s card and pushing the plate toward him.

TK thanks him and Carlos thinks that’s the end of their interaction until TK looks up again and eyes him thoughtfully.

“I feel like I know you.”

The phrasing makes his breath catch in his throat but he quickly realizes what TK actually means.

“We have a class together, don’t we?”

“Astronomy,” Carlos supplies.

TK snaps his fingers and points at him. “Right, yes. That’s it. Man, that was really bugging me. I knew I recognized you from somewhere other than here. It’s good to see you…”

“Carlos.”

“Carlos,” he repeats as if weighing the syllables on his tongue. “I’m TK. It’s nice to meet you officially.”

“Yeah, you too.”

The house lights dim and both TK and Carlos snap their heads towards the stage where Michelle approaches the microphone.

“Hello and welcome to open mic night here at Déjà Brew,” she greets. There’s a warm round of applause and eager cheering from the crowd gathered.

“It’s always so great seeing so many familiar faces and new ones alike. There are still slots available. Our sign up sheet will remain here just offstage for anyone that would like to perform,” she says, gesturing to her left. “Without further ado, please help me welcome one of our favorite regulars to the stage…Mr. TK Strand. Take it away, sir,” she muses.

TK turns back to Carlos and looks as if he wants to say something but the crowd is already giving him a warm, welcoming applause. He quickly takes his scone and hurries back to his table where one of his friends is holding out his guitar for him.

Carlos lets out a breath as TK approaches the stage and settles on the stool positioned right in the center of it. A few people whoop and cheer for him once again now that he’s situated. TK laughs coyly but the microphone sends his chuckle throughout the room.

“Thank you for that lovely intro, Michelle. Very flattering; I love being a favorite but really, who doesn’t?” he jokes, earning a few laughs. “I was debating what to play tonight. I’ve been working on some new stuff but finally settled on just going for one of my favorite songs by one of my favorite artists. This is The Girl by City and Colour, bastardized by me.”

There are a few more laughs, TK personable as ever that he makes each person feel like they’re old friends. Anyone who has ever heard him play knows there’s no way he won’t knock this cover out of the park.

From the first string TK plucks, the room is completely his. Carlos watches his fingers move expertly along the fretboard. It’s a real sight to see and as Carlos looks away from TK’s hands to his face, he can see just how much fun he’s having with the playful opening melody.

TK gets close to the mic and starts to sing and instantly Carlos leans closer, arms folded on the counter as he watches TK in action. There isn’t a single person speaking quietly to a friend or distracted by their phone. All eyes are glued to the musician on stage. Carlos could listen to TK play all day and never grow tired of the sound. It’s remarkable how his voice floats and cloaks the room, each note nestling in his chest like seeds.

The audience erupts into applause as TK’s final note rings out. He smiles to himself before looking out at the crowd.

“Thank you so much,” he says into the mic before slipping off his guitar and hopping down from the low stage.

Carlos can’t help but to smile as people TK passes give him thumbs up or murmur compliments as he returns to the table with his friends.

Michelle gets back on stage and introduces the next person on the sign up sheet.

The next performer is great but Carlos knows he’s more than a little biased in saying that TK will be the best person to hit the stage tonight.

He chances a glance over at TK and sees that TK is looking at him as he breaks off a piece of his scone. Carlos quickly looks away and focuses on other tasks throughout the rest of his shift, ones that don’t include keeping tabs on the comings and goings of a certain musician.

The night comes to a close, marking yet another successful open mic night. Given that it’s Friday, most of the crowd dissipated as the evening progressed to perhaps party or hang out elsewhere. TK and his friends opted to stay for the entire session, as they almost always do, showing support to each performer who graced the stage.

As TK and his group begin to file out for the night, Carlos waves them off as they say their thanks for another fun night at the shop. Carlos turns his back for a moment to replenish silverware when he hears the quick rap of knuckles on the counter. He turns and is greeted to TK’s bright and open smile up close for the second time this evening.

“So, I’ll see you on Tuesday, right?” he says, hitching the strap of his guitar case up his shoulder.

Brought up short at TK essentially singling him out just then, Carlos nods slowly before he finds his voice again.

“Yeah, definitely. I’ll uh, I’ll see you next week.”

“Cool. Have a good night, Carlos,” TK replies simply with the smile that hasn’t left his face. He knocks on the counter once as if to punctuate his sentence and slinks away to join his friends just outside of the shop.

“Looks like you made it onto someone’s radar tonight,” Michelle sing-songs, settling in beside him.

Carlos stares out the window at TK with his friends, one guy nudging his arm as they begin to walk away. Once they’re out of view, Carlos turns back to look at her.

“He’s just being nice.”

“Denial runs deep in you, doesn’t it?” she teases, shaking her head. “Come on, let’s try and finish up so you can have some of the night to yourself, loverboy.”

~*~*~

On Tuesday Carlos makes sure he shows up early for his lecture, standing outside of the hall doors waiting for the group before him to clear out. Today has the potential to be so different from all the other lectures that have come before it. This Tuesday in particular marks the first time TK will truly know of his existence in the hall too.

He tries to settle his nerves by reading news on his phone but he’s too anxious to focus on the words for long. He gives up with a sigh, tucking his phone into his pocket when TK comes bounding toward him with a bemused smile.

“I was hoping you’d come early, too. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much on Friday,” TK says, completely blowing past any formal greeting. Carlos is taken aback by that candor.

“Yeah, I guess not. You were great, by the way. I mean, you always are but…I really liked your performance. I’ve pretty much been listening to the song on a loop since Friday so thanks for the rec.”

Carlos’ heart nosedives as he realizes what he’s just disclosed so openly. But TK doesn’t appear to think it an odd statement. His face lights up, genuinely pleased.

“Oh yeah? That’s awesome.”

“You’ve got great taste in music though, I guess that really shouldn’t be surprising.”

TK laughs. “I’d be majoring in the wrong field if I didn’t, that’s for sure.”

Before Carlos can reply, the doors to the lecture hall open, students filing out into the hallway. Carlos thinks this kills off the chance of speaking to TK still but the guy stays close to him once the doors are clear enough for them to enter too.

“Hey, do you mind if I sit with you today?” TK asks.

Carlos quickly shakes his head. “Uh, no. Not at all.”

He heads up the flight of stairs in the hall, taking up his usual seat. The one beside him is typically home for his backpack but today it’s TK’s frame that settles into the chair.

Carlos takes covert glances at him from the corner of his eye. It was truly so much easier to look at him when he was across the hall these last few weeks. This close up, it’s much harder to sneak and get an open look. But just sitting beside him makes Carlos so acutely aware of TK’s movements.

As the lecture starts, he zones out in favor of taking notice each time TK toys with the strings on his hoodie or his leg bounces restlessly.

The hour and a half passes in a blur and Carlos is surprised to look down and realize he actually still managed to take a decent amount of notes. Their professor reminds them of an upcoming assignment to which TK groans and quickly writes something down in his book, underlining it twice.

“I totally spaced on that.”

“Was that meant to be an astronomy pun?” Carlos cringes at himself but TK laughs heartedly.

“That was a good one.” He closes his notebook and puts it back into his bag, Carlos following suit and packing up his things as well. “But seriously, I completely forgot the deadline was coming up so quickly.”

“I could…if you need someone to go through it with you or anything, I could help,” he offers.

“Carlos, that’s so sweet of you but you don’t have to do that. I got myself into this mess. I’ll figure something out. But, I mean, maybe I could get your number just in case I hit a snag or something?”

The quick turnaround from feeling rejected to elated is jarring but Carlos smiles and says, “Definitely, yeah.”

TK flashes a smile back and takes his phone out, unlocking it before surrendering it to Carlos to create a new contact. When Carlos is done, he hands the phone back to TK who looks at the newest addition to his phone.

“Cool.” TK sends him a quick text. “Just in case you need to get in touch with me for any reason before then, now you can.”

That phrasing sounds like a challenge, as if TK is now tipping the ball into his court.

“I’ll keep that in mind ,” he says.

~*~*~

Texting with TK becomes such a part of Carlos’ daily routine now. It’s to the point where he comes to expect a message from TK each time his phone buzzes as they’ve had a pretty consistent chain going all week. TK’s most recent text, however, wasn’t a Spotify link to a song he thought Carlos might like but rather an SOS to help him complete his astronomy assignment. The message was followed with TK’s building and room number and the entire walk across campus is spent with Carlos’ heart racing until he’s knocking at TK’s door.

“Thank you,” TK immediately says as he lets Carlos in. “I almost didn’t text you to come over but I’m pretty sure I’ve been doing this wrong.”

Carlos looks around the room as he steps in, clearly picking up on which side is TK’s. There are guitar picks and sheet music on one of the desks, two guitar cases leaning against the wall by the foot of one bed. Above the bed itself is a stylish black and white map of Manhattan. Carlos smiles to himself seeing these traces of TK in the space.

“You can grab a seat,” TK says, gesturing to the desk chair. TK sits at the foot of the bed, a small gap of space separating them.

The air feels charged but Carlos is certain that’s all in his head. Being alone in TK’s room is worlds away from sitting beside him during their lectures.

“Okay, let’s see what you have so far,” Carlos says, determined to focus on the task at hand.

They work for about two hours, getting distracted with cracking jokes every now and then and talking about random things as they eventually end up on the floor with papers and charts spread out between them. It’s a mess but Carlos looks over all that they have and draws one very clear conclusion.

“We did it. You’re officially done.”

TK throws his hands up in victory and laughs, flopping down to rest his back on the floor and stare up at the ceiling.

“Holy shit. Thank you. Again. You’re a lifesaver; I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He turns his head to look at Carlos who merely shrugs.

But Carlos can’t deny how good it feels to be of help and save TK from the stress he’s been feeling with this assignment hanging over his head. TK is looking at him as if he’s a saint or something. Carlos can feel the back of his neck warming up and busies himself with gathering the sheets of paper around them to avoid looking at TK for even a moment longer before that blush spreads to his face.

“What are friends for, right?” he says, only daring to look back at TK now that he’s collected himself.

TK eyes him thoughtfully and Carlos holds his breaths as he waits to see what TK will have to say.

“Lucky me for having you as mine.”

~*~*~

TK has been frequenting the shop more often than his usual Friday nights. Now Carlos has come to expect him here and there but on Sundays mostly where the crowd is far less dense and the evenings are slowgoing enough that Carlos can actually linger behind the counter and chat with him. It’s become a common occurrence for TK to plant himself at one of the elevated seats and work on assignments. More often than not, the books get neglected for long stretches of time. It’s a comfortable routine, one that Carlos has been finding himself growing dependent on.

TK helps him clean up for the night, offering to sweep while Carlos closes out the registers. They don’t speak much as they focus on their tasks but there’s a comfort in just having TK there, to look up from counting the till to see him moving about the room. This coffee shop really belongs to them in their own ways and now they’ve managed to find yet another way to make it special.

Carlos gets back to his closing duties as TK volunteers to put the trash out back. While he’s gone, Carlos makes a quick to-go cup of green tea, TK’s usual, as thanks. TK comes back in and heads over to wash his hands in the bathroom.

When he returns, he joins Carlos at the counter who pushes the cup forward.

“For your hard work tonight,” Carlos says.

TK smirks and picks it up, bringing the cup to his mouth. “If you keep this up, you may never get rid of me.”

“Ah, so you’re on to me then.” The words slip from his lips so easily but TK doesn’t seem put off. Instead the boy smiles into his cup as he takes a sip.

Relieved, Carlos takes his store keys out of his bag and heads for the door. TK steps out as he flips off the switch, the shop plunged in darkness as he locks back.

“Thanks again for sticking around and helping me,” he says as they begin to head back to campus. “You really didn’t have to do any of that.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s the least I could do. You completely saved my ass last week and besides, it was just…nice. I like hanging out with you.”

Carlos bites the inside of his cheek to keep from breaking out into a ridiculous grin. He feels like he’s in middle school again with just how much he’s been crushing on TK but he can’t help it. His stomach always seems to do cartwheels when TK is around, especially when he makes statements like this.

They walk alongside each other in comfortable silence for a time. Carlos does his best not to keep stealing glances at TK but it’s easier said than done. A few times he’s caught TK looking at him which throws him off guard but it’s certainly not unwelcome.

“How old were you when you started playing?” he asks as they near campus.

“I always sort of grew up around the piano. My mom played and she had one in the apartment so I’d sit with her sometimes and she taught me a few things here and there. But I didn’t start taking it really seriously until I was about seven, maybe eight. It was our thing, you know? My parents…things with them went south and she was busy a lot with work. But whenever we did get to check in with each other, we’d find ourselves on the piano bench together. I loved that time with her, even though it became harder and harder to come by the older I got.”

Carlos smiles a bit sadly. But, he thinks, it says a lot that TK is able to be so candid with him about his upbringing. It’s pretty personal insight and yet TK extends it to him so freely. He supposes TK may just be an open guy in general but it still means a lot to be trusted in this manner.

“Wow, that took a turn, I’m sorry,” TK laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“No, it’s okay, really. I don’t mind at all.” TK nods at this and continues after a beat.

“I got my first guitar on my tenth birthday from my dad. I think he was trying to speak our language in his own way and I really appreciated it. I took to that pretty well and became a bit obsessed, clearly. Totally thought I was going to be a kid rockstar,” he jokes. “Anyway, music’s always been there for as long as I can remember.”

“That’s really cool, TK. Most people go on a long journey to find the thing that’s right for them but your passion found you early on.”

Carlos’ building comes into view and each step towards it fills him with utter dread. They’ve already managed to stretch this night but greedily, it’s still not enough for him.

As they come to a stop outside the doors to his building, TK stares at him and for a wild moment, Carlos thinks TK might kiss him. TK does lean in but it’s to give a hug, one in which Carlos gladly reciprocates.

“It was great getting to hang out with you tonight. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too,” Carlos replies, subtly drawing in a breath and breathing TK in as they embrace.

TK begins to pull away after a moment and places a soft kiss on Carlos’ cheek.

Carlos is sure his face flushes and he’s all too grateful for the cover of night to disguise it. They both avoid each other’s gaze for a second before laughing a bit. TK stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Carlos tries to remember how to form a sentence.

“Goodnight, TK,” he says softly.

TK searches his eyes for a moment, almost pensively before smiling faintly.

“Goodnight, Carlos. Sweet dreams.”

~*~*~

Carlos has not been able to shake his walk home with TK. Each time he thinks about it, he can practically feel TK’s lips on his cheek. It was such a modest kiss, a quick peck that probably didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things and yet, it’s all he can think about.

On Tuesday they sat beside each other, same as always and have continued chatting regularly through texts. Neither has made even the smallest hint or mention of what happened Sunday night. It makes Carlos wonder if he’s been blowing this out of proportion or if TK is just as clueless on what comes next as he is.

The latter seems almost comical. TK is perhaps the smoothest, most confident guy he knows. If he wanted to progress things further, he would have already.

Carlos does his best not to stare now at TK’s table. Friday night has rolled around once again and while Carlos is excited to see TK perform, it’s hard to see him and not feel transported back to Sunday night. The phantom sensation of that chaste kiss has kept him up every night this week.

“You okay?” Michelle asks, pulling Carlos from his thoughts.

Carlos blinks twice and nods. “Yeah, just tired I guess.” His eyes flicker to where TK is seated.

Something about him seems off tonight. Normally he’d be the liveliest one at the table but TK seems withdrawn.

Michelle makes a noncommittal hum but says nothing else on the matter and Carlos is grateful for it. She excuses herself to start tonight’s event.

He busies himself with customers who approach the counter as the evening kicks off, the backdrop of performers truly background noise as he works.

Michelle calls TK to the stage when it’s his turn and immediately Carlos zeroes in on his table. TK’s friend pats him on the back before letting out a whoop as he settles up on stage before the keyboard.

“Hey, guys. This one’s been playing on my mind a lot these days. Figured I should do something with it and free it somehow. So, yeah. This is Bloodstream by Stateless.”

TK clears his throat and it’s strange but for the first time, the young man actually looks and sounds nervous. He looks over at Carlos who smiles encouragingly. TK blinks twice and looks down at the keys, brows deepened before playing.

The melody he plays is eerie but beautiful, Carlos’ interest all the more piqued as TK’s fingers strike deftly. The song is haunting, TK’s voice much more gravelly than usual and it’s all so captivating that Carlos holds his breath as he listens.

I think I might’ve inhaled you I could feel you behind my eyes

“Gee, wonder who this one is for,” Michelle says, coming up beside him at the counter for a glass of water.

Carlos can’t even offer a response as he continues to watch TK. The guy’s eyes are closed as he croons into the mic, his shoulders bouncing as he strikes the right notes.

He feels goosebumps watching TK perform and can’t help but to hope there’s some validity in what Michelle is not so subtly hinting at.

TK tinkers around on the keyboard for the last few notes, his eyes landing on Carlos for the briefest of seconds as the audience claps for him. He thanks them and rises from his seat, hopping off the stage and returning to his table— but not without another look at Carlos before he sits once more with his friends.

Carlos feels shaken, his heart ricocheting like a pinball.

He hopes so fiercely that TK’s performance was a declaration of some kind but the night ends for the first time since they’ve befriended each other with an awkward smile and wave from a distance as TK and his friends leave.

Carlos isn’t sure what to make of any of this.

~*~*~

The strange energy doesn’t last long. The very next day TK shoots him a random humorous text and Carlos is glad for the ice breaker as it allows them to get back on track. They easily fall into their usual routine and as the week progresses, the night at the shop soon seems like a lifetime away.

TK invites Carlos to his dorm to hang out Wednesday afternoon and Carlos is all too happy to accept, taking advantage of his free time to head over to TK’s building.

From what he can discern, TK’s roommate is the next best thing to living alone. The guy is never in the room, leaving Carlos with uninterrupted time to just talk and be around TK any time he visits.

TK sits at the foot of the bed with his guitar, plucking out a melody for a song he’s been working on and hoping to debut at open mic. He’s got a pencil trapped between his teeth as he plays, stopping occasionally to jot down a note in the open book beside him. It’s fascinating to watch his process from his spot in the middle of TK’s bed, seeing how he develops an idea from a mere thought to an actual song, to something tangible.

“I hope this one goes over well on Friday,” TK mutters, moreso to himself.

“I know it will. Everyone loves you there and your songs are always a huge hit. This won’t be any different.”

TK smiles warmly at his sentiment. “Thanks. It’s always a bit nerve wracking to perform something new and original but it’s pretty exciting, too.”

Carlos shakes his head and laughs, resting his back against the wall.

“I could never do what you do.”

TK finger picks without even looking at the fret as he eyes Carlos quizzically.

“What? Play or perform?”

“Both. I love music but I don’t have the talent for learning. And performing? Ha, there’s no way you’d ever catch me in front of a crowd. But every week you get up there and knock it out of the park. It’s incredible though.”

TK’s mouth twists to the side slightly before he sets his guitar back into its case on the ground and turns to face Carlos again.

“Lay down,” TK says unexpectedly. Carlos is sure his expression must be bewildered because TK laughs and rolls his eyes. “I’m not about to steal your virtue. Just…settle back for a second.”

Carlos does as he’s instructed and stretches out on TK’s bed completely, his head coming to rest on the guy’s pillow. TK’s scent is everywhere and with the young man smiling over him now as he sits just to the left of him on the edge of the small bed, it’s enough to make his head spin and heart stop. He stares at him as TK speaks.

“Playing is a lot easier than you might think. It’s all about proper placement and timing.” He sets his fingertips against Carlos’ ribcage like they’re keys on a piano.

Carlos searches his face as TK mimics playing and hums a melody. It sounds familiar to Carlos but he can’t place it; it’s something classical, he knows. But his main focus is on TK’s light touches, each press of his fingertips like ripples on the surface of water. His long fingers skate up and down Carlos’ side as TK continues to play as if he’s on a Steinway.

It’s a marvel watching his expression. It’s all make-believe but Carlos has no doubt TK can see it all as clear as day in his mind’s eyes, the ivory and black keys. Though his gaze is fixed on TK’s face, the young man doesn’t lose his own focus and doesn’t catch Carlos’ eye until the final note.

“See? Nothing to it,” TK says, eyes shining with amusement.

It isn’t a conscious decision, that much Carlos knows as he sits up slowly and inches closely to TK, his hand cupping the nape of his neck. He doesn’t typically make bold moves but the draw he feels to TK is simply too much to ignore now.

TK falls silent and stares at him but doesn’t move away, his lips parting. After a beat, he draws nearer as well. Their noses touch, Carlos nuzzling gently before bringing his mouth to TK’s. That first press sends a spark shooting down his spine but Carlos doesn’t hurry or balk at the sensation. He relishes in the slight shiver that runs through TK, the small intake of breath, happy to see that he feels this thrill too. His fingers card gently at the back of TK’s hair, curling around the strands as he continues to kiss him.

TK’s hands encircle his waist, pulling him closer and Carlos is pliant as ever, melding against the man’s frame. The kiss grows gradually, moving from tentative to assured, both guys shedding away any hesitancy and owning the moment.

It’s easy for Carlos to get swept away in kissing TK. His lips are proving themselves to be skilled at more than just offering beautiful smiles.

When TK breaks first, his eyes are still closed and Carlos can’t help but to stare, smiling softly at him when he finally reopens them.

“That’s what playing feels like,” TK says quietly. “An electric rush.”

Carlos’ face burns but TK doesn’t tease him for it. Instead he leans in and kisses Carlos’ cheeks, his forehead, the tip of his nose. This draws out a laugh from Carlos, a note so carefree and unguarded he’s almost surprised it’s ripped from him.

He smiles shyly and rests his forehead against TK’s, settling down and simply breathing him in. His hand finds its way once more to the nape of TK’s neck, skimming his fingertips lightly against his scalp. TK seems to appreciate the subtle touch, his eyes fluttering briefly. It’s almost hard for Carlos to wrap his mind around the fact that he’s capable of any real effect on TK and yet, the proof is laid out right before him.

All these weeks of getting to know him as more than just the cute guy in a shared class or the talented performer who frequents open mic nights. All these weeks of truly getting to know him and falling even more, they haven’t been one-sided.

“I see why you like performing so much now. I could get used to this feeling.”

TK laughs and places another kiss on his lips. It takes everything in Carlos not to get too carried away but it’s certainly tempting. TK, a musician through and through, knows what to do with his hands. Placement and timing, as he said before.

He’s able to draw out sounds from Carlos like any of his instruments, a sigh, a moan, a whimper. Carlos’ lips feel swollen by the time they break apart for good, his head in a fog.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks now,” TK says.

“Yeah?”

TK rolls his eyes jokingly. “You know, I don’t usually go around serenading guys at open mic nights, right?”

“So, that really was for me then?”

“You thought I was singing that about some other guy? Seriously?”

Carlos shrugs a shoulder, looking down until TK lifts his chin gently. He stares into his blue-green eyes and finds the confidence to keep going.

“It felt too good to be true that you may have been dedicating it to me. I thought—I mean, I’ve been hoping but was too scared to ask. In case you aren’t aware, you’re a very attractive and ridiculously talented guy, TK. You could have your pick of anyone.”

“Just like you could. Easily, Carlos. You’re such a catch. I’ve spent weeks hoping you liked me back. I was out of my mind nervous up there. It seemed like a great idea beforehand but actually being on stage and seeing you watching me? I almost chickened out but I knew my friends wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I did. And, honestly? I wanted to get my feelings for you out there somehow. Music is always my fallback so, seemed like the best bet.”

Carlos shakes his head and draws in a deep breath, letting it out in a gust.

“It was beautiful, TK. Absolutely beautiful. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”

TK gives him a small smile, looking down and playing with Carlos’ hand. “Since we met, I’ve just wanted to matter to you. Is that weird to say?” he asks, pulling his gaze upward.

Carlos shakes his head. “No, not at all. I actually liked you before we even met,” Carlos admits. “You’ve always been someone to me, TK. Never doubt that because I get the feeling that you always will be.”

TK searches his eyes, relief flooding his features before he leans in and kisses him again. Carlos serves it right back, pulling TK against him as he sinks back against the man’s bed. It’s light, it’s playful with soft laughter and even softer kisses. It’s safe and comfortable to hand this vulnerable side over and trust it will be protected.

All in all, Carlos finds, it’s simply natural to be this way, to fall for this beautiful boy and his beautiful music that makes him feel like a work of art to TK in his own right.

#tarlos #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #tarlos fic #ronenrubinstein #userjilly #userthai #useralie #userbones #userjillian #tuserjamie #usermaximus #reyeslonestartag #kimmy writes

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iceeckos12 · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Jongerrymartin but make it noir.

HI PIT. this was probably not what you were expecting, but hope you enjoy *jazz hands* this is current jongerry, pre-jgm

please let me know if i should tag anything!

Martin stared up at the faded gold lettering painted on the door, wiping a clammy palm against the fabric of his trousers. The other gripped his manila folder tightly, refusing to loosen his grip for even a second, not after all the trouble he’d gone through to get it.

Delano & Sims, the words read. Private Detectives.

He’d talked to one of them over the phone yesterday, a man with an achingly posh accent, who’d said to come at precisely fourteen hundred hours and not a moment later. That clipped, dry tone had almost been enough to scare him off, but...no, he needed this too much to run away.

Martin took a deep breath, and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called, and he pushed inside.

The first thing he noticed were the swirls of cigarette smoke so thick that the weak light overhead glowed a thin silver. His eyes immediately began to water at the intensity of the smell, and he desperately wanted to bury his nose in his collar.

There was an exasperated sigh from one shrouded corner of the room, and then, “Christ—Jon, open the window, would you?”

“Oh, right, sorry,” There was a clatter as the blinds lifted, and then a solid thunk, and suddenly fresh air and natural light was pouring through the open window, throwing the room in stark relief.

“Sorry about that,” the man next to the window said, leaning heavily on a handsome wooden cane. He was just a wisp of a thing, dressed in a sweater vest like he was some sort of professional academic, with salt and pepper grey hair and dark, keen eyes. “Forgot we had someone coming.”

This must be the person I talked to over the phone, Martin realized. Sims.

“Do me a favor and try not to kill our clients, Jon.” He quickly turned to look at Delano—who else could it be?—who was stepping away from the fan now juddering to life, swirling the quickly dissipating smoke. It was almost startling how different the two partners were; where Sims was thin and short, Delano was tall and wiry, with inky black hair and cool, gunmetal eyes. The weathered leather trench coat and chunky boots had obviously seen some better days. “We need all the ones we can get.”

Martin’s face flushed as he was struck by how unfairly attractive these two people were.

“Duly noted,” Sims drawled, limping over to the heavy desk stacked high with papers. He set the cane aside and propped himself against it with a quiet sigh, then gestured toward one of the ratty looking chairs. “Take a seat, Mr. Blackwood.”

Martin shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, I don’t…”

“No need to stand on decorum, not around here.” Delano pointedly plopped into the chair behind the desk, grin wide and toothy. “Jon just likes to pretend that we’re more professional than we actually are.”

“We’re professional,” Sims protested, sounding deeply offended. “Just...unorthodox.”

“Well, alright,” Martin said, and lowered into the surprisingly comfortable chair.

Delano cleared his throat. “Right. So what brings you to us, Mr. Blackwood?”

Martin thought for a moment, not wanting to speak rashly, or to give away anything too personal. “Well, I’ve heard rumors that you two are capable of...discretion, so to speak, and I would prefer that this doesn’t get spread around.”

“Ah.” Sims’ eyes quickly flicked up and down his body, one eyebrow raising. “Out of curiosity, can I ask who referred you to us?”

“Tim Stoker?” Martin shuffled. “He said that you helped him out of a similar bind not too long ago.”

Sims and Delano glanced at each other, their eyebrows doing a complicated little dance, though what information could’ve been conveyed through such a medium, Martin had no clue. They turned to look at him again in unison, expressions very serious.

“When you say similar…” Delano trailed off.

Martin immediately shook his head. “Oh, nothing to do with the Circus. I’m not stupid enough to get involved with them after what happened with Tim and his brother.”

They both relaxed immediately.

“That’s good for you,” Delano told him. “We’ve run afoul of Nikola and her merry band far too many times for comfort. If you’d said you’d gotten on her bad side, I’m afraid we would’ve had to ask you to leave.”

Martin glanced at Sims, who was staring very hard at his feet, then Delano, who was observing him calmly, patiently, the way a bird of prey sights down a mouse. “Oh.”

“Quite,” Sims murmured.

“Anyway,” Delano gave a wide, grandiose gesture. “Please. Why have you come to us?”

The manila folder suddenly felt very, very heavy, and he fiddled with one of the corners, rubbing the material between his fingers. “Well...I work for this, um, this shipping company. I mostly do busywork, administrative tasks, that sort of thing. It’s not very glamorous, but it—it pays really well, despite the company being kind of small.” Martin traced the grain of the paper with one finger. “I think it handles a lot of….specialty items.”

“And the name of this company?” Sims asked, pen poised over the little notebook he’d appeared from seemingly nowhere.

Anxiety plummeted his stomach into his toes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel comfortable giving away that information.”

Delano’s eyebrows rose. “Discretion, remember? Besides, we’ll need to know if we’re going to be able to help you.”

“If we decide to help you,” Sims muttered.

Martin took a few fortifying breaths, swallowing the nausea down. “Right,” he murmured. “Right. It’s, um...Tundra shipping company? Run by Mr. Peter Lukas.”

Sims went very, very still, pen poised above his notebook, expression fixed like it’d been molded into his face. Delano loomed forward, the gunmetal of his eyes gleaming like the sun reflecting off of a loaded barrel. “Is that so?”

Martin glanced toward Sims, wondering at his demeanor, then turned back to Delano and nodded. “Yeah. You two—you know him?”

“Do we.” Delano let out a dry chuckle. “Continue.”

“Right.” Martin shook his head. “Well, one day I was doing some bookkeeping, just...routine stuff, you know? But I noticed something off with the numbers, like...really wrong. And I double checked my math several times just to make sure, but…” he swallowed. “I think that someone may be cooking the books, or...or something. I don’t know.

“Anyway, I went back the next day but the numbers had been changed, and—and Mr. Lukas called me into his office and said some really weird stuff that I think may have been a threat? It was hard to tell.” Martin shook his head, biting his lip. “There’s been other stuff, too. Contracts with companies that I know don’t exist, visitors at odd hours. I think something really rotten is going on, but I don’t think that I can handle it myself.”

Delano and Sims shared an unhappy look. Then Sims pushed away from the desk and began to circle the perimeter of the room, his eyebrows furrowing into a thunderstorm on his brow.

“We’d love to finally be able to pin something substantial on the bastard—on Lukas,” Delano said. “But insinuating those types of claims without a shred of evidence...that’s a nonstarter. We’re going to need a little bit more than that.”

“But I do have evidence?” Martin asked, lifting the manila folder. “I took photocopies of the pages, and notated where the discrepancies were.” He wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t about to just write on official financial records. There’s also some of the weird contracts I was talking about. I kept copies of everything.”

Sims, who’d walked out of sight while Martin had been talking, suddenly appeared behind him, reaching for the folder. “Can I see?”

“Be careful with it, that’s the only copy,” Martin said nervously, but handed it over.

Sims walked back over to the desk, hopped up on the edge, and eagerly tipped the contents of the folder on the space between him and Delano. They quickly sifted through the papers, wordlessly handing things to each other like a seamless, well-oiled machine.

“This is good.” Delano’s voice was almost hushed, almost awed. “This is...really good, actually.”

“But you see why I can’t go to the police with this, right?” Martin twisted his hands fitfully. “You see why I need your help.”

“Of course not,” Sims said dismissively, though there was an eager gleam in his eyes. “The police are so deep in Lukas’ pocket you might as well have kissed your life goodbye if you’d gone to them.”

“Oh.” Martin swallowed, trying and failing to come up with anything more intelligent than that. “Oh.”

Delano drummed his fingers against the desk pensively. “Speaking of, it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue this recklessly. We appreciate you bringing this to us, but it does put you in a significant amount of danger. Do you have friends or family outside the country you can stay with, Mr. Blackwood?”

“Um…” He had cousins in Poland, he was pretty sure. Whether or not they would take him in was another question entirely. “Possibly.”

Sims reluctantly gathered the papers up and slid them back into the manila folder, before holding it out. “Come back when you’ve got something lined up.”

Martin lifted a quelling hand as he got to his feet. “I’d...prefer you hold onto it, honestly. It’s probably safer with you.”

Sims blinked, then shrugged and set the folder back down. “I see.”

“We’ll be seeing you later, Mr. Blackwood.” Delano’s grin was a sharp, toothy thing. Despite its grimness, Martin found himself inexplicably comforted by it.

“Please,” he corrected before he could help himself. “Call me Martin.”

-0-

“So,” Gerry said, long after Martin had left and the excitement had faded. He filled a glass with some ice, then tipped a finger of whisky over the top. “What do you think?”

“I don’t trust him,” Jon said almost before Gerry had finished talking, accepting the glass with a quiet murmur of thanks. “It’s a bit too good to be true. After years of searching, someone just...emerges with hard evidence of Peter’s wrongdoings?” An incredulous snort. “I don’t think so.”

Gerry propped himself up against the edge of the desk, staring at the dark bags under his partner’s eyes, the cynical curve of his mouth. He looked exhausted. “You never know,” he said mildly, taking a sip of his whiskey sour before continuing. “I think we’re about due for a lucky break.”

“We don’t get lucky breaks. We get fooled into thinking that we have a lucky break, only to get royally fucked later,” Jon snapped, thumping his cane against the ground for emphasis. “You should know that by now.”

Gerry frowned. “Don’t take this out on me.”

Jon metaphorical hackles went up, and for a moment it looked as though he were about to start shouting—but then he abruptly deflated and looked away. “No, you’re right, it’s just…”

Gerry sighed. It was difficult to stay angry at Jon when he bore such a striking resemblance to a kicked puppy. “I get it.”

They fell silent for a moment, sipping their drinks, lost in their respective thoughts.

“Shall we go?” Gerry asked, setting his glass aside.

Jon paused for a moment longer, before letting out a long, gusty sigh and draining what was left in his drink. “Sure.”

The elevator was still broken, so unfortunately they had to take the stairs. While Gerry knew better than to offer any assistance, his heart still clenched at how tight with pain Jon’s jaw had gone by the time they reached the bottom. They stopped for a few seconds to let Jon get his breath back, before continuing toward home.

About a block away from the office, they froze at the sound of pounding footsteps growing unmistakably closer.

“Hear that?” Jon murmured out of the corner of his mouth, the dying light of the sun glinting off the switchblade in his free hand.

“Mmhm,” Gerry hummed, slipping a hand into his pocket.

Martin was very, very lucky that Gerry recognized him as he rounded the corner; otherwise, it was very likely that Jon would’ve run him through. As it was, Martin crashed into them both, gasping frantically for air, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with abject terror.

“Martin?” Jon demanded, shoving the switchblade away. “What the hell are you—”

“They’re after me,” Martin gasped out, scrabbling at Gerry’s coat. “They—I don’t know how they found out, but they, Peter, he—”

“Shit,” Gerry muttered, suddenly becoming aware of the second set of pounding footsteps growing nearer. He took a moment to assess their surroundings, before grabbing Martin’s shoulders and hauling him into the nearby alley. “Martin, hide behind that dumpster. Jon, distraction time.”

Despite the situation, Jon’s eyes lit up with an exhilarated gleam. Gerry had just enough time to fondly think, adrenaline junkie, before Jon tucked his cane over his wrist, twisted his hands in Gerry’s lapels, and shoved him against the wall for a bruising kiss.

Gerry gasped into Jon’s mouth, his hands instinctively falling to cup Jon’s slim hips. He deepened the kiss, humming encouragingly when Jon shoved his jacket over his shoulders, exposing the thin black t-shirt beneath.

Jon was just beginning to press little kisses down the juncture of his jaw and neck when the harsh beam of a torch fell on them. Jon, who’d been a drama queen long before he’d joined am dram in uni, pulled away with a theatrical gasp, his annoyance almost startlingly genuine. Gerry tucked his face out of the way and adjusted his jacket, affecting embarrassment.

“Do you mind?” Jon asked.

“Oh,” the person on the other end of the torch said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. Gerry tried to peek a look, but the beam was too strong for him to see into the darkness beyond it. “Sorry to disturb you sirs, um...you wouldn’t happen to have seen a person—?”

“No, we haven’t seen a person.” Keeping one hand curled in Gerry’s jacket, Jon took a step back, lifting his chin defiantly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we were busy.”

“Right,” the person muttered, and then the torchlight abruptly vanished, dropping them once more into the dying light of the sun.

They stood there for a moment, Jon breathing hard, cheeks flushed. Gerry tipped his head back against the wall, letting his eyes flutter shut as his pumping heart slowed.

Then the grip in his collar loosened, and Jon let out a pained groan and sank against the wall. “Fuck.”

“Alright, take it easy,” Gerry murmured. He pressed a kiss against Jon’s hair and rubbed a soothing hand against his back. “You did beautifully.” Then louder, “Martin, you can come out now.”

There was a brief pause, and then a shadow tentatively emerged from behind the dumpster. Martin looked far less rattled than he had when he’d first run around the corner, though there was still a healthy flush to his cheeks. He peered up the alley, wringing his hands. “Are they…”

“For now,” Jon said, grimacing as he dug his knuckles into the tight muscles. “We should leave before they get back.”

Martin’s eyes honed in on him. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jon snapped, straightening. “You should be more worried about yourself. You can’t go home, right?”

The question seemed to remind Martin of the current situation, because his eyes went a little wild again. “No, they...I left to do a bit of shopping, and then came back and, and there they were.”

They fell silent for a moment, considering that.

“Well, there’s nothing for it,” Jon said brusquely. “You’ll have to come home with us.”

“What?” Martin gaped.

Gerry was already nodding. “We don’t have much room, but we can make up the couch for you.”

That only seemed to make Martin all the more aghast. “Wait! Wait, won’t that put you in danger?”

Gerry looked up and met Jon’s gaze.

“We have...a certain degree of protection,” Gerry hazarded delicately. “It won’t do much against the likes of Peter himself, but lesser threats…”

“You’ll be fine,” Jon completed. “Now unless you want to run into them again, we had better get going.”

Martin glanced mutely between them, looking like he wanted nothing more than to argue. Then his shoulders slumped, probably realizing that he had no other choice considering how dire the situation was.

“Alright,” he murmured, defeated. “Let’s go.”

#tma #ask #pitviperofdoom #iceeckos12 writes #my writing #jongerrymartin #noir au

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starlightrows · 3 years

Text

The Lady’s Guards

Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Mild blood and injury, some hurt/comfort, lots of domestic bliss and fluff, I really just like writing Boba with a feisty little wifey

Summary: Din brings Grogu to visit you and Boba on Tatooine, but you run into some trouble when you try to take him out for a day of shopping

AN: Lots of people really seemed to like my OC’s Tems and Rhys, so I wanted to write a little more with them! This can be read as a stand alone or a part 2 to The Lady of the House

You return to bed but find that you’re no longer tired enough to fall back to sleep. Instead you just enjoy the warmth of Boba’s skin and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. When you can’t stand to lay still any longer you shift carefully out of his embrace and slip out of bed.

It’s not often you’re awake before him so you take advantage of this rarity. You put your robe back on, and sneak out of your chambers heading down to the kitchens. The maids are scurrying about preparing breakfast, and prepping for the larger more substantial meals later in the day.

“Good morning,” you call out softly from the top of the stairs. Everyone stops what they’re doing and turns quickly to address you. A small chorus of “my lady” and “good morning”’s greet you as you descend the stairs.

“I was hoping to help make breakfast and serve it to my husband in our chambers this morning if that’s alright,” you smile. You’re welcomed into the kitchens and allowed to help as one of the maids makes the batter for hot cakes. When the cakes have finished baking, you garnish the tray with fresh fruit, and fresh brewed caf.

Fearing for your ability to carry all of this food, you recruit one of the maids just to help you carry everything up to your chambers, and thank her for her excellent help before dismissing her and pushing through the doors.

Much to your delight Boba is still asleep when you come in. So you have time to set the table with the hot cakes and caf before climbing back onto the bed to kiss him awake. When he’s roused enough, he returns your kisses and mumbles out a good morning.

“Made you breakfast,” you nip at his cheek “and hot caf”

“Hmm, you made it?” He asks, sitting up a bit to glance over your shoulder at the table, laid out with breakfast as promised.

“Mhm, woke up a bit early, decided I wanted to spoil you my love,” you tug at his arm, pulling him with you to get out of bed. He indulges you, sitting at the table and accepting the plate full of hot cakes and more importantly the steaming up of caf.

Over breakfast you recount the events of last night, about the guards alerting you to the intrusion, the alarm on his ship, and Din hailing over the coms.

“Hmm, did he hail twice?” Boba asks draining his mug of caf

“No, just the one as far as I know” you reply, using your finger to collect a drop of sweet syrup from the hot cakes and licking it off.

“Then it’s not an emergency. Would you mind returning the com after we’re finished here? I’ll see to the intruder,” he places his plate back on the tray and reaches for the bowl of fruit. You’ve just about finished your breakfast and stack your plate as well.

“Of course darling,” you answer, kissing his head as you pass behind him to pick out something to wear for the day.

“Which guards should I see about the intruder?” He asks abandoning the fruit bowl in favor of following you to get himself ready as well.

“Oh, sorry my love, I’ve been sworn to secrecy on that matter,” you throw him a teasing look as you hold up one of your more comfortable day dresses, while he begins putting on his own robes for the day. You glance in the full length mirror, deciding that this was indeed what you wanted to wear today.

This pulls him up short, and he gives you a quizzical look. There are no secrets between the two of you, at least, not like this.

“Keeping secrets from the King of Tatootine my lady? That’s a dangerous game to play,” he’s only half dressed himself but he stops to watch you undress, and struggle with the front fastenings on your day dress.

“I’m well aware, my love but nevertheless, I gave them my word. Just go down to the dungeon and ask the guards on duty to see the one and only prisoner we currently have,” you walk towards him, and throw up your hands begging for his help to secure the ties. He didn’t expect you to hold firm on your secret, he honestly thought you’d been joking the first time.

He takes the ties and knots them properly with his surprisingly nimble fingers “Cyare, why can’t you tell me?”

“They asked me very specifically not to tell you,” you shrug. His hands still over your hips when he’s finished, holding you in place.

“Why?”

You laugh placing your hands over his and removing them gently, so he can get ready too “My darling, even your staff are intimidated by you. The pair of them were absolutely terrified you’d tear their limbs off and feed them to the rankor if you found out they entered our chambers,”

“I pay them to alert me to security breaches!” He grumbles pulling on his tunic, and beginning to secure his armor in place with your assistance.

“That’s what I told them. Promised them you wouldn’t be angry. They wouldn’t hear it, practically begged me on their knees to keep quiet about it,” you shake your head, securing his vambrace on.

“Better to be feared than loved,” he gripes, you lean up on your tiptoes and kiss his cheek.

“Hmmm... lucky you are both feared and loved,” you smile sweetly. He grins, catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head to kiss your lips. Tasting the remains of the sweet syrup you’d spread over your hot cakes.

Later while Boba is seeing people on business, you take the time to sit down and hail Din over the coms. He answers after a minute or so of waiting and switches on the hologram function. A massive black eye comes into the viewfinder.

“Too close ad’ika,” Din pulls Grogu away from the camera, and places him in his lap as he sits down. Grogu waves, seeing your face on his end of the screen.

You wave back and smile brightly, “Hello my little green bean!” You coo

“Sorry about last night,” Din says sheepishly “Forgot about the daylight difference between Tatooine and Mandalore. I hope I didn’t wake you guys up or anything,”

You wave him off good naturedly. “Oh don’t worry about that. I was just worried something was wrong,” you say, lightly prompting him to explain the reason for his late night call.

“Nothing is wrong, really. I just have a couple things I need to talk to Fett about. And I was hoping to bring Grogu for a visit in a couple rotations,” he admits

“Absolutely! I’ll have to check with the big man, but I’m quite sure none of his appointments for the next couple days are urgent enough to take president over a visit from the Mand’alor,” you joke

“Well let me know if he says otherwise, but we’ll be there in two days time,” Din tells you, taking Grogu’s little hand and manually waving it at you.

“Will do. Bye baby! I’ll see you soon,” you give Grogu a little wave before shutting off the com.

Boba has no objection to Din and Grogu coming for a visit, and he delights in your enthusiasm to spend time (and spoil) your nephew. And in two days' time, they arrive on Tatooine as promised.

Immediately you confiscate Grogu from Din, and whisk him away to play and explore the palace, leaving Boba and Din to talk business and catch up.

The second day of their visit you ask Din if he would mind if you took Grogu out of the palace and down into the city for a day of shopping and fresh air. Din doesn’t seem to mind, trusting you wholeheartedly. But Boba insists you take guards for your safety as well as Grogu’s. It’s a small measure to ask and not an unfounded request given the type of people that still hang around Mos Eisley, so you accept his request.

“Why did it have to be us?” Tems moans as Rhys starts up the land speeder.

“You’re not even a little excited? The Lady chose us herself! That means she likes us!” Rhys says “Plus we get to drive the boss’s speeder. Tell me you aren’t at least a little excited about that,”

Tems actually is kind of excited, it’s a really nice speeder. But it does not outshine how nervous he is at the thought of being responsible for the safety of not only Boba Fett’s feisty, headstrong little queen, but also the son of The Mand’alor.

“We just have to be careful Rhys. The safety of the Lady and the child is way more important than a cool speeder,” Tems says sliding into the passenger seat. Rhys brings the speeder around to the front to the palace.

“I know that,” Rhys snips at him, coming to a stop at the palace door where you wait with Boba. Tems gets out of the speeder and holds the door open for you. You quickly press your forehead against Boba’s helmet and slide into the speeder, holding Grogu close in a wrapped silk scarf against your chest.

Tems gets back in the passenger seat, and the speeder pulls away from the palace. The trip down into the city doesn’t take very long, and thank goodness for that because Rhys is having a hard time holding his tongue. He wants to ask you a thousand questions. Instead he places all of his focus on driving carefully, listening to you softly speak to the child.

Upon arriving, Tems gets out and opens the door for you again. Tems and Rhys follow behind you at a respectful distance as you Grogu to various stalls and booths at the open air market. Making pleasant conversation with the merchants, buying Grogu snacks and little gifts he shows interest in, splurging on a few items for yourself as well.

As the afternoon goes on, Tems notices more eyes than usual trained on you as you walk from stall to stall. Eyes with ill intent. Something feels wrong, and it’s not just his anxiety. He nudges Rhys and gives him a look. He senses it too, all semblance of the distractible and energetic man he’s used to attempting to corral is gone. Replaced by a headset face, and a firm hand on his blaster.

“My lady,” Rhys addresses you directly. You’re in the middle chatting with a merchant over a purchase, you turn and smile at your guard.

“Yes?”

“My lady, we need to-” he doesn’t have a chance to finish his statement. A shrill cry of a man jumping out from behind a booth wall brandishing a vibroblade towards you cuts him off. Rhys pushes you down, shielding your body with his. While Tems tackles the man to the ground.

You don’t see the exchange, Rhys makes sure of that. He drags you off the floor behind the counter with the shopkeeper, who is cowering in fear. Grogu is whimpering and clinging to the front of your tunic, you hold him securely and try to murmur comforting words to him. You take great care to cover his massive ears, the sounds of your assailant and bodyguard fighting one another fill the tiny stall.

Onlookers in the market either flee screaming, or crowd in to watch. Rhys placed himself between you and fighting. Finally the sounds of the fighting stop, there is nothing besides Grogu’s sobs and the heavy breathing of the victor of the fight.

Rhys gives your shoulder a gentle shake. You look up at him and find his face comforting but stern. “I’m sorry my lady, but we must get you back to the palace,” he takes your arm and pulls you off the ground “now”

Rhys draws his blaster keeping it ready in case it’s needed. You look to see Tems standing at the entrance to the merchant stall, splattered in blood and shouting for the crowd to get back.

“Watch your step, my lady,” Rhys says, tugging you away from the body of your would-be attacker. You draw Grogu in a little closer, and make a point to step around the body.

The pair of them hustle you out of the market, shouting for people to get out of the way and making a show aiming their blasters at anyone that dared get too close.

The speeder trip back to the palace does not take long, Tems looks back on you and asks if you’re injured. You shake your head, and continue trying to comfort Grogu, who’s no longer crying but whimpering pitifully and unwilling to be detached from you in any way.

When the speeder pulls up to the palace both guards disembark and escort you down into the throne room, regardless of whatever business is transpiring down there. The guards on duty seem to realize you will not be kept from the throne room when they see you dirtied and disheveled, escorted by equally disheveled and bloodied guards; they let you pass without question.

The throne room has more than a few guests discussing trade and wage with Boba and Din, with Fennec providing on site security. At the sound of your foot steps descending the stairs, Boba looks up and takes in your frightful appearance.

“Get out, all of you,” Boba’s voice is sharp and clear. The other occupants of the room seem to hesitate, also caught up in the shock of seeing the queen looking so battered.

“That wasn’t a suggestion, leave” Fennec bashes the hilt of her blaster into the duracreet, making a resounding noise that jolts Boba’s guests out of their stupor. They all scramble to disperse, exiting the throne room as quickly as possible.

You quickly move deeper into the throne room, and extend Grogu to Din who’s approaching you anxiously with Boba at his heels. Grogu goes to his fathers arms without complaint and seems to settle almost immediately once he’s placed against Din’s shoulder.

“Take care of your son,” Boba says as carefully as he can manage. Din only nods and disappears down another hallway leading to guest rooms. Boba’s hand jute out, grabbing your chin and tilting your face from side to side checking you for wounds physical or otherwise. Your hand closes over his wrist, and you give him a squeeze and a nod. “Come cyare,” he whispers to you, leading you away from the throne room.

Tems and Rhys have been standing at attention the entire duration of this exchange. When you and Boba leave, they relax slightly. Rhys is ready to bolt, Tems is ready to wretch. But Fennec keeps them rooted on the spot.

“He will be back,” she says “and he’s going to want answers that are clear and to the point. Do you understand?”

They nod.

In your chambers Boba rips off his helmet and frantically checks you again for injuries. Needing to see with his own eyes. You assure him up and down that you’re perfectly fine thanks to your guards.

“What happened cyare?” He asks, holding you close despite your dusty clothes tainting his clean ones. You recount the story to the best of your ability, but you admit he would probably get more useful information from your guards.

“They saved my life,” you say honestly “and Grogu’s too. They’re good men, and they deserve our gratitude,”

Boba draws you in closer still and rests his head on top of yours. He’s reluctant to even let you out of his embrace, but you pull away.

“Go speak to them my love. I’m safe in these walls. I promise you, I won’t leave our chambers until you come back,” you tell him, cradling his handsome face in your hands. It bothers him how unphased you seem to be, though he knows you rather well, and can recognize that this will be something you process and need help with later on.

Eventually Boba does leave you so you can run a bath and get yourself cleaned up, and he can go get the full story from your guards. Fennec has perched herself on a high stool that sits behind Boba’s throne. A vantage point for her to survey the room. Meanwhile Tems and Rhys have been wringing their hands and coming down from their adrenaline highs.

“We saved the lady,” Rhys mumbled under his breath, excited once more but teeming with nerves. This is worse than the other night, when your eyes pierced his soul and scared the daylight out of him.

“We almost got Lady and the Mand’alor’s son killed in one afternoon” Tems couldn’t help his pacing back and forth across the sandy floor. His clothes were hot and sticky covered in the blood of the man he had killed. And he would gladly do it again for the good queen.

Boba’s presence reappearing in the throne room reignited both Tems and Rhys anxiety and adrenaline responses. But they stood at attention and awaited their fate with knocking knees and chattering teeth.

Boba surveyed the two men. Both strong capable young men, though one had definitely worked here longer. Something seemed familiar about these two, something Boba couldn’t place, though he had a suspicion there was a reason his wife had chosen these two particular guards to escort her down to the market.

Boba sits heavily on his throne, clears his throat and beckons them forward.

“You’ve defended my palace, protected my beloved wife and nephew, and served me well. You both have my gratitude and my respect. Any reward you desire, name it and it’s yours” Boba says “All I ask of you now it the truth. Tell me what happened today,”

At first neither man speaks. Tems finally breaks the silence, but can not find it himself to look Boba in the eye.

“In the market today. I noticed a man following us. He went into a secluded market stall carrying wares the lady seemed interested in. He tried to attack the lady with a vibroblade. I killed this man,” Tems says “It’s been a long time since Tatooine was ruled by a fair and just hand, my Lord. I have lived here since the Hutts ruled the Dune Sea and promoted the slave trade. I am honored to serve you and your worthy cause my lord. I ask for no other reward”

Boba nods, and casts his gaze over to the younger man.

“If I may sir. I took your wife and nephew to safety while my partner dispatched the attacker. I would have willingly given my life to save theirs,” Rhys bows his head in respect, but looks up again to ask his favor “If you are willing to offer a reward for what happened today, I only have one request. I have a younger sister, Talece. She’s smart and responsible, but struggles to find work due to her inability to speak. I humbly ask for her to have a place in your palace. She can cook, clean, serve in whatever way you ask of her, my lord”

Tems shifts his eyes over to his friend. He didn’t know Rhys had a mute sister, or a sister at all. He’d have to ask about it later.

“I’m sure my wife can find use for another maid, bring her tomorrow. If the lady of the house has a need for her, then she is welcome to stay,” Boba nods. He looks back to Tems but addresses them both “Your service and dedication today will not be forgotten. But for now, you are both dismissed and relieved of your duties for the rest of today,”

Tems and Rhys bow low and thank Boba Fett for his generosity, before scurrying away to get clean and unwind from this whole ordeal.

Boba dismisses Fennec as well and tells her to cancel all of his remaining appointments for the rest of the day. He goes back to you in your chambers to find you clean, wrapped in a dressing gown and drying your hair while sitting on the bed.

He removes his armor at record breaking speed, and climbs onto the bed pulling you down with him regardless of your wet hair.

“I suspect I’ve discovered which of the guards came into our room the other night,” he says, stroking your arm. You nod, there’s no point in lying to him about it if he’s already figured it out.

“I like them,” you say “They’re good guards, and good men,”

“The younger one. He’s got a sister, asked me to give her a job,” he tells you

“And?”

“And you’ve got a new handmaiden if you’d like. If not she can join the kitchen staff,” he continues stroking your arm. At this you pull away from him a bit and prop yourself up on his chest to stare down at him. Meeting his deliciously dark eyes.

“For all the fear you strike in the hearts of others, you do seem to have a tender heart underneath your glare and beskar,” you tease him, dropping your head down to kiss his lips

#Star Wars #The Mandalorian #Boba Fett #Boba Fett x reader #OC Tems #OC Rhys #Tems is still scared of Boba #Rhys isn’t as dumb as we thought #I love this version of Boba and Reader

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xxsmokeyy · 4 years

Text

Levi x Drug Dealer! Reader (F) The Lunatic And Her Dog

genre: smut, canonverse — Levi’s early recruitment

summary: being a former thug, the new soldier is given a task to ingratiate himself, finding an old associate from his past along the way.

tw: vices (drugs, cigarettes), rough sex

wc: 12,039 holy fuck (smut is only latter half)

“Coderoin. A strong, sweet, and highly addictive drug that’s been circulating in Stohess District for about four years or so,” the Commander says, voice gruff as he explains the content of the unwrapped paper filled with azure tablets.

Coderoin. Levi thinks he’s heard of that thing not long before. He just can’t quite put his finger on it.

“The Military Police Brigade failed to capture the primary smuggler of this substance multiple times, and it’s only recently come to their notice that it’s gotten reformulated to a liquid solution,” he continues, pinching one of them in his fingers, rolling it back and forth to study its appearance.

Levi can only stand back in ennui, the lack of interest reverberating from his aura. What the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

Erwin places the tablet back to the paper, propping his palms on the tabletop, and stares deep into Levi’s unamused eyes.

“You’ll have to hunt this drug dealer down.” The curt order comes. Levi cocks a brow in confusion, wondering why the blond would make him do such thing.

“That’s the MP’s job. I thought I joined here to kill those filthy titans, what are you going on about?” he quizzes in confusion.

Erwin sighs, lids shutting close before he massages his temples. “The higher-ups are still not exactly in favor of your recruitment in the army, and as much as you hate buttering people up, you’ll have to deal with this case to secure your postion,” he makes intelligible, getting into the details so to clarify things out.

The raven haired man before him listens intently with a permanent scowl on his face, arms crossed over each other. He’s most definitely not liking the idea of seeking those damn swines’ goodwill. Just when he decided to trust the guy.

“You’ll earn Darius Zackly’s approval once you catch the little felon,” Erwin speaks truthfully. Of course, the Supreme Commander who so hates him, of all people. “It’s just this once. Trust me, you’ll have no more problems with your stay if you solve this case,” he even adds to convince the man. Not that there’s any way around this matter. Levi has to do this to prevent further threats in his position and to clear his reputation as well, by hook or by crook.

“You basically want me to suck up their asses,” he concludes, not a question, more of a full decisive statement. The Commander grunts his affirmative response, still getting used of his soldier’s sharp tongue.

“Tch. To hell with that.”

—

The afternoon later, he’s walking on the stony pavements of Stohess District, left with no choice but to follow the Commander’s orders.

Ever since the death of his last friends, Farlan and Isabel, just a few weeks back, things have gotten ridiculously out of hand regarding his enlistment. It almost arrived to a point where he’s wanted in court for seniors to debate whether he can stay up top or should be sent back to the Underground, considering his heavy crimes.

Holding a poster in hand, he studies the illustration keenly. It says the words WANTED: Notorious Drug Lord in big, thick, and bold letters. In the sketched picture is a person wearing a hood. From what he’s told, the wanted criminal has been in the hide for years now, but never once left the district.

“That man never shows himself. That portrait is from a witness in a pub near a shanty town. Some say he often appears wearing a cloak.” That’s what a Military Police officer said to him when he asked for the dealer’s whereabouts.

A man? He squints a little to see the image better.

It’s a bit difficult to determine since it’s only a roughly sketched side profile with a hood worn, blocking the hair, but he’s sure as hell those are certainly not eyes of a man, looking ultimately feminine and provocative. He doesn’t know, but those eyes are somewhat achingly familiar. And those plump lips that held a suggestive smile? He’s fully convinced that it’s a woman.

“A woman? That’s in no way a fair lady. Women here in Stohess stay at home and polish their husbands’ boots.” That’s what the Military Police officer said as well when he told it’s a woman.

Fucking sexists. Not that he cares, though.

Levi stops by the said pub, pushing on the saloon doors before walking to a table of three men, boisterously laughing like crazy. It’s dark and warm inside, the trademark ambience of local bars eating up the whole place. “Any of you seen this guy?” he lazily asks, showing the piece of paper to their faces.

Their eyes dart on the illustration before all of them fall silent, throwing looks at each other, and Levi can swear he could hear the rusty gears in their pea sized brain turn.

When they keep quiet, he almost surmises they turned mute upon seeing him and is about to leave them alone, finding them completely useless. He just wants to finish this task, and quick.

“Heard ya were a nasty criminal in the Underground,” the guy on his left comments and drinks the beer at hand, briefly pausing, “ya can’t seriously be turnin’ y’er back on that kinda past,” he smugly continues.

Levi’s brows twitch in irritation. How is that relevant to what he asked?

“Just answer the damn question,” he orders assertively and slams the paper onto their tabletop. The guys exchange gazes once again like it’s some sort of stupid inside code.

“What makes ya think ya can fool us? We know you’ll arrest us off the bat if we answer, young’un,” the man continues, his company still speechless. What, is he the leader of their pack or something?

The way they stare him down with the most condescending eyes is ticking him off to ridiculous measures, he could’ve knocked them out cold one by one already if not for the fact that they obviously know something, and nobody else is in the pub other than them and the staff.

“I don’t give two shits about your work. I’m not asking for you, I’m looking for this guy right here,” he jabs a finger into the poster, causing every one of them to look at it once more.

“I ain’t convinced—”

Levi has had enough of their refusal and decides to pull out his knife, kick the very chair the garrulous man is sitting on to drop him on the ground, beer spilling everywhere, before using the dirty sole of his boot to shove the man’s cheeks against the wooden floor.

He kneels down on his right knee, his other foot still stepping on the man’s face, and points the tip of his freshly sharpened knife just a few centimeters from his eyeball, which earns him a whimper of surprise.

“Gonna stop yakking any minute now?” Levi asks. It’s a bit surprising to him that the bartender of the pub didn’t meddle the whole time for pressing on his customers, oddly similar to the lukewarm nature of his hometown.

The two men freeze in fear, afraid that if they do anything to counter the soldier’s menace, their good friend might suffer and go blind. How worthless.

After a couple more seconds, the old geezer eventually gives in and speaks. “That’s our dealer,” he admits, voice weak and shaky. Levi cocks a brow and listens, finally getting the information he‘s aiming for.

“Guy’s been selling drugs that originated from the Underground,” he adds.

“Coderoin?”

“Yeah. He never shows up to us buyers, only sends brokers to deliver.”

“That’s not a man,” Levi corrects again, slowly getting convinced it’s someone he knows from way back. The descriptions about the wanted dealer and the way she arranges things precisely match, not to mention the poster looking exactly like her.

“I told you I won’t end up in brothels, Levi. I created something, and it’s doing great,” she says with a proud smile painted on her colored lips.

“What is it?”

“Coderoin.”

But the soldier only sounds out of his tree in the listeners’ ears, and they immediately speak to nullify his scarcely credible conspiracy theory. “There’s no way. Women here in Stohess—”

Yeah, he gets it. If they don’t believe it then let it be. See, this is why they haven’t caught the culprit for the past years, because they’re looking for a damn male.

“Where was she last seen?” Levi asks, completely dismissing their words, but the guy tries to oppose the small detail once again. “That’s a man—“

“Where was she last seen?” he repeats, cutting off his hostage’s words while he flattens with his boot the man’s cheeks in such a way as to crush his skull, emphasizing what really is important here and what he’s actually asking for. Levi ignores how the poor guy yelps in pain, waiting for intel he can benefit from.

“I don’t know!” he truthfully says, face already deforming from the forceful contact, having difficulty breathing.

“She lives at the skid row,” the bartender chimes in as he wipes on a glass, turning Levi’s head his way. Someone who knows her real identity, huh?

“How do you know?” he keeps his foot down and quizzes, looking for the authenticity in his words. The runt might be fooling him for all he knows, a trap to lure him in.

“I live there,” he simply says. “I don’t have business with her so it won’t be bad if I rat out on her,” he shrugs and turns his back to return to working. The guys listen, puzzled about what they’re talking about.

The ravenhead thinks for a moment, then rising to this heels, kicking away the head he was previously pulverizing before heading out the bar to make off.

In the end, none of them was substantial but the barkeep. And in Levi’s humblest opinion, the guy whom he mostly talked to should drop his so-called friends who didn’t even have the guts to drag their pal out of his plight, being one who gets rid of ineffective people himself.

He looks up at the gloomy afternoon skies once he exits, the clouds moving as he thinks about a variety of stuffs from his past. Envisioning and etching into his brain the familiar silky locks, rose red lips, and a pair of sultry eyes, he then starts walking.

Now, to find you.

—

With the help of the villagers’ directions, he’s arrived at the said skid row by foot. It surprises Levi a lot, having not expected to see a number of resemblances between the Underground and the surface. The visible corruption is no different from down there, with certain rundown areas openly exposed, just a couple blocks away from extravagant neighborhoods. That just goes to show that people’s amoral natures don’t change wherever they go.

He scans his eyes around, studying the dark and uninviting alleyways, the narrow paths, and the compressed townhouses. It’s almost as if the sun refuses to shine here.

This place isn’t any less than a junkyard, he thinks, coming from someone who has just escaped from one.

He takes a step forward to head to the flat where you apparently reside, only to get stopped by a bunch of gangsters, another guy putting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. An animal touching him with filthy fingers, something he hates the most.

“Where do you think you’re going, kid?” the insect says as he looks down on the soldier’s short stature, showing not a droplet of respect. “What’s a scout soldier doing here? There ain’t no titans here, boy!” There’s nothing they love to ridicule more than suicidal people under the disguise of a uniform.

He immediately uses his clean hands that would unfortunately be dirtied as he removes the assaulter’s arm away from him, squeezing it with great force before twisting the whole limb around with full intentions to dislocate it.

The man screeching in pain, Levi gives him a good kick in the face, causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. Of course, there’s three more left standing. Even if they’re rendered speechless and horrified, he still can’t let bothersome runts on the loose.

One of the delinquents attempts to swing a fist at him, a sorry excuse for a punch by the way, only to get hit right in the guts, disgusting spit flying everywhere. The other tries to slash a knife, which he only snatches away with nimble fingers before hitting a nerve on the neck to knock the guy out cold.

The last one, hairline already receding and looking grey, tries to hit him with a bat. It’s a pitiful sight to look at, really, how they all think they could give him a good beating when they approached him. He crouches down to dodge the weapon, dragging his dominant leg on the floor to kick sweep the old fart off of his toes, head falling against the solid concrete.

Dusting his hands to rid himself of the muck he gained from fighting them, Levi stands upright in vexation and observes as they either squirm or doze off on their own. A flock of vagrants that has got to learn how to keep their hands to themselves.

The thing is, he has had enough of drunkards trying to get on his way. He just wants to get his job done, bring you to those impotent MP’s and get this reputation Erwin kept saying to secure his position for a lifetime.

When finally sets foot on your alleged doorstep, he tries for three knocks, waiting for a response. As much as he wants to finish this task, he doesn’t want to barge in your suite, if possible, because he’d also hate it if it’s done to him. He tries again, focusing to catch with his ears any faint sound.

Minutes pass by and he turns the knob open to find out it’s unlocked the whole time, all his deliberations of keeping still and going down the drain.

It’s quiet and empty.

Levi freely enters, keeping an eye out for attackers, if there are. It’s small, but enough for one person.

He goes with the assumption that you live alone, and maybe don’t have any flings. He still remembers how you latch onto different guys back in the day to have them arrange deals for you. Yeah, you had a way with your words, especially towards men. The epitome of a social butterfly.

But maybe it’s not like that anymore, now that you’re in a city like this with rich people out and about.

How did you wind up here in the first place?

He keenly observes as he goes further in. To your credit, the place is relatively clean. No scattered trash, no messy clothing, and the furniture are well organized. Well, that’d be essential to make an innocent front and hide your junk evidence. But still, impressive.

Nothing really seems malicious at first glance. So far, no one’s coming out, and there are no drugs to be found.

He stumbles upon two more closed doors. He finds that one of them is a bathroom, and the other your bedroom. Aside from those, there’s nowhere else to go. He enters your personal space, looking for something peculiar.

Your bed is fixed, sheets folded nicely. You had a study desk, and a bookshelf. Based from the covers’ titles, they’re all about science. Tch. It’s a dead giveaway. No matter how much you tried to make an oh-so normal living space, those books would be a suspicious lead.

Now what? You’re nowhere to be seen.

Is she home?

He looks around the room looking for an ashtray or even a fire because somehow, it reeks of burning cigarettes, like it’s being consumed at the moment.

Something finally clicks inside of him. Of course, you’re a damn drug lord. An infamous one, at that. You’ll need someplace to hide once all hell breaks loose, and someplace to hide your stuff.

Levi uses his boot to lift the carpet he’s currently stepping on, and finds, just what he expects, a trapdoor. Clever, but not too much.

He then vigorously kicks the door open, which nearly bursts it off of its hinges, if not already. It swings down loosely, losing its assistive joints. He ignores the wooden ladder provided and instead jumps down, dropping on his knees.

“Now you gotta fix that,” says a soft and seductive voice that is definitely no stranger the young man.

Levi raises his gaze and finally finds you, sitting on a chair in the opposite end of a long presidential table, smoking a mint cigarette, and the stench reaches his nostrils. That’s where the ashy pong was coming from.

The secret chambers appear almost pit black from the lack of natural light if not for the candle sconces built on the walls all around, and the lone lantern situated on the table.

He scrutinizes you for a moment, meeting your luscious, glowing eyes. Your hair is styled just the way he remembers, luxuriant, untied, and flowing in sync with your movements. Your plump lips shaded red, fierce like how you want it. Your figure voluptuous by your feminine puff sleeved dress, black front laced corset over top hugging at your curves. For a dress so dainty, you ultimately still looked provocative.

Actually, he kind of understands how it’s unbelievable for such a lady to be a criminal of ill repute. Although nothing much has changed with you external-wise, your youthful attributes have only matured beautifully, and you’ve indeed grown up to be an enchanting woman.

“It’s me. You’ve found me,” you claim, feeling his strong stare burning into your skin. What, does he not recognize you now?

It’s totally the other way round. Every single one of your physical features under the warm candlelight’s reflection keeps rekindling memories inside his head, some just flat out inappropriate.

“So you are the goddamn drug dealer,” he states, not any less than a confirmation.

“Drug dealer is a bit brusque, don’t you think?” you comment with a smile. Anything but to be called a drug dealer. How cheap.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I prefer to go with narco hustler, rolls off the tongue just right,” you suggest. It sounds plain dumb to Levi’s ears, you had zero taste. “Okay, maybe it doesn’t,” you take back upon seeing his seriously bored expression. He has always been one so hard to read, but now he just looks evidently repulsed.

Levi stays standing across of you, resting his arm on top of the other, and leans back against the ladder. Maintaining respective distance, he decides to linger for a bit, intrigued by what stories you must got.

“Rumor has it you’re one of them now. Guess it’s true,” you posite as you observe his physique, wearing a uniform jacket with the wings of “freedom”. Couldn’t he have joined the MP’s out of the three? Lame.

The young man watches back as you lift your wrist up and bring the stick to your delicate lips, inhaling a lungful before blowing the smoke upwards, and he could easily feel how you held yourself up with superiority. Nothing new with the headstrong woman that you are.

“What the fuck are you doing up here?” he inquires right away, genuinely curious of your sudden disappearance years ago. He knew full well you weren’t dead, but he never got his hands on news about you.

“Huh? What the fuck are you doing up here, too? You surely downgraded from being a crime boss to a pongo’s dog. Seriously?” you retort cheekily. Last time you checked, he was doing well with his gang, couldn’t he have stayed that way?

He massages the temples of his forehead with closed eyes. Your words are making him think back to his decisions, but not too deeply. He reluctantly contemplates if it’s alright telling you things, but chooses to do so. You had a spot in his life, too, no matter how small. And he’s going to arrest you anyway.

“Lot of complications. It was all supposed to be a job to kill the Section Commander then we’d get granted citizenship…” he trails off, unsure of whether to go on or stop there, “but things took a turn.”

“Hmm?” you hum, waiting for his continuation.

He stays silent and refuses to say a word.

“Alright then. Well what about… who was it? Farlan and Isabel?” you ask cluelessly, thinking if you got their names right.

He sighs. It was exactly what he was trying to avoid. “They’re in the Survey Corps now as well?” you quiz, partially interested. You already know the answer. Who would leave their beloved boss? You just know for sure it won’t be them.

“They’re gone,” he averts his gaze, expertly hiding his emotions away with thick pride.

Your eyes largen a little in realization. “Oh. Sorry.” He catches you put out your cigarette by prodding its cherry into the glass ashtray. There’s still about half left but you paid no extra mind, and it says a lot about your well heeled state.

Enough about him. “What exactly happened to you?” Levi questions, and you prop your elbows on the tabletop, interlacing your fingers together before resting your chin on them.

“Bought citizenship,” you start off, never taking your glance off him. He‘s hot all right, still a sight for sore eyes. Heavily improved, even. It has been five years, after all. You admit, he aged like the finest wine there is.

“A pain in the pockets, yes. But worth it.” You pucker your lips and furrow your brows together upon remembering your old situations.

“Underground folks were becoming cheapskates day by day! Can you believe it? They’re trying to buy two-fifty for, what, five bronze coins? My stuff are as expensive as your maneuvering gear, you know!” you complain, memories of being wrongly paid years ago flashing through your brain.

That’s life. At least you’re well off now. That’s what’s important.

He rakes his eyes around the room and finds stacks and stacks of packaged tablets, same ones as those Erwin showed him.

“Coderoin, huh?” he comments, testing the word on his tongue. Nothing special with the name, probably came from the scientific components. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass.

The warm temperature from the window restricted room urges him to remove his jacket, and so he eventually does. You try not to raise both your eyebrows in captivation as you see the outlines of his muscular torso tracing through his clothes, his veiny forearms exposed by his cuffed shirt.

“I haven’t released it yet, but I just finished formulating a liquified version to easily shoot it up the veins for a more elongated and ecstatic experience,” you proudly brag to divert your attention as well, and Levi cocks a brow in confusion. Haven’t released it yet?

“The MP’s already know there’s a new formula,” he informs, recalling what the Commander said when he was educating him about it earlier.

“What? Already?” you ask, gasping in surprise. It’s a given that word spreads around here fast, but you’re doing your best to work in confidentiality. Some big-mouthed brokers of yours must be babbling.

“Yeah.”

“See how famous I am?” You giggle, letting the issue slide.

“Everyone thinks you’re a man.”

“What?” you ask again, completely scandalized, eyes widening in repulsion. They cannot be serious. You never knew that! Not even your associates told you!

It’s a bit amusing to him how that almost looks like it matters to you the most. Do you even know why he’s here? You don’t seem to be questioning his out of nowhere presence.

“You’re a drug abuser. It’s natural for people to think that way,” he says, eyeing your reactions.

“That’s mean! I’m not an addict. In fact, I don’t even do those often,” you oppose a matter-of-factly. It’s not half a lie, you probably had one the past week, but aside from that, you never took it recently. This stuff is for the customers to abuse. You don’t really have an avid addiction to it.

Honestly speaking, being one for dirty felonies ending just a couple months back, he couldn’t care less what kind of profession you had, as long as people find their own way to live, he’d immediately—but only mentally—give kudos to them. It’s hard enough trying to survive in a corrupt system.

You lived all by yourself back then. You were a tough and independent one, he’d give you that. You helped him with particular deals. Important ones.

In actuality, it’s solely because of you that he got his hands on certain armaments like the ODMG. It was hard to obtain those, seeing as it’s a highly illegal trade and costs an arm and a leg. Though on the plus side, it made his stealings more convenient and less a pain in the ass.

But he wouldn’t say you’re good friends, nor are you on the same gang. Associates, he would say. At times, something even more than associates. Oh, it’s not anything close to romantic. Just something beneficial on both sides.

“I mean at least I’m not a squaddie now, playing soldier like you,” you add, playfully mocking him. Levi throws you a glare of the same energy. It’s not like he wanted this. He’s got no choice, it’s better than going back to that sunken town, alone at that matter.

“You don’t show up to people here,” he surmises from what he learned. As you rise to your feet and walk to the piles of boxes, you fail to notice how he gives your form a runover, from head to toe, his eyes involuntarily staying on some shapely areas.

“This is where I bring my brokers. I’m not going face-to-face with my dear buyers now. What if they sell out on me? Can’t trust people nowadays.” It’s true, because back there, everyone was a criminal in their own ways. You grab a small bag of the tablets and turn around to show him, dangling it mid-air.

“But I’m telling you, people here are as generous as lords. It’s basically easy money everyday,” you say and throw him the drawstring bag, which he catches with one hand in maximum proficiency, the action causing his arms to flex a little. Oh, those muscles. Suave.

“You’re living in a dumpster.”

“It’s called a sentimental value,” you dismiss.

Levi pours some out and takes a moment to observe the packed drugs on his palm, the blue color even and smooth. He’s never found himself drawn to this kind of thing, but he understands the usage. Something to escape from reality for a short period of time.

“I never expected you to turn on your past, of all people,” you mindlessly comment, causing him to look at you with furrowed brows. Though you never meant that the bad way and just wanted to speak your mind, your choice of words still strike a nerve from within him.

Why the fuck are people on the surface keep acting like angels as if they’re any better? At this point, he’d prefer his hometown people over some half assed drug addicts.

This should be enough for today. He carelessly chitchatted for long, almost forgetting his true purpose of being here. It’s too bad he has to ruin your oh-so perfect life. Well, there’s not much he can do about that as it’s how the cookie crumbles. Dragging people down to rise up the ranks is part of the norm in this wretched society, it’s just unfortunate he has to do it to you.

“Say, what if you join me? Leave the Corps and let’s team up. You can run the errands, and I stay here to formulate,” you continue to propose, fully unaware that you ticked him off just a second ago, bringing him back to earth.

“I can’t. Apparently, I’m a soldier now,” he straight up rejects and starts to walk up to you, handcuffs ready by his belt.

Taken aback by his deadpan refusal, you tilt your head in an attempt to understand. “Well then, if that’s what you want.”

“What I want is for you to come with me,” the soldier finally admits, showing the restraining shackles he has at hand.

Realization dawns upon you, and you feel a bit dense. Oh, right. He did welcome himself into your home, completely unannounced.

A dry and bitter chuckle leaves your throat continuously, dissolving into a long thread of laughter that echoes around the spacious room, resembling those of a mentally deranged woman. Levi’s forehead knots in a mix of puzzlement and irritation as he waits for you to calm down.

Your fit of entertainment starts to boil down, tears of satiric bliss filling your ducts. You wipe them off timidly, building up the manner of being a prim and proper lady. “Sorry… that was funnier than I expected,” you apologize, and he couldn’t quite understand what you want to come across with. He waits for your explanation.

“Buzz off, will you?” you ask of him once you finish composing yourself.

“What?” the man quizzes.

Your face turns dead serious as you fish a tiny pouch from your dress’ pockets, throwing it lazily to the table, contents spilling mid air due to the loosened tie. An abundance of golden coins shower all over the place and fall suspendedly to the ground.

“I’m telling you to fuck off. Now,” you don’t flash him even the smallest of smiles as you curtly give him the order.

You’re bribing him.

And fuck, did you drive him round the twist, he has never felt so insulted his whole life.

Is it because you’re doing well than him now despite the honorability of occupation? Is it because it’s coming from someone he knows from the past? Is it because of your tone so ludicrously condescending it’s making every single drop of blood in his body boil?

“Need more? Why don’t we negotiate upstairs with the amount that will send you away?” you carry on with casting aspersions on him.

What a jackass. After all you’ve done for him? There’s nothing you hate more than shameless traitors, and this guy in front of you doesn’t bat an eye about being one.

Meanwhile, you were rubbing to his face the looming difference between his stability and yours. And of course, it doesn’t matter whose reputation is better, because both of you were miscreants at one point in life. The only distinction is: you gladly kept on with that line of work, and he was forced with his.

Levi takes big strides to reach your form, dropping both the jacket and the drugs he was holding. He’s furious, but he refuses to show. All he wants now is for you to shut your filthy mouth.

He lunges at you and slams you against the wall, wrapping his fingers around your neck. An involuntary whimper slips past your lips, and it certainly feeds his ego to see you so helpless. “Shut your damn mouth,” he bellows, tone imposing the dangers you could get from rubbing him up the wrong way.

You’re not about to give him what he wants. He’s barking up the wrong tree here, treating you so indiferrently for what? For letting him in and being hospitable? For offering him a generous partnership? Can you believe this guy? He’d throw your acquaintance off the window for his own sake. Selfish crab.

“Hate to see your ally so successful?” you attempt to breathe out, one hand trying to unclasp his fingers, one hand aiming to claw your nails at his face. He slaps it away before you can make contact and increases pressure.

Your eyes well up from the suffocating pain as he robs you of air supply, choking you tightly and pressing roughly. Crap!

“That’s—all you got?” you struggle to challenge him, same time trying to pull the slightest amount of oxygen into your lungs you can catch on.

Your dare does absolutely nothing but piss him off. Wow, you’re a bitch to try and control. Levi has the means to tighten his grip. It doesn’t even matter to the MP’s if he brings you dead as long as he can hand over the evidence. But he won’t go that far, because that far would be killing you off.

Staying that way for a moment longer, he examines your facial expression, still brave and never surrendering. He then lets go of you, but only by throwing you to the hard ground. Your back hits the flooring and you squint your eyes in sharp ache, all the while desperately breathing for any available air.

“Rot in hell,” you curse at him in great detestation. Lying back, you gently caress your neck as if to heal the reddened skin from the harsh force he applied.

Levi sighs, collecting himself, and kneels down in level with your weakened body. Maybe he went too hard on you. He has got to keep his temper at bay.

“Sorry,” he genuinely says. It’s not everyday he says that word, but when he does, he accepts that he’s mistaken. A bit surprised, you peer at him with a bleary vision, finding a scowl on his face as he admits his wrongdoing.

You swear you were ready to laugh it all out and forgive him, if not for the fact that he’s currently grabbing the handcuffs, still determined to arrest you. How sincere of him. What exactly was he apologizing for again?

You wait for him to scoot over, discreetly regaining steady breath as you stay laying down. You’re not the best at countering someone combat wise, but growing up a female in the Underground has taught you a couple moves enough to stall you some time to escape.

As he finally crouches beside you, you jolt up to sit and sling two of your arms around his nape and under his armpit, pulling him towards you before throwing him beside with the strength you can manage to utilize.

When did you learn that move? It baffles Levi a little, but he won’t let you have your way. His weight isn’t something you could overlook, that you’re dragged along with and on top of him. The moment you try to quickly prop yourself up and make a run, he grabs your waist and rolls over to bring you back down, straddling on top of you.

“I’ll kill you!” you spit to his face, once again feeling betrayed. You never once thought he’d drive you into a corner do this to you.

“That’s cute of you,” he says in graceful sarcasm. You fight him back with a piercing glare, but he only looks back at you with those apathetic, steel grey eyes. Nothing has changed within them, they’re still cold and indecipherable. It matches his personality well.

Apathetic? He can’t be all that bad, he’s just human. He has needs, one way or another.

You stick a hand out to pull his dark locks, and for once, you actually succeed. He hisses in irritation. He should have expected you’d put up a fight, but he doesn’t get why he’s just straight up pissed. Talk about annoying.

He doesn’t expect it when you forcefully yank him in for a deep kiss, the sudden motion causing your lips to crash together, freezing him in place. It’s all just to take him by surprise and then you’d gab the chance to run away in haste. Cheap trick, but worth a shot. If this will work, that is.

Earlier than he can try to push you away, you kick your knee into his abdomen and hurl him aside with all your might, doing your best to head to the ladder leading up to the trapdoor. But Levi is quick on his feet and kicks your leg to make you lose balance. Tripping over yourself, you fall toward the table, your stomach plowing into its side frames. He will never let you escape.

You inwardly curse him for being such a headache. Before you know it, your left arm is rashly held behind your back and you shriek in pain, your cheek shoved down onto the tabletop. Shit. He got you there.

“Can’t you be any gentler?” you ask, voice soft and of forged innocence, which is patently just an attempt to con him. He ignores you and instead starts wearing one part of the handcuffs around your wrist from behind. You think of anything to get yourself out of this. Chuckling dryly, “Hey… I told you already. Let’s talk things out,” you woo, but to no avail. Levi twists your arm a bit, not too much, but enough to shut you up. He sure is enraged.

A lock clicks from one of the shackles and you feel the cold steel wrap your frail wrist. It’s happening, the most humiliating moment for a criminal. You’re all tapped out of ideas—

with your limited field of vision, you scan your eyes around what you can see, finding a trail of drugs scattered on the ground. It must be from when he launched at you and tried to strangle you to death. Although you still don’t know why he did that, you bury the thought to the back of your head to come up with a plan.

—except one.

A smile creeps up your lips, one that appears when you just figured out something clever. Alright, then. Let’s see what else is enraged.

Not giving him the chance to lock both your hands together, from your held up position, you perk your bum up a little to make a feel for his crotch. Your thick cheeks hit something poking and you giggle in festivity. It so turns out your hunch is right, his bulge is, indeed, straining from inside his pants.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he stops dead in his tracks and questions, more like an order for a valid answer.

With your bended over form being perfectly convenient, you wiggle your ass and stick it up against his obviously aching groin, teasing it even more. It’s a shame you’re both wearing clothes, your titillating movements ending up just mere friction.

“My, my. How long has it been like that?” you jest, voice about half an octave high and femininely suggestive. His brows knit in pique and flips you over to make you face him and to put a halt to your indecent measures. You click your tongue in mock, elbow propped against the table to look up at him.

“What a naughty soldier,” you whisper with a satisfied smirk, and reach a hand out to pull his cravat, yanking him down and in for another kiss. This time, it’s you who won’t let him escape, with nothing else but a nice trick for women to prevail over men.

It makes his hackles raise how you try to enter his mouth with your probing tongue like you’re the one in foremost control. As if he’ll let that happen.

He pushes your tongue back and bites your lower lip, earning him entrance along with a quiet mewl. He then travels your wet cavern with his own, forcefully exploring every inch to show you who’s in charge, like always. There and then, he instantly distinguishes the mint flavored nicotine evenly mixed in with your sweet saliva. It interests him how five years have already passed, and yet you consistently taste the same. Up until here, you never dropped the habit of smoking.

You try to fight back and earn your place, hooking both your heels into his hips to draw him closer. Even if it’s utterly inappropriate and misplaced, you quickly feel your pussy drip with excitement. Everything feels so nostalgic.

Amidst the kiss, his palm begins to roam around your body, from your neck to your chest. Levi finds the corset a hindrance, and he takes note to go back to it later, maybe rip it apart as well.

He resumes exploring your body, from your tummy, to your clothed womanhood. It starts to rile you up and turn you on as he slips his hand under your dress, not bothering to lift it up, just blindly cupping for your sex. When he finally feels your panties, you know for certain he smirked.

“You’re not so frigid yourself,” he comments upon the discovery that your growing wetness is soaking the fabric. He slides one finger against your slit, your undergarment still in between. He gently rubs on it as he sucks on your soft lips, earning him quiet moans in return. What a nasty tease.

When you both pull away for air, you open your eyes to look daringly straight into his grey ones, and while you exchange stares, you also let go of his cravat and grab his hand as if to guide them deeper and further in. He finds that you’re more than just eager when you put his hand inside, now in touch with your intimate skin. He gladly takes your offer and tears your panties away, his vigor making you laugh breathily.

Levi plunges two fingers in without delay, and you yield in defeat, letting him do as he likes. He has no intentions of lurking around the corner. You let your head hang back as he does you with his slick fingers, moaning to your will when he hits your good spots.

He lets his unreasonable hate and anger dissipate into nothingness, allowing himself to be indulgent in giving you pleasure. It’s been so long that this almost serves as your reunion. He doesn’t mind that. Just as long as he keeps in mind his sole purpose of breaking in to take him with you.

The ravenhead watches you spread your legs wider, visibly aching for more as you surrender to him and give him full control over your body. He moves his dexterous fingers in and out, the rhythm exquisite like how you prefer it. It’s like he still memorized you the same. Your responsive hums are tempting and fervid, your bodily movements a subtle indication of a longing. He increases his speed, looking for an angle to rub you up good, and he knows he hit it right when you shudder a little, back falling to the table and grip losing.

He lets on with working his hand, your juices coating his fingertips as he jabs them in deep repeatedly. It’s a flattering sight to see you so lost and vulnerable singlehandedly by his mere touch, and he would be lying if he says it doesn’t turn him on.

Your sweet, melodious moans resonate inside the whole of the chambers, music to Levi’s ears. Your mouth partly hanging open, eyes in but a permanent daze as you struggle to crack them open. The way he has you going crazy is beautiful. You’re beautiful. Not half-bad-looking for a woman about to approach her thirties.

Out of nowhere, a mood ruining thought crosses his mind. He recalls you saying this place is where you bring your brokers. And since your neighbors haven’t found out your true identity and racket yet, having a clump of men visit your apartment could entirely be misleading.

It’s only natural that they think you’re some kind of courtesan selling your body. Knowing you, you don’t give a flying fuck if people think that, but with him, it doesn’t sit right. Who knows? Maybe you actually humor the same men every once in a while. Just look at what you’re doing now.

A grim expression materializes on his face. No, he’s not jealous. But in all honesty, he wants what’s his to stay his.

You couldn’t think of anything as he harshly thrusts his fingers into you, your body’s consciousness focusing only on the uprising pleasure, but when you’re this close to coming, all of a sudden, he pulls them out at once, grabs your hands and finally locks both your wrists together with the handcuffs before pinning them on top of your head.

Cruelly left hanging, a wave of disappointment rushes over your veins. “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” you whine, genuinely annoyed as you’re already fully installed and waiting for your explosion. Did he do that on purpose? Yes. But to your surprise, he doesn’t do anything to lift you up or bring you with him to jail.

Brows furrowed and eyes dark, Levi unties your corset’s lacing in a rapaciously eager manner, harshly pulling down the garter of your neckline to let your boobs bounce free. Your eyes widen a little when he pulls your skirt up to gain thorough access of your fruity folds. You didn’t expect him to continue on, with you restrained, even.

“Just like the good old days, huh?” you tease, voice awash with prurience. Although this reminds you of those days, this is surely going to be a new experience. While handcuffed? You love it, and just thinking about him pounding you out as you’re unable to lay your hands on him makes your neck hairs straighten in great arousal. You’re totally into this!

He’s suddenly reminded of years ago when you’d come over to catch up with the latest trades, or simply just bring with you your babbling of the day. Oftentimes, the visit ends up in the bedroom, the couch, the kitchen.

You were both young, both helping fill each other’s primitive needs and desires, not the thinnest string left attached. You handled the whole thing casually, the whole thing being just lustful sex every once in a while. Fuck buddies. That’s what they call it.

Memories of your heated body rubbing up against his, lips messy on one another’s skin, hands everywhere, nude and naked—sometimes still completely clothed, fucking you against the wall, fucking you on the counter, and finally, you kneeling on the floor as you eat him up hungrily. All of those, just five years ago.

He’s only proven you haven’t changed despite the time difference when you kick your kitten heels away like you disregard its price, stretch your right leg out to reach his crotch, your foot making a feel for his huge bulge.

He looks down to his pants, your toes stroking his covered length invitingly as if to provoke it. “You’re one fucking dirty bitch,” he points out upon your indecorous actions, meeting your catlike eyes illuminating nothing but indiscriminate salacity.

“We’re not all that different, see?” you tell, never tearing your gaze off him as you continue moving your foot up and down. He’s straining so bad, almost making you giggle. Come on, Levi. You’re just as aching as me. We could use a quickie.

He sternly grabs your ankle to stop your lewd ways and keeps quiet until you speak. Does he really think he can stop you from acting so dirty? You then bring your chained wrists to your chest, gently massaging your exposed breasts with what space you can manage, giving him a little show you know he can’t resist.

“I mean, just look at you, wearing a cheesy cravat like it’s gonna make you look dignified,” you poke fun at him and laugh, flashing him a grin before seductively licking your lips. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, but is still unable to take his eyes off of your body as you continue to play with your very own mounds.

“Shut up,” he orders, stripping the authority in his tone. Oh… you know him perfectly well. It’ll only take one last trigger for him to fire away and spring into action.

“You shut up and just fuck me,” you demand candidly, the smile in your face disappearing in the blink of an eye.

You like to think he’s one hell of a dog as he listens to your whim, undoes his trousers, only dropping them so far because of his difficult, complicated, and inhibiting harnesses. What a costume. He glares at you when you raise a sly brow at him, cocky expression conveying the words: still wanna be a soldier?

Levi just wants you to shut up for real, and he victoriously does that by pulling your body closer to the end of the table, then practically ramming his huge dick inside you, his massiveness able to cover your whole depth when he mercilessly buries it in. A long and sonorous moan leaves your throat in the utmost pleasure. Shit, he’s so big! Your tight walls are forced to adjust, desperately stretching to adapt to his size.

“Oh, fuck!” you exclaim, throwing your head back to release your emotions, eyes clenching shut in nauseating pain. Overwhelming! Can a man in his age still grow? You didn’t expect this in any way. It sure hurts like a bitch, but that’s just one of the reasons why you love it.

The cadet starts moving in a pace that tells you he won’t be beating around the bush, quick and rough. The only thing you’re worrying about is the soreness that you’ll get once this is finished, because right now—you’ve said it two times—you love it.

His anger seeping as he forces his dick in and out of your fuckhole, Levi finds it an entertaining cabaret as he watches you, your makeshift play consisting of you opening your mouth wide to moan in fervor, whipping your head side to side, eyelids falling while he quickly drives you to the brink of insanity. One bewitching whore, he thinks.

He bucks his hips even faster and spreads your legs wider apart to let you have what you want, violent and aggressive. Like an obedient lady’s man, Levi spoils your carnality by licking his middle and forefinger to rub your engorged clit, his spit helping him circle the most sensitive spot in ease.

You arch your back up in surprise, your nerves receptive in alerting you of the littlest motions. He’s so good. So good that your brain is going blank, unknowing of what to do. When you squirm under him, try to shoot up and search something to hold on for dear life, only to fall back against the table, your manacled hands suddenly add up to the gratifying thrill stirred with powerlessness. It makes Levi smirk for a fleeting second.

Not so free now, are you?

Simultaneously, Levi deepens his thrusts and starts to rubbing your clit directly to intensify the sensation, back and forth, up and down. With fervent eyes, he feasts on your body as it loses control, tits bouncing from his relentless humps, pussy unendingly leaking. Out of reflex, you try to wriggle away, but to no avail. You’re losing your mind by his marvelous stimulation, and you remember just how he feels like before.

The humidity is starting to take over your bodies, and you both feel hotter. The dark room, the rattling of the lantern on the table, sweat beginning to break through your skins, his stifled grunts, your loud wails, both your heads full of lustful desire. Who knew an apprehension would end up like this? Purely lewd. Seems normal to you, though.

The telltale signs of your upcoming orgasm appear. Your walls envelop around him tightly, your moans longer and hitching, your breaths shaky as you catch it and whatnot. The immense pleasure that keeps gradually stacking up inside your veins finally snaps free, and you come with unruly convulsions. Eyeballs rolling to the back of your skull, your cunt contracting around him, he doesn’t stop, and fuck is it overbearing.

His dick reaching the end of you, his merciless thrusts unwavering when you’re obviously trembling uncontrollably, he’s a damn ruthless lad. The amount of spasms you receive is livid, you so wanted to applaud yourself for choosing the perfect guy. Exceptional taste.

Your high eventually tones down and you’re back to awareness. The demon stops moving soon as well, deciding maybe you’ve had enough.

You gasp for breath after losing your grip from the mind boggling experience. It’s been so long since you’ve had amazing sex, and when you say so long, you mean excruciatingly long years. You study him as he looks back at you. Still so dominant, isn’t he? Refusing to get off the same time you do.

Alright. You’ve had enough mindless nooky. Now it’s time to break free from his clutches. From your lied down position, you then proceed to distract him with some ramblings.

“You better not be fucking your comrades like this,” you quip, collecting yourself.

“I’m not like you,” Levi answers and pulls out, thinking about how much men you’ve entertained your whole life. You cock a brow upon hearing his smart assed reply and mock him again, a giggle escaping your mouth, “Gonna keep acting so clean?” He should know not to continue wanting to look like a saint. He’s not any different than you, for shit’s sake.

“You have a screwed up background, Levi. You can’t seriously be thinking your superiors will be in favor of you just because you lick their boots,” you honestly advise. Disgusting. One moment he’s leading his people, then being ordered around the next.

It’s this again. You shamming like you’re so immaculate. He’d prefer it if you get off your high horse.

“I’m giving you a chance, just quit and—“

“If you keep running your damn mouth, I’m going to make use of it,” he cuts you off before you can continue offering him a deal. It’s not that you genuinely believe he’ll go with it, you just want to stall him because you’re only playing by ear. One wrong move and he’ll stop you dead in your tracks.

His words pique your interest. Does he mean that in the sense that you think it is? “Oh yeah? And how?” you push his buttons to give it a shot.

Levi shows you what he means through grabbing you by the nape to yank you up, then dropping you to the floor, pretty face nearly shoved to the concrete. It hurts a tad, your knees hitting the ground roughly, but your eyes almost immediately dart on the bunch of azure tablets scattered everywhere, three of them within your reach. Perfect!

Quickly, you snatch them with both your hands in one fell swoop, and Levi miraculously misses out on your sneaky motions. You hiss a little in pain and close your palms together tightly when he pulls a fistful of your hair to hoist your head up. Forced to make eye contact with him from below, you momentarily meet his gaze brimming of disrespect before he dicks your mouth down with his length.

He pushes your head to his groin and pounds, so deep and so rash that you literally feel him hit the back of your throat. Tears pool from your ducts as you’re forced to take him inside your mouth. But he doesn’t get it wrong, because he knows you like it, of course.

With full intentions to reach his own end and cum on your pretty tongue, he shoves his erection into your warm cavern and tightens his hold on your now messy locks. He eyes you with resounding authority as you’re down on your knees with fettered hands on your lap, dress still on but tits bare and pouching outward from your neckline, looking up at him with glistening eyes like a good, well-behaved girl. It madly turns him on seeing you like that, what a view.

His fierce stale eyes prod you to bravely blink the tears away and independently move to your own will, proceeding to suck him with stupendous obedience. Fine then, you’ll go along with him. Nothing wrong about taking your time.

Levi throws his head back a little from your sudden motion, bobbing your head back and forth in harmony with his pumps, but quickly returns his gaze to you. You gladly eat his whole size without hesitation and keep your body still, nipples fully peaked in eagerness.

You’re always so damn good, just as he remembers. Never going without a challenge, the same lecherous emotions brewing within your orbs, listening to what you’re told. His grunts start to become audible.

“Look at you, sucking like a little slut,” he groans, slowly becoming unable to process things by your turn on serving him gratification. You give him a hum in response, the muffled sound creating a vibration as you continually hollow your mouth wide open against his thickness, sending chills up and down his spine. He inwardly curses, fuck.

Levi untangles his fingers from your strands, rests them on top of your head instead, and stops giving guidance, allowing you to perform well. You know just what to do and how to please him anyway.

You pull away, a loud and satisfying pop ringing inside the enclosed space upon losing connection. Panting, you inhale the air you could to prep yourself, temperate breath ghosting over his dampened skin. Time to take matter into your own devices. You glimpse at your interlaced fingers, clinking of metals reaching your ears. You can work this without using your hands. Let’s give him a show.

Pausing, you adore his intimidating thickness, the glowing pearls of precum impressively still there on its tip. You playfully swathe it with the edge of your tongue and look straight at him with a childlike gaze, the salty taste staining your buds. The sensitive area causes him shudder and shut his eyes closed inadvertently. And it’s rewarding to see him so affected, because this play is more about you controlling his pleasure, less about him being invulnerable. You feel your pussy trickle with desire.

Without any beating around the bush, you angle your neck a little to the right before gingerly taking him inside your mouth once again, closing in inch by inch. When you dauntlessly push forward until you’re on the verge of gagging, his size filled your throat the way you like it. Then, you go back to pumping in and out in a regular pace, sucking the tip harshly every once in a while.

Levi could feel himself approaching, his guttural groans set free and detectable. Fuck, you wanted to stroke him with your hands to add up to his growing euphoria, but you can’t.

This time round Levi is only able to peer at you from his drooping lids, following your every movements, and he finds winsome the way your cheeks lose its original shape due to his cock being inside, your lips lush and full around his shaft, tongue dancing in a way that mirrors the lantern’s fire. Moving in a very devious pace, you run a lick on the underside of his hot, veiny penis, lapping him up like a thirsty bitch. God, you are coy, and it’s taking him every last ounce of his resolve for his body not to react something close to pitiful submission.

It takes him one last blow for him to finally explode, a powerful rush spreading all throughout the ends of his limbs, his balls clenching as he shoots his cum deep inside your chops, to which you willingly gulp down, a satisfied ahh leaving your lungs like your quench for his seed has been solved.

The soldier mindlessly pats your head, and you give him a quiet purr before rising to your feet. We’re not finished yet.

As if your lips are magnetized into his own, you lean in and let them crash together. He answers back just the same, indicating he’s still up for some more. But you shouldn’t put your guard down, you might not know it if he knocks you out all of a sudden.

“You’re still the same nasty whore I know,” he vehemently growls in between the lip locking, intense flame starting to devour his system. “Shut up,” you talkback. You ache to touch him but these irksome shackles are on the way. You choose not to mind it anymore since it’s only a matter of minutes before you leave.

You push him back down to the chair and he sits down in force. “Pull my skirt up,” you order on a whim, and he does as he’s told, holding your skirt for you. You help yourself into the same chair and truss your knees beside his thighs, settling for a convenient position until you’re straddling his front, wrists on the chest’s top rail, then sitting on his fully stiff and awaiting cock. As you spread your laps apart to aim and sink down, you swear you almost went insane.

A lengthy, strenuous hum slips out your lips upon letting your tight cunt engulf his big dick. “Fuck,” you mutter, whipping your head back in zeal. You should try not to lose your mind or else.

Your stretched out neck grants him the opportunity to nibble at the delicate skin, sucking intensely to create a mark of ownership, the tangy flavor due to the thin film of sweat covering your skin. It stings a little when he nips, but almost tickling at the same time. You mewl and let Levi finish his job and lower your forehead to meet his glance.

It doesn’t take you long before returning to crashing into him, his distinct taste amusingly addictive to you. The kisses sloppy and unorganized, you begin to roll your hips up and down, and he thrusts upward to meet you like an animal in heat. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he breathes out low.

You pull away to gasp for wind, chest stuttering and ragged from your unfaltering humps. “I know,” you brag and pause. The near to none distance between you two allows you to study his facial features and point out what changed by the years.

Hmm, not a lot really. He still looks twenty-four with his superbly chiseled jaw, slightly parted inviting lips, narrow nose, and the slim lining of his brows. Flawless and without fault, except for the darkening bags under his silver pools, which you dig by the way. He is, in fact, the godly embodiment of sexy, you bet women in his rank swoon for him only to be pushed aside. Lucky of you, you have a one of a kind charisma that drags this real life devil to his feet.

You look into each other’s face for a couple briefing moments, both of you discovering similar pairs of fiery eyes filled with lust in an overflowing amount. Meanwhile, his gaze dawdles on your red lips, color smudged by his doing, and he likes it. The longer he stares up at you, the more he’s convinced you’re nothing but a licentious woman hiding under your little renaissance dresses. Just thinking about it makes him want to fuck you so bad.

Levi refuses to stay still and dives into your breasts, causing your back to arch, unexpectedly hitting the perfect spot. He isn’t content and squeezes your butt, then letting his hands sit just at the top of your ass’ globes. “Levi—ah!” Shit! You desperately hold back your uprising orgasm. You have to stay in tact.

With that in mind and while he suckles on your twin mounds, you grab the chance to wring your clasped hands to your mouth, letting three of your dear coderoin melt and simmer under your tongue. This will have to do.

It’s thrilling, you’re about to drug a person who’s currently eating your boobs out hungrily in an alternating manner. What an odd situation. You wish you could continue fucking, but let’s not forget that Levi is very objective, and he’ll still eventually do his task no matter how much fun you spent with him. Before he can do that, you’ll just beat him to it.

You wait for the sweet, pungent tang to unravel, and when he lifts his chin to kiss you, the drugs are already diluted by your spittle. You skillfully transfer it into his mouth in a sparse method so he won’t notice right away.

Completely unaware, Levi gets to sparring with your tongue in a battle of ascendancy, his hands groping everywhere, and you don’t stop riding him gracefully like you didn’t do anything malicious at all.

With every grind being slick, an endless seduction, you continue enjoying yourself for the last lingering junctures. The constant sheathing into your impossibly close-fitting fuckhole extracts husky groans from his throat, ending up subdued against your mouth. He bites on your lower lip, earning himself a delightful whimper.

Two minutes pass by, something snaps, the brisk effectiveness all thanks to you. He doesn’t know why kissing you feels so dizzying, and… intoxicating. He slowly stops moving his lips and pulls away, cracking both his eyes open, only to be greeted by a cunning look. Then and there, overwhelming peak hits him like a freight train.

He feels less aware, a heavy weight being pressed against his body, colors around him becoming vibrant and he bets his whole life he could feel his own blood stream moving from inside his veins, synchronized with his heartbeats. His peripheral vision seems artificially sluggish yet accelerating.

Your lips quirk upward, discovering the befuddled expression plastered on his handsome face. You notice how his muscles strain in distress, but he can’t move even a single inch, indicating your success.

Levi’s brows furrow in cluelessness, eyes later widening upon realizing what kind of dirty stunt you pulled on him from up your sleeve.

You fix your posture upright before removing your body from his, heaving out a sigh of relief. Standing up, you look at him. Frozen and unable to do a single thing to restrain you. Down and obedient like a mere, small pet. At long last! He’s out of your hair.

“You’re too high to walk straight right now, aren’t you?” you jest, voice laced with the most graceful condescension. Of course, you know perfectly well first times can be extremely stupefying, especially with the dosage you just used for a rookie like him. Instead of it being euphoric, it’s entirely going to be the opposite. Nothing close to good.

“What the fuck did you just do?” poor Levi seethes in anger, but even his tone sounds tenfold more groggy compared to when he first arrived.

“Gave you a heavenly experience?” you giggle and repeatedly pull your wrists away from each other in an effortless attempt to break them apart, the hindrance of a shackle limiting your movements. Bothersome.

What part of weariness and intense jet lag is the heavenly experience? In a trice, Levi blames himself for being careless and taking you for granted. He should’ve done better than forget you’re from the same garbage dump he’s from. You’re one fucking crazy bitch.

Helpless, he watches you walk to the part of the table where you left the cigarette pack, shaking it all out just to get one and clip it between your lips. Some roll off to the ground, but you pay it no heed. His blood is boiling hard and tries to stand. You let him squirm around, confident that he can’t do anything, and struggle on your own to fish your lighter from your dress’ pockets.

You take your precious time lighting your stick, butane triggering the fresh burn of tobacco. You don’t mind that you look ridiculous with both hands on your face, or that your hair is a mess, or that your breasts are popped out. As you suck for smoke and briefly fill your lungs to then blow it upwards, you think, it’s just you and a spiked guy in here anyway.

Letting the nicotine rush take over your senses, you sit on the edge of the table and examine the dark haired soldier. What gives, he’s more impotent than you now. It’s ever so rare to see Levi so open to attack. “Mint goes well with coderoin, you know?” you inform just to piss him off.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Though you can hear his fury, the threat only sounds so void, the usual venom lacking from his pitch.

He sits back as you pull in smoke into your chest, exhale it out, menthol aroma reaching his nose. You chuckle heartily that among every tip and corner of his body feels like burning from rage.

Time is ticking and slipping away from Levi’s grasp. He stays silent, the pounding of his heart loud enough to ring in his ears. He can’t accept he got deceived. Did you plan this from the very start? When? The moment he told you his intentions? The second he asked about your life here? Or maybe when he kicked the trapdoor open? That can’t be. Five years, and you’re quicker on your feet than you once were.

“That’s cute of you,” you copy what he said when you barked the same phrase. You admit, earlier was a close call, but thanks to your sharp mind and the past you shared, you won him over. Barely.

As always, men are most vulnerable when driven by libido. What fools.

With one last hit of the cigarette, achieving the lightheaded state you’re aiming for, you drop it to the floor, not bothering to extinguish it. Burn this house down, for all you care. You’ll have to move places from now, knowing he might start tailing behind you for vengeance.

Now, you can’t stay longer. The drugs won’t last on him from such a method. It’s not the right way to take it—through kissing.

It was a good time, but unfortunately, you have to part ways with him. The guy wants to arrest you, and that’s the last thing you want to happen. You’d rather settle in and have five kids with an old geezer than spend the rest of your life in a prison. You’re not dense, you know how heavy your crimes are, having circulated in both the Underground and the surface for plenty years. Impressive of you, right? Makes it all the more fun to carry on.

That’s why they should just dream of catching you, because you’ll never let that happen.

You walk toward his immobilized body, movements slinky as you bend over to reach his face and deliciously run your tongue over his lips, tasting the seemingly nectar. As much as he wants to just grab you by the hair and kick your annoying face, he’s only able to lift his arms up a few inches before falling back down again.

It doesn’t escape your field of vision, reminding you to leave immediately. “Sweet, isn’t it?” you ask once you pull away, a sly smile on your lips.

“Why don’t we call it a truce, shall we?” you lastly negotiate. His lips are firmly pressed into a thin line and refuses to say anything. Steel grey eyes look back at you in annoyance. You tilt your head in curiosity. You know he has a lot going in his brain. This might be the last time you see each other, will he choose to keep those in?

Well, he does want you out of his sight right now before he regains his strength and kill you on the spot. He clicks his tongue in impatience.

“Just fucking leave, you lunatic,” he spits. You sure will.

“Gladly. Until next time, Levi,” you drawl and blow him a kiss goodbye, then strutting away in triumph, smile never leaving your face even if you’ve fully turned your back on him.

When you finally disappear, he lets out an exasperated sigh, contemplating his defeat. Nape resting on the chair’s rail, he looks up to the dark ceiling. A droplet of sweat slides from his forehead, which he manages to wipe away in no time, resilience overcoming the delirium.

Actually pondering about it, you’re a real witty one. Of course he was still going to take you with him eventually, he just hasn’t planned it ahead. Seriously though, a sneaky tactic. He massages his nose bridge, shaking his head.

What a crazy brat.

In the end, he decides to just pass on the work to Erwin about getting on the good side of the monarch and politicians, knowing full well he was in for some major explaining—maybe leave out the obscene details.

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 3 years

Text

The Way You Lie

A prequel to Wicked Games co-written by @bleepyassbitch on wattpad. Not sure what her blog is on here. Enjoy some some toxic relationship Erik.

♡

“Ow, shit!” Erik hopped back when a piercing pain shot up his leg, initiating at the sole of his right foot. “SHIT!” His lip curled in anger and when he lifted his socked foot up he noticed a silver tool laying on the tile. “The fuck? TRIN,” he growled with a shake of his head to calm himself. The eyelash curler that had likely spilled off of the mess of a bathroom counter laid on the bathroom floor as a sign that Trin would be leaving soon to visit her secret side nigga. Erik was no fool. He knew Katrin like the back of his hand.

“When you buy that? You look like you headed to Sunset Boulevard. You look like a straight hoe."

"I look like your $2 crackhead mama," she glared over her shoulder. It was a low blow and she was proud of it. He walked closer, squinting like he hadn't heard what he'd heard. In her face, he dared her to say it again.

"Mention my moms one more time.."

"Your. Mama. Is. A. Hoe," she enunciated with a smile. "Remember? ..She left you for some dick? Like I'm about to? Why? You ain't worth shit."

He gripped her neck fast and her heels raised three inches from the ground as she slid up the nearest wall, gripping his wrist, but he could still see smugness in her face. "I ought to shake the shit out you."

"Do it, you brainless ape," she muttered.

"Oh I'll a slap the shit outta you," he nodded, but on second thought he released her.

"All you do is prove my damn point of how worthless you are, brainless ass beast," she smirked when he dropped her to her feet.

He eyed her suspiciously, his lip curling. She wore lightwash denim bootyshorts with the bottom of her ass cut out and a tube top with tall heels.

"That shit wasn't in your closet, I'd have burned it.”

“Don't worry about it,” she rolled her eyes flipping her long black ponytail. “It ain't for you.”

“Run that by me again? Who's it for?”

“Me, nigga.” She snatched her arm away pushing her hand into his stomach to shove him back.

"Wrong, it's for the streets cuz that's where yo ass belong. The fuck you think you going?" He caught her wrist before she could walk out, snatching her from the doorway to slam the door back shut and lock it.

"Get yo skinny ass upstairs," he gritted through bared teeth as she stood firm on her heels.

"Woo," she laughed. "Nigga I don't know what you thought this was. You don't own me. Now move up out my way." She stepped forward in challenge, shoving his hand when he pushed her back. He knew what was coming. "Don't," slap, "touch me." Slap. Getting away with two hard slaps in his face, she tried to do it again, but he grabbed her wrist firmly.

"I'm not bout to play with you."

"I said don't touch me." She tried again, wrestling to hit him in the face before settling for a knee to his crotch. When his knees sank a little from the impact, she punched him in the cheekbone and scratched him, her nails getting dangerously close to his eye. She was aiming for it lowkey. He grabbed both of her wrists and pinned her to the wall with weight on her legs, deciding to kiss her in an effort to calm her down. Sometimes it worked. This wasn't one of those times. She bit his lip to the point of it bleeding and he slammed her lightly to make her let go.

Hellbent on fighting him, she struggled in his grasp and he let her tire herself out as she called him anything she could think of from "bitch" to things he couldn't repeat.

"Why you in a rush to give my pussy away."

"Yours? Oh it ain't ever been yours, cupcake," she smiled when she saw his lip curl.

"That ain't what you said when I was in it." He shifted his knee between her thighs to give her some friction.

"I regret ever knowing you and soon as you let me go I'm calling the police," she threatened as if she wasn't the one attacking him. His knee dropped.

"Bitch, I don't give a fuck. It's still fuck 12, let 'em come," his head shook in irritation. He let her go. "Call 'em. Go ahead." Getting close enough for her to feel his breath on her face, he made sure he was clear when he whispered "My foot will be up your ass before you get to the second 1."

She took a step away and pulled out her phone to dial, putting it to her ear. He let her talk, telling them that her boyfriend won't let her leave the house and she needs someone to come move him. When she hung up, she dropped her phone in her little purse, fixed her shorts, and stared at him to move.

"That's gone scare me?" He glared right back.

She flew at him with a tight fist that he redirected. She was still able to bite him since he wasn't expecting it and she didn't hold back which made him fling her across the floor. She bumped her head. His goal wasn't to hurt her, but she was pushing it. He let her come at him so he could restrain her again.

"Bitch I'm out here working to build you a better life. You think I'm a let you leave me for a broke nigga?"

"Ain't no letting me, I'm grown," she struggled. She was losing strength. "I'll fuck with whoever I want."

"No. You won't," his head shook. "I don't know what part of me gave you that impression but you belong to me and that go on forever."

"I belong to myself, fuck you."

"Fuck me? Yeah, you can fuck me."

She finally chilled enough for him to let her go. "You can't stop me from leaving you, you gotta know that..," she frowned and deep down he knew. It was at the point where they hardly spoke about anything substantial if it wasn't money he was bringing in. Whenever he'd go out of his way to speak, she'd give short answers. He'd already cracked her little phone code and read her messages. He knew the nigga's name and face. He'd seen the pics. Knew about their escapades.

He didn't respond.

"I'm going to continue seeing other niggas," she stressed as he watched her, so stubborn in her decision. Only way he could stop her was to strap her down.

"Whatever man, do what the fuck you gon do," he relented. He could feel depression pulling him down again, a feeling he'd grown used to.

"You don't need to tell me that. I'm leaving and I suggest you get your ass on somewhere too before the police come."

Good idea. He called a number from his phone, a girl who'd plugged it in one day at the gas station after complimenting the wraith. She didn't seem to care that he had a girl, in fact it only made her more interested. It had been a few weeks, he didn't halfway expect her to answer but she did.

"Hey Nicki. It's Erik.. We met a few weeks back at the gas station... Yeah, the Rolls Royce," he chuckled repeating her words back to her. She wanted to ride. "We can make that happen," he smiled. "What you doing now?"

"Who's that," Trin stopped on her way out, glaring as he made plans to meet Nicki and give her a ride in the wraith.

"I'm a come scoop you up, text me your location," he finished, hanging up before addressing her. "Don't worry about it, babygirl. You go ahead and do you."

"Don't tell me what to do. Where you going?"

"Don't worry about it," he repeated using one of her favorite phrases.

"I ain't even surprised." She looked him up and down. "Talking about my outfit when being a hoe seems to be genetic. Like son like thot ass mama."

"Still ain't your business," he mumbled grabbing his keys. He wondered briefly why she hadn't left, but he knew why. It was for the same reason he'd called Nicki in the first place.

"Who's that bitch and why you got her number in your phone? This why I don't fuck with you 'cuz you ain't shit. Who's the bitch, Erik?"

"Look, I'm 'bout tired of this shit. You can go foreal foreal. I can have a bitch in your spot fast, a bitch who actually wanna be here. Matter fact, take yo shit with you.. Yeah," he nodded feeling emboldened. He went up the stairs to find her suitcase and started pulling her clothes down from her closet, stuffing them in. She was beside him within a minute, trying to snatch her stuff back.

"I'm not going nowhere!"

"You getting the fuck outta here," Erik challenged grabbing more clothes to stuff into the bag. "I pay the bills. We ain't married. My name is on the deed. If you wanna slut around Cali, turn in your keys to the house and the keys to the beemer."

"It's my car! You gave it to me which means it's a gift and if I gotta take you to court, I will," she snapped angrily shoving her clothes back into the closet.

"Bitch with what money? You bout broke as the niggas you cheating with."

Irate, she started throwing his things which led to him being rougher with hers and throwing her makeup, jewelry, and shoes down the stairs with the rest of her clothes leaving a mess on the floor and furniture below. She tried to fight him, getting a few hits but he mushed her face and twisted her arms behind her back.

"I paid for it," he reminded her in her ear since she'd obviously forgotten. He couldn't be home most days because of his work and when he was home, he was tired, but she never went without a thing she wanted if it was in his power to get it. "It's in my name, like all this shit because I don't trust you and I never have! You can take yo other shit and what you came with and walk yo ass out." At that, he shoved her. "See if that nigga you running to let you live with him."

She wrestled and clawed him for her suitcase, leaving small red marks on his skin before he threw it from the top of the stairs. She shoved him like she was purposely trying to send him over the banister with all of her strength and he pushed her back sending her stumbling flat against a wall.

"Try that shit again, I dare you," his lips stretched over his teeth. He was at his limit for patience. Panting with anger, she came at him and he threw her over his shoulder as if he'd toss her headfirst over the balcony. He wanted to at this point. "You wanna keep coming at me like a grown man, bitch. I'll flex yo ass man to man." He loosened his grip letting her slip and she panicked, holding onto him. "Nah, get the fuck off me and fall, you got insurance."

He let go and she screamed bloody murder, before he caught her just as quick. She wouldn't die if she fell, but she could get some neck, back, or leg injuries.

"Don't forget I'm stronger than you. I'm smarter than you, while you calling me brainless," he reminded her as he stood her on her feet. "Get your shit."

"I ain't going nowhere," she growled heading back into the room and he followed her, grabbing her up by the waist. She was mid-way through grabbing an armful of her clothes from the bedroom floor when he tossed her on their bed, doubling down over top of her.

"Since you wanna fuck someone so bad."

"Get the fuck off me," she snapped digging her nails into his hand when he tried to wrestle her arms from her and over her head. He fought to get the button on her shorts free before deciding to pull it off. Her short shorts already had rips so he ripped them more and he yanked them from her ignoring her rough kicks. The heel her shoe dug into his chest before he pushed her leg back, pinning her with ease, his breath in her ear.

"You ain't leaving me. You hear that?" He looked her in the eye.

"Get the fuck off me," she grunted struggling in his hold.

He grabbed her neck as her wrists remained firmly in one palm and he slid into her with full eye contact, set on reminding her of his ownership. Deep and consistent strokes while she panted in his ear, biting her lips and holding her moan. She couldn't though.. She was wet and tightening around him, pulling him in. He moved his hips, touching every part of her internally as she stared up at him, mouth agape. This time when he kissed her, she let it happen and he released her wrists feeling her arms surround him tightly like a boa constricting its prey.

"You belong to me," he repeated with no rebuttal from her. They didn't have sex a lot, but when they did, it was like this and afterward, she'd be tamed for three days to a week. She'd be real amenable then, borderline romantic even though she ain't love him. He could feel it. He could see it happening again, the brief calm coming. "Stay there, I'm a get a wet cloth," he said when they were done and he'd painted her stomach and chest. There was a ring at the doorbell, the police responding to the call. They'd been called a few times in the past but neither Trin nor Erik would press charges against each other. She didn't get up as he walked away and when he came back, he leaned over her with their kink play handcuffs. A quick click had her cuffed to the bed.

"Did I say you could cuff me," she eyed him as he lifted ignoring the cops at the door. Without a word, he left the room and went downstairs to grab any newspaper, magazine, spam mail, and he brought it up throwing it in the wastebasket he pulled from the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

Setting it on the bedroom floor for her viewing pleasure, he lit it on fire and watched her eyes as the flame grow with black smoke. The smell grew strong and she started to panic when she saw he wasn't putting it out even when the smoke alarm was triggered. He walked away instead and set fire to the curtains, one of his shirts. He let it spread, zoned out mentally.

She screamed at him, coughing in the back smoke for him to put out the fire that was spreading. He coughed too, inhaling smoke as he sat there at the foot of the bed. He didn't care if she didn't love him.

"You ain't leaving me," was his reply and when the officers broke in and climbed the stairs, they grabbed him, pulling him from the room and taking the key to free her. Outside of the house they all stood in wait of the firetruck that they could hear coming up the street. Katrin wouldn't address the cops, only Erik, calling him every name she could until the cuffs went on his wrists then it was, "Get off my man!"

She promised she'd get him released, yelling that he'd done nothing wrong, it was a mistake, and that she'd beat his ass and he had all the marks to prove it. She held her wrists out and she was taken in too. Erik chuckled when they put her beside him in the police car.

"Guess yo side nigga on his own," he teased with her taking it in stride.

"And Nicki staying right where she at," she responded. He shook his head. She didn't care about him, she wanted to run him and she'd go this far. Still, at least she was there.

@thadelightfulone @mszrenee @woahitslucyylu @badgalbrix1 @supersizemeplz @idont-know-shit @ladymac82 @xsweetdellzx @chaneajoyyy

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik stevens #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #erik killmonger smut #black panther killmonger #black panther fanfiction

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ilalos · 3 years

Text

Lavender dreams (Anthony Bridgerton x OC)-Part 1/3

Word count: 3.1k

Anthony stormed into his office after breakfast with his mother following close. The proper introductions were made when Miss Grace, or Gigi as she preferred to be called, entered the dining room; he had ignored the little somersault that attacked his heart when he made eye contact with the young girl and instead of acknowledging the feeling chose to finish eating as soon as humanly possible and left the table in a haste.

“How could you not notify me of this visit mother? The responsibility of finding her a suitable match falls on me and I know nothing about this girl, do you?” he tried to keep his voice down, but the exasperation he felt still showed in the form of harsh whispers.

“I didn’t tell you because I know she won’t have a problem finding a suitor that would be interested in her” Violet sat down tiredly looking at her exasperated son.

“And how are you so sure of that?”

“Well, she is an only daughter to a wealthy man, she is a well-read young woman and an amazing piano player, not to mention her dowry is obviously substantial” she gave him a pointed ‘I told you so’ glare “and of course, she is beautiful”

“Even worst then, we’ll have to make sure that whoever marries her-“

“We won’t do anything but I’ll make sure she loves the man she chooses to marry and he does her, that was Rose’s wish and that’s what I’ll do” she stood up not wanting to hear any more of her son’s antics.

Meanwhile, in the drawing-room things seemed to be running smoothly as Gigi read a novel and Eloise sat next to her reading the latest Lady Whistledown, while Benedict draws the pair in his sketchbook.

“Ugh! I can’t believe tomorrow is the day where our whole future is defined by the judgment of the queen” Eloise couldn’t keep her discontent in after reading the suppositions of who could be this season’s Incomparable “Can you believe it? Tomorrow our settling down begins” she sighed dramatically.

“Stop scaring the girl, Eloise” Benedict chastised with a smile, not looking up from his sketch.

“It’s not like I have a choice on the matter, so I try not to worry too much about it” Gigi gave her a small smile as if trying to comfort her.

“Right?! Society makes us feel like we have no choice, we either settle for a boring man who will hopefully be interesting enough to-“

“I don’t think she meant that she is pressured by society, dear sister” chuckled Benedict

“Oh, then pray tell me what you meant Grace”

“My father is very ill” started Gigi with a sad look as she let the book fall on her lap “I’m his only daughter and he wishes to see me married and in love before his passing”

Silence filled the room after Gigi finished speaking, she picked her book back up and resumed her reading when Eloise’s voice suddenly cut through the quiet atmosphere.

“You could marry one of my brothers, you know?” She said it more as thought said out loud than an actual suggestion and it caused Benedict to loudly scratch his pencil against the paper of his drawing.

“I don’t think that would be a wise suggestion sister” he racked his brain trying to come up with a way to explain how adamant he was on NOT getting married anytime soon “I for one wouldn’t want to be the brother in question, no offense Gigi”

“None taken” she giggled “I understand where you’re coming from Eloise but neither of your brothers seems prepared, or willing, to get married this season”

“Well it’s your loss, these dimwits may not look like much but they are somewhat intelligent and also very desirable matches according to Lady Whistledown”

“Well isn’t this a warm welcome?” Colin's voice startled the siblings and their guest as they didn’t expect him to arrive for another month.

Benedict was the first to stand and embrace his brother while his sister seemed to be torn between welcoming Colin and running to the Featherington’s residency to notify her best friend of his arrival, she knew Penelope would appreciate learning the news before the whole ton started whispering about it or even worse reading about it the next day. Standing up she chose to run to her friend’s home and also drag her guest along to not leave her alone with her brothers who were already deep in conversation.

“Tell mother we will be back for lunch!” She ran to the door with an iron grip around Gigi’s wrist only stopping to give a quick “Welcome home brother!”

“It was lovely to meet you!” That was all Gigi managed to get out before being dragged through the streets of London towards the Featherington home.

/////Time jump\\\\\

The picnic had gone wonderfully and Violet could not have been happier, surrounded by all her children and one grandchild. For a moment she forgot the expectations, the pressure of the next day’s events that signified the start of a new season that would, hopefully, be less dramatic than the last.

The men chatted about Colin’s travels as all the older men had already taken the same voyages, in way less innocent intents than him (read: brothel tour) as he seemed truly interested in the culture, the sights, and the history of the places he visited. Of course, he had met many women on his travels and he had laid with some of them but of that, he wouldn’t speak in such proximity to his mother and sisters.

Later that evening the girls had gone to pick up their debut dresses accompanied by the duchess to get as much advice as possible in how to be the Incomparable of the season, Daphne truly didn’t know how she had achieved that and if she had to be completely honest she only went to spend some time with her sister.

When the girls arrived back at the Bridgerton home, Violet decided it would be early supper and early bedtime for everyone because tomorrow was a crucial day for everyone’s life. Lady Bridgerton knew she couldn’t control what her sons would get up to in the late-night but she would make sure that her debutants were well rested before their presentation to the queen, and she made sure of it by personally escorting them to their shared room and verifying they had in fact gone to bed.

Way past the middle of the night Gigi woke up with a start after having a nightmare about her mother’s death, tears were running down her cheeks and her heart was hammering inside her chest so fast it was almost painful. She quickly looked to Eloise’s sleeping form and breathed a sigh of relief when she confirmed that the girl had not been awakened by her. Slowly and quietly Gigi got up from the bed and grabbed her robe, she needed some fresh air to calm down and maybe some milk.

Little tears were still falling from her eyes as she walked to the kitchen but the hammering of her heart had subsided by now, as she passed the office she noticed light coming from the room and with a frown, she went to see who was there at this ungodly hour. It was Anthony who was hunched over his desk holding an almost empty cup of liquor, his other hand supporting his head and messing his once perfectly combed hair, he was looking at some papers that were carelessly thrown over the desk surface with a deep frown.

“Lord Bridgerton is everything okay?” she knew she should’ve just continued her path to the kitchen but seeing him so concerned made her feel a dull ache in her chest.

He was startled by her voice, almost dropping his cup and lifting his head so quickly he got a little dizzy. He took a good look at her and realized a couple of things: first, she had been crying, and second, even in the simplest of robes with dried tears on her cheeks she looked breathtakingly beautiful.

“Miss Gillingham what are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing” she hadn’t meant to sound so sassy but her sleepy brain couldn’t process much formality at the moment.

“It’s nothing that concerns you” he said it with no intention of being harsh but her small wince let him know it came out that way “may I ask you, where were you heading to before stumbling into my office?”

“I was on my way to the kitchen to heat some milk, couldn’t sleep”

“I could help you with that” he surprised even himself with the suggestion because he knew he couldn’t even turn on the stove “stay here, I’ll go to the kitchen, it’s no place for a barefoot lady to be in”

She blushed and looked down at her feet that were in fact bare. He got up from his desk and walked up to where she was standing by the door, he gently pulled her inside the room and guided her to sit on the couch, silently instructing her to stay there before taking his leave for the kitchen. After he left she decided it would be nice of her to refill his drink, she grabbed the liquor bottle that sat atop one of the many papers on the desk and poured it in the cup. She knew she shouldn’t be reading what was written on the papers but her eyes couldn’t help but wander around the surface and soon realized what troubled Anthony, someone was stealing from the family.

“You didn’t need to do that, I could’ve poured it myself” she jumped a little when she heard his voice.

“Nonsense, you went into the trouble of getting me...cold? Milk” she had one look at the small glass bottle he held in his hand with a small smile.

“Ah yes” he chuckled “I didn’t want to bother a kitchen maid so cold milk it is”

“I appreciate the gesture Lord Bridgerton” she took the bottle from his hands as he approached her “I understand you not wanting to wake any of the kitchen staff as one of them is clearly stealing from you”

“What are you talking about? Such accusations are not to be said in such a lightly manner”

“I apologize, sir, I didn’t mean to anger you” she looked down at her feet and tears welled her eyes once again.

“What makes you think one of our kitchen staff is stealing from us?” He was genuinely curious about her answer, not sure if he’d believe it but nonetheless curious.

“Here” she pointed to a piece of paper and his breath hitched at her proximity “it says that you bought 50 baguettes from the bakery today”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well I saw your table this morning and there were no baguettes there, in the picnic he had croissants and for dinner, there were, again, no baguettes” she felt proud of the way he looked down at her in what could only be described as awe “Baguette is a bread that must be eaten within the same day it is bought as it will get stale rather quickly, it is also an incredible amount of bread for a relatively small family to eat” she completed her explanation and stepped back to give him room to see it for himself.

“I believe you are correct but I must know, how did you know this?” All Anthony could think about was how wonderful it would be to have a wife that could understand such concepts of family economy.

“The same thing happened at our state a couple of years back, our housekeeper claimed to buy enormous quantities of food to get the extra coin herself”

“Who caught her?”

“My mom” she smiled “She said men would’ve never noticed because they had no idea how a kitchen works, she did and she taught me that being a good wife meant not only raising the children but also making sure everything in the home is working how it's supposed to, among other things”

“She sounds like a wonderful woman” he wanted to embrace her with how small and sad she looked but he refrained from doing so, it would be highly inappropriate.

“She was” a yawn tore through her and she suddenly realized just how tired she was “Well good night Lord Bridgerton, thank you for the milk”

He took the vessel from her hand, set it gently on the table, and offered his arm to accompany her to the door.

“Goodnight to you too, and please call me Anthony”

She looked up at him one last time before turning and padding to her bedroom as quietly as she could. Meanwhile, Anthony sat back at his desk and chuckled in disbelief, he had spent the past three hours trying to know where the sudden increase of expenses had come from and she had solved it after mere seconds of looking, she truly was a wonderful woman and would be an even better wife. He couldn’t help but think for a brief moment that she could perhaps be a wonderful wife for him.

Morning came quicker than expected and the house was filled with running maids preparing baths, horses being brushed, and food being made. Anthony fired their housekeeper, Violet wanted to kill him as he chose to do so at the worst possible time and that forced her to make her personal maid the housekeeper to keep things running smoothly on such an important date. The girls came down with their hair done wearing robes so they could eat before getting dressed, Violet didn’t want them to spill anything on them but most importantly she didn’t want to have either of the girls fainting in front of the queen due to hunger, so breakfast in a robe was the solution.

Disaster hit Lady Bridgerton’s mind as soon as she saw the way her firstborn looked at Grace, he looked at her as if he was in love with her. She had no problem in her son choosing to court the young heiress but it would look terrible if he were to court her while she was staying in their home, it would certainly give the wrong impression. She rose from the table and grabbed her eldest daughter by the elbow prompting her to follow her out to the hallway where she proceeded to explain that she needed her and her husband to take Grace to Lady Dunbury’s house.

“But why? Is our presence bothering you mother?”

“Of course not dearest, but I must get Grace out of the house to avoid a scandal” at her daughter’s confused face she continued “your brother seems to fancy her and I’m afraid if he chose to court her it would look terrible if she was to be living under the same roof as him”

Daphne understood her mother’s reasoning and agreed that it would be quite scandalous for a debutant to live in the same home as the man who courted her. Back in the dining room, the Duke of Hastings was getting worried by his wife’s absence so he ventured into the hallway to find her and her mother speaking in hushed voices.

“My love! I was just about to send for you” Daphne reached her hand out to her husband and he took it with a wary look “My mother has asked us to take over Grace’s season at Lady Danbury’s house, and I wanted to know if that may be possible”

He wanted to say no, he wanted to avoid staying the whole season under the scrutiny of the ton and also that of Lady Danbury, but he couldn’t deny his wife the chance to spend this time close to her family and for her to take such responsibility was a task he knew she wished to do to make her mother proud. So despite wanting to deny such request he smiled and instead said he’d be honored to help her with such task and would make arrangements to speak with Lady Danbury and send their belongings there while they went to de debutants presentation.

The presentation to the queen goes uneventful until Eloise walks in accompanied by her mother, even though she failed to aid in catching Lady Whistledown The Queen admired the young lady and provided her with a nod of approval, which was an enormous statement coming from the monarch. Next walked in Grace with Daphne and to no one’s surprise, she was deemed the Incomparable by the queen with a simple kiss to the forehead.

The news traveled fast and as soon as both ladies arrived at the ball in Lady Danbury’s home their dancing cards were filled with prospects, well Grace’s was because thanks to Anthony’s ‘assistance’ Eloise’s was impossibly blank. Daphne and Simon had decided to allow Gigi to dance with whoever she liked and they would worry about background checks when the dances turned into gentleman callers.

Anthony spent half of his attention taking good care of his sister and the other half was put into painfully watching Gigi dancing with different men, but what hurt the most was seeing that the man that made her smile the most was his own brother. He watched Colin take her first dance and couldn’t help the jealousy coursing through his veins as he saw them smiling and laughing as he twirled her around the dance floor. Perhaps that jealousy is what prompted him to abandon his sister’s side and approach the purple-eyed girl to ask for a dance.

“I’m so sorry Anthony but my dance card is full for the night” she was truly apologetic even though she had no way of knowing the eldest Bridgerton would want her to save a dance for him.

“May I see it?” He read through the list of names and chose to scratch over Benedict’s name knowing his brother had saved himself a dance with the girl only to save her from another dance with an impossibly boring gentleman, so he wouldn’t mind giving his dance up to his older brother.

“Is that allowed?” She asked with a smile.

“It is when he’s your brother” he dropped the card and handed back her pencil “Do me a favor and save me a dance on the next ball, and all others after that” with a final smile he left her to dance with the next gentleman and went back to his sister’s side.

Part 2

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

I wanted to write this in 1 part buuuuut it came out longer than expected 😬 It’ll probably be like a 3-4 part story. If you took the time to read this I appreciate you :):):):):):):):):)

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x oc #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #my writing

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

“Return To Sender” *Part 2*

So I promised @objection-argumentative I would do a second chapter of this, and instead I wrote “Helpless”. So I wanted to make good on my promise. Sorry took so long babe!

This will either end here, or if it continues it’ll be a “Sexy friends eventually build real feelings for each other and don’t know how to handle it” situation. Don’t know who’s all down for that.

Also, I did some...research, and learned how to write smut! Yay me! That sounds so awkward...but, anyway. I really thought that this story just entirely focused on that so, I did my best! (Shout out to @storiesofsvu for inspiration 😅☺️)

WARNING: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT.

If you missed Part 1

Check out Part 3

"And then he just walked out?"

You were detailing the horrific night to your room mate, who wasn't making the situation any better.

"YES!!!! God I am so fired…." You sighed, putting your hands over your face.

"Well hold on there, drama queen," they interrupted your breakdown. "Did your boss seem upset?"

“I mean, not really but why wouldn’t she be?” You shrugged.

“It’s not like you were texting during work or something. And he’s like, not even close to being in charge of you right, so it’s not sexual harassment…”

“I’m pretty sure discussing one’s oral skills would be considered sexual harassment babe,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well you didn’t actually say it to him! Or even text it! He just... happened to find out,” They shrugged with a giggle.

“I guess…”

“I wouldn’t worry about it hon, seriously,” They patted your head and went back to their own room.

You agreed and went to bed, still not entirely sure they were right.

----

The next day as soon as you got to work, there was paperwork sitting on your desk.

“What’s this?” you asked Amanda, who was your desk mate.

“Barba wanted you to come collect a warrant,” She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh for fuck’s sake...Can’t you do it? Couldn’t ANYONE do it?”

“I mean he did ask for you,”

“God….great, now I have to go and listen to him gloat about he’s such a big deal, and that I’m in love with him, and blah blah blahhhh….”

“Yeahhhh, his ego’s probably too big to fit through a door now,” She chuckled.

“Ugh...I’ll be back,” you sighed and grabbed the paperwork, headed downtown to the District Attorney’s Office.

---

“Hi, I’m here for Mr. Barba,” You greeted Barba’s receptionist.

“He’s on the phone, but if he’s expecting you, you can go right in,”

You figured he was expecting you. You nodded and walked right into his office where he was indeed, on the phone. Dressed in an all black suit with the square shoulders, a pink dress shirt with a black tie. God he always looked amazing. And now that he knew you knew that, he’d never let it go.

He smiled when he saw you, mumbled something about having to call the person back and hung up, still grinning wildly.

“Well that was fast,” He took the papers from you.

“Yeah...what did you need them for?

“I actually didn’t need them, I needed you,” His tone suddenly shifted into a seductive one.

“....For what?” You blinked your eyes in confusion; was this actually happening?

“Well, I thought you might wanna take me up on my offer,” He grinned devilishly, walking around his desk to get closer to you.

“A-Are you serious?” You thought you might pass out right there in his office.

“Were you not?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I mean I, just-- I mean I never thought that--” your face was flushing hot, you couldn’t breathe. Of all the possible scenarios that could have come from him finding out about that text, this was the LEAST possible one you ever thought would happen.

“...You weren’t serious, were you? I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t have assumed--” He turned away sheepishly and started back to his desk.

“YES I WAS,” You blurted out in an almost deafening tone. You hadn’t been serious, but if he was offering what you thought he was, there was absolutely no way in hell you were passing that up.

“Lock the door,” His eyes sparkled with arousal, his grin turning mischievous. You ran to lock the door as you heard Barba speak into his intercom:

“Sarah, hold all my calls. I’m gonna be busy for a while,” He smirked, making you shiver with anticipation.

“I um...ahem…where do you want me?” You looked around the room for a spot that would be comfortable to lay on...for God knows how long.

“There,” he nodded to a couch in the corner.

“Oh. Right. Obviously,” you giggled nervously. God dammit, now is not the time to be your weird awkward self!

“Calm down carino, I’m not going to bite…” He smiled, coming closer to you. When he reached you close enough he pulled you into him, making you gasp with excitement.

“Hard,” he winked, before picking you up and tossing you on the couch.

“Now you just relax, enjoy and remember-- tips are always appreciated,” he winked as he hiked up your skirt.

You were going to say something about him being such an ass, but you barely got halfway through your sentence before it was strangled by a thunderous moan, because Barba had wrapped his wet lips around your clit and started sucking.

“OH FUCK,” you yelped, suddenly not giving a damn how loud you were being. Barba laughed against your body and the vibration traveled through you like an ecstatic earthquake.

“Keep it down sweetie, people are trying to work,” He smirked, before going back down between your legs.

Pinning your thighs apart with his big warm hands, Barba started to work his tongue in an up-and-down motion on one side of your clit and then the other.

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, lifting his head for just a moment, and you growled with frustration and shoved his face back where it belonged. You had never been so forward and...aggressive, like this before but something about him just brought out an animalistic side of you.

Barba switched to a circular motion, his tongue looping up, over and around your clit again and again, catching it in a tiny whirlpool of pressure and wetness and just enough friction. You couldn’t believe how good it felt. It was like your own fingers, but faster, softer, smoother..

You made noises deep in your throat that you didn’t even know you were capable of: wild, uninhibited, un-you-like noises.

Barba grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over your face, trying to silent your quite visceral noise making. You couldn’t help it, and you didn’t care.

One of Barba’s hot hands left your thigh and you missed it immediately, until you realized where he had moved it to. As his tongue continued to twist and spin against your clit in a seemingly impossible rhythm, he slipped first one finger, then two, inside you, and pushed them up against your G-spot. His hands were bigger than yours – you’d often secretly admired the way they looked wrapped around the grip of his pen– and his fingers felt so much more substantial than your own, filling you up like you never could when you were by yourself.

His tongue slipped across that one spot on the tip of your clit that always set you off, and suddenly you were coming on his mouth, grasping fistfuls of his hair and moaning into the pillow so hard you thought you might suffocate. He clamped his lips around your clit and squeezed rhythmically, riding it out with you, using his free hand to hold your hips steady as they bucked against his face. Your internal muscles gripped his fingers in waves and he waited until your contractions had completely stopped before slowly sliding his two fingers out of you and into his mouth to lick them clean.

“So what did you think, as good as you imagined?” He smirked, looking down at your body, that wasn’t moving.

“Y/N?” He pulled the pillow from your face, and you still lay there comatose.

“Oh fuck, Y/N!” He shook you, to which you finally responded with a blink of your eyes.

“Jesus Christ, I thought I had killed you,” He sighed in relief, grabbing his pocket square out of his suit to wipe his mouth clean.

“....I think you almost did,” You were finally able to form words; you had actually blacked out after coming because it was so exquisite.

You were still reeling from his mouth being inside you, now you wanted yours in his. You jumped up off the couch and tried to kiss him, but he stopped you.

“Oh sweetie no, I don’t kiss on the mouth. Too intimate,” he shook his head with a “no” motion of his fingers.

“Oh...um...sorry,” You suddenly became very insecure and awkward once again, realizing what had really just transpired. He was actually just proving to you that your thoughts were warranted, nothing more.

“So um..do you want me to….?” You gestured to his very obvious erection poking through his suit.

“I mean...if you want to,” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“I mean I just...um, I’ve never….” Your face grew hot and you twirled your hair nervously. Barba’s face went from a smirk to a look of horror.

“You’ve...You’ve never….Christ don’t tell me you’re a virgin, Y/N,” His hands went over his head in a stressful manner.

“N-NO, I’m not! I’ve had sex…” You looked everywhere but his eyes as you added “...Once,”

“...And have you ever had...that, done?” He raised an eyebrow.

“...Kind of?” You thought back to your one and only serious boyfriend, back in college. He had tried going down on you, but halfway through he had gotten sick and thrown up. It later turned out that he was very, very gay. Yes, your dating life was fascinating.

“Oh my god...what have I done?” He shook his head with a dry laugh.

“You don’t need to do anything, sweetheart,” He smiled, putting his hands on both of your shoulders. “This one’s on me,”

Sweetheart? What were you, ten all of a sudden? And THIS one? Was he implying this was going to happen again? Was he NOT just freaking out that he had taken your “oral virginity”? This whole thing had suddenly turned into a competition, and you were sure as hell not going to lose.

“You know what, I’m gonna go learn how to do...that,” You gestured to his erection once again.

“And it’s going to blow your mind. Then we’ll see who’s calling who ‘sweetheart’, ok counselor?”

“Oh I very much look forward to that, Ms. Y/N. Doubtful, but I enjoy the enthusiasm,” That cocky tone of his dripped with sarcasm as he led you to his door.

“Yeah...well...GOOD,” You literally had no better comebacks than a five year old, mostly because your mind was still in a haze from his brilliant mouth work. Dammit.

“Very productive meeting, Ms. Y/N!” He yelled at you as you walked down the hall and out the front door onto the bustling New York City streets.

As mad as you were, you still had to text your BFF:

“I was ABSOLUTELY right!”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x you #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba imagine #smut #warning #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction

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fandomsnfluff · 3 years

Note

Hello, Noah! If it's not too much trouble, could I request a pillow fight turns into a tickle fight + "be careful what you wish for" with Simeon and, hehe, Lucifer, please? Platonic!

If you want, you can choose just one of them ! Also, if you want me to chance anything, please let me know! 😊 Thank you!

hi mia!! not a problem, of course i can do this, thanks so much for your request!! and LMAO THIS TURNED OUT SO LONG WAAA 😭

tickle prompts/scenarios

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

Lucifer had found himself in a predicament. Again.

And amazingly, it wasn’t the fault of his brothers.

In fact, his brothers had absolutely nothing to do with this. Diavolo had invited him, and him alone, to somewhat of a mini-party with Barbatos and some of the Purgatory Hall residents. Solomon, Luke, and Simeon were also going to attend; it would be a nice getaway from his 24/7 full-time oldest brother job. He let out a sigh of relief when he approached the castle entrance, but it was short-lived; he knew that he would very soon have to return to his normal life once the party was over.

In fact, Diavolo had invited the residents to spend the night if they wished. As nice as the invitation was to Lucifer, he didn’t think he could get away with spending even a single night away from his six rowdy younger brothers. He needed to be there to assess them, particularly Asmo and Mammon, for their “night routines,” but in very different ways. Asmo always asked him what kind of lotion he should use before going to bed, and he needed to monitor any crazy, late-night spending Mammon may plan to do.

However, it wasn’t completely off the table. If he decided he really wanted a break, he could always text Mammon to make sure he got everyone in place for the night. He shuddered at the thought, though; why, oh why did the second-born have to be so immature? He figured Satan may be a better candidate, the one brother besides him with at least a fraction of a brain cell, but alas, that thought as well made his skin crawl; contacting the one he had a bit of an internal rival with would definitely put a nick on his pride.

But he shrugged off the thoughts; it was now time to enjoy some nice tea and warm pajamas with a few of his closest friends.

Of course, Lucifer could never, ever let his brothers see him walk around so casually in his pajamas; he would never hear the end of it. So he just brought them as a change of clothes with him to Diavolo’s castle.

“Ah, you’re here,” Barbatos commented as he opened the door in response to Lucifer’s knock. “I’ll take you right over to the dining hall. Lord Diavolo and the others are waiting for you there.”

“Thank you,” Lucifer responded, following the butler into the rather large, well-kept dining hall. The long table in the center of the room was decorated in lighter shades of blues, yellows, and reds, which was a bit different than its usual red-and-gold scheme. He widened his eyes when he noticed a jumble of balloons tied to a table at the side of the room, which appeared to be an appetizer table with various kinds of teas, cookies, and other goodies. Yet another interesting contrast to the elegance of the room (and, well, let’s be honest, the whole castle). Diavolo definitely had his moments, didn’t he?

“Good evening, Lucifer,” Simeon greeted him respectfully. “Barbatos made his special tea earlier, and it’s really good tonight. Would you like some?”

“Good evening to you as well,” Lucifer responded. “That sounds lovely.”

Barbatos quickly reached over and grabbed the tea kettle, which must have come fresh off the pot, before walking to Lucifer’s side of the table and pouring it into his teacup. When it was halfway full, a sharp voice called from the other end of the room.

“Barbatos!” It was Diavolo. “Don’t feel pressured to serve them all like that tonight. We can help ourselves, and you can feel free to join us.”

“Yes, my Lord.” There was no hesitation in Barbatos’ voice as he placed the kettle back on the table before turning to Lucifer. “Would you be okay serving yourself?”

“Not at all.” Lucifer fought back the urge to tease the butler by saying ‘you heard your master,’ but he stopped himself.

Diavolo was humming to himself as he walked over to an empty seat near Lucifer, letting out a content sigh as he sat down. It wasn’t until he sat down that Lucifer noticed what he was wearing: a very large black hoodie, plaid red sleep pants, fuzzy gray slippers, and, of course, red bunny ears. Lucifer was truly shocked, but at the same time, he had to bite back a laugh.

“I have so many ideas for tonight,” Diavolo exclaimed, reaching for the tea and giving Lucifer a nod as a greeting. “As soon as we finish up here, we can maybe play some cards or chess and go watch a movie. What do you all want to do?”

“I’m good with anything, as long as we get to watch a movie,” Simeon commented, taking a bite of one of the special newt cookies.

“Me too!” Luke agreed.

“I’m just enjoying this tea at the moment, so I’ll think about it for a bit longer. But I’m okay with anything,” Simeon commented after taking another sip from his teacup.

“I’m also okay with anything,” Lucifer added.

“Speaking of which, Lucifer...” Diavolo narrowed his eyes, looking at his friend. “You’re not in your pajamas. You wouldn’t happen to not dress up because of your pride, would you?”

Was that a teasing note in his voice? Yes, there definitely was. Lucifer looked away, fighting a slight blush rising in his cheeks. “My brothers would question me until the day I die if I walked out of the house wearing pajamas so freely like you all are,” he muttered. “I was planning on changing here, if that’s all right with you.”

“Feel free,” Diavolo responded. “You can go up to my room now if you like.”

“That sounds good.” Lucifer stood up, making sure to grab his belongings and respectfully nodded his head to everyone else in the room before heading to Diavolo’s room.

It didn’t take long to sniff out the room and get changed. Lucifer admired himself in the mirror for a bit; how long had it been since he had worn actual pajamas? He wanted to do it more often, though; they were too comfortable to completely shove the thought away.

The rest of the night actually didn’t drag by like Lucifer had originally feared; the group of six managed to get through a game of Uno (or the Devildom version) relatively quickly, and by the time they were done, they could sense the urgency to watch the movie radiating off of each other.

Diavolo led the way to the movie room, which proved to be another surprise for Lucifer. He had lost count of the number of times he had gone into that room, but it was completely decked out in pillows, blankets, and other soft chairs and couches that looked completely new.

“So soft!” Luke whispered as he fell over into a pillow, nuzzling his face into the fluff. Simeon chuckled before taking a seat on the couch next to him. Lucifer decided to join him there, unable to hold back a soft sigh as he practically sank into the furniture.

Lucifer barely knew he was dozing off until he heard a rather loud and uncharacteristic “oof!” from Simeon, who was sitting to his left. He was a jolted back awake with a start, sitting up to get a better look at the scene.

“How could you, Luke?!” Simeon sobbed dramatically, grabbing a pillow and slamming it down on Luke’s body. “I thought we were friends!”

“We were until I started this fight!” The angel boy shot back, but the two quickly dissolved into laughter as they continued to attack each other with pillows.

Nostalgia soared through Lucifer’s body watching the scene; he couldn’t remember the last time he had a good, substantial pillow fight with his brothers. Mammon and Asmo wouldn’t hesitate to start one normally, so why had it taken them so long to? Was he that scary, or something?

He was broken out of his thoughts when something hit him in the face again, just as he had begun to doze off. Immediately he knew what had happened, and Simeon, the culprit, instantaneously knew that he had messed up. And he had messed up hard.

“L-Lucifer...?” Simeon whispered in a small voice. “I-It was an accident--”

“Join us, Lucifer!” Luke interrupted, calling to the demon excitedly.

Lucifer smirked, feeling the hairs at the back of his neck rise. He knew he was just being playful, but it was still something his body did when it sensed impending danger. He grabbed the closest pillow to him and immediately held it up as he approached the two angels. He smirked down at Luke. “Be careful what you wish for!”

The room exploded into a pool of feathers, flying pillows, and demons and angels jumping up and down and running away from one another. Unfortunately, Lucifer didn’t get to strike at Luke, for Simeon hit him with another pillow just as the two angels stood up and began running around the room, trying to get away from the demon. But Lucifer was relentless; he was determined to hit someone with a pillow tonight. Someone truly deserving of his wrath.

He did pause, however, when he noticed that the angels were becoming out of breath; Lucifer wanted a fair fight where he didn’t have to wail on already exhausted opponents. The three of them plopped on the couch together, and as soon as Lucifer noticed Simeon getting his energy back, he sneakily reached for the closest pillow, hoping that the angel wouldn’t notice. But Simeon was faster; he must have noticed the demon moving at the corner of his eye, for before Lucifer could strike, Simeon had reached for his outstretched leg, lightly skittering his fingers along the bottom of his foot.

Lucifer let out a high-pitched noise of surprise, something that sounded between a yelp and a squeak. He heard Luke gasp as he flinched his leg away so hard that he found himself rolling over the edge of the couch. His head landed on the pillow in his arms, however, and he quickly flipped over on his back before pulling his legs back towards him.

Simeon and Luke were staring at him, pure shock on their faces. Lucifer could barely stand to look at them; he knew that he was blushing, and it was so unfair that they had to find out about...this, in this way.

“Lucifer...” Simeon breathed out, sounding beside himself. But he had a pillow in his hand, and little by little he was inching towards the flustered demon. “Don’t tell me...”

“No.”

“That you’re..”

“No!”

“Ticklish?”

“Stop this nonsense right now.”

“You’re not getting away from me.” Simeon now had a smirk on his face that made him look like anything but an angel. Before Lucifer could protest any further, the pillow that the other was holding was thrown down onto his face, and the angel began his attack on the demon’s lower body.

Lucifer was about to let out a squeak before his hand came up to shield his mouth as the angel began to torture his knees and his feet. He could barely hold back a muffled squeal as the fingers raked up and down the arches of his feet, quickly moving to attack the undersides of his knees and back again. The demon kicked and thrashed his head from side to side, trying to dislodge Simeon, but despite him being one of the strongest beings in the whole Devildom, he still couldn’t manage to shake the angel off of his legs.

“S-Simeon...!” Lucifer gasped at a sudden break in the attack when the angel reached up to playfully throw the pillow on his head again. “Y-You better stop this right now, or I’ll--”

“Or what, Mr. Ticklish?” Simeon teased. Who the hell does he think he is? Right as he said this, he reached up to playfully skitter his fingers along Lucifer’s lower sides.

That was what did it; a high-pitched squeal ripped from the demon’s throat, and even as he tried to muffle his voice with both of his hands at this point, the laughter just wouldn’t stop; he never knew that such a light motion could elicit such sounds out of him like this. He didn’t remember ever being this ticklish, not even as a kid. At least this wasn’t Diavolo; if it had been the demon prince himself, he knew he would be absolutely screwed. But the motions still tickled like hell to him, regardless if it was coming from Simeon or not.

“Riled up now, are we?” Simeon teased, letting up on his attack. Beneath him lay a tired Lucifer, a pillow half-covering his face and chest, panting from the attack. At first, the demon didn’t respond verbally; his reply to the attack came in physical form, just like what Simeon did to him originally.

“You will pay for that.” Lucifer’s voice came out as a low growl, and Simeon was about to call for help until it came out as a strained laugh.

“W-wahahahait, Luhucifeheheher!” Simeon cried as the demon reached for his exposed sides. As soon as the contact was settled, the angel let out a shriek of laughter and began to squirm, kicking and punching and doing whatever he could to get himself out of Lucifer’s friggin’ iron grip. It was needless to say that the angel was much, much more ticklish than he was.

The whole rest of the night was filled with tickles, laughter, pillow wars, movies, and funny stories. But Lucifer didn’t mind. He even called up Mammon to tell him that he was going to stay the night. His mood was up for it, and he had his group of very close friends to thank for it.

#obey me #obey me fanfic #anime tickling #my posts #ask

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vorish-musing · 3 years

Text

Please Don’t Go (I’ll Eat You Whole)

U//nbrella A//cademy Vore Fic!

Hey guys! its been for FUCKING ever since I’ve created a story, its a bit shorter,, but if you guys want i do have a bit of a follow up fic I can post later on!

but this is the Klaus Hargreeves fic i promised y’all!

Spoiler Warning for Umbrella Academy S1 and S2.

Trigger Warnings: this story contains soft, safe, G/t vore. if you do not like this, I suggest not reading. this story also mentioned digestion and death--neither of which happens! there is also substantial alcohol mention-- klaus is literally drunk the entire time.

It was chance that Dave came by to the house, wanting to apologize to Klaus for the argument and the fight in the diner-- and even though Klaus was happy to see him, the fact that he was piss drunk made it a whole lot harder to keep his mouth shut about what he knew about Dave. the alcohol in his blood wanting to word vomit his way into telling Dave everything.

From his favourite food, favourite book-- and to some details Dave didn’t even want to know about himself. Walking through the garden, it was very apparent that Dave could not believe one word out of Klaus’s mouth.

Klaus didn’t blame him, all he really did was lie and con-- exactly what he was doing with the cult. If Dave was talking about anything else, he would’ve been right.

But he wasn’t. And Klaus had to make him believe, had to try and save the kid, even if that meant Dave would never be with him.

It had all come to a head as Klaus stumbled, trying to get him to not enlist, and he let it slip. Dave's death date--and where he had died.

As Klaus spoke, he could see Dave's hand shaking as it balled into a fist, “Even if I believed you. It wouldn’t matter, it's an honour to die for your country”

Klaus laugh at the naïve patriotism, “that's Bull--”

“I’ve already enlisted.”

Dave's words sliced through Klaus’s hope like a sword, his breath hitching as the words escaped daves mouth, the kid looking at Klaus with anger and confusion.

“you...What?! That's not supposed to happen yet.”

“The other day after i saw you, my uncle took me down to the recruitment office” He looked Klaus down, clearly trying to make it seem like he was disgusted by the man before him, but no matter what Dave did or said, Klaus knew him, knew his secrets, almost like he knew his thoughts.

‘It's all some kind of parlor trick, he’s a con artist’

“He made me sign up, I ship out next week”

Though Dave couldn’t shake the strange feeling that crept up his spine, like he knew who Klaus was, he could feel his face go red

‘Don’t let him get in your head’

Klaus almost fell to his knees at the reveal, he couldn't save him, he was going to that war and he was going to die, and there's nothing Klaus could do to stop him.

He couldn’t stop thinking back to the nightclub, when they were dancing together, holding each other-- even if he could never have that again, he was willing to do everything in his power to make sure Dave wouldn’t have to suffer a death to a stupid war that ended in the same way it had started.

“I have to go, save this story for the next time you want to recruit someone” Dave blinked a few tears away, looking away to quickly wipe them, as if he wasn’t phased by this at all.

As the man tried to walk away, Klaus took his chance-- he had no idea what chance that was, but he was going to do whatever his mind came up with.

“W-wait!” he blurted out, erratic and desperate, making Dave turn around, shocked at how loud the outburst was, not hearing him speak louder than a regular speaking voice before now.

‘Shit...he's staring at me’

“Y-you….” Klaus took a deep breath, calming his voice, trying to sound more rational “you got me.” he shrugged.

Dave blinked, “...what?”

His curiosity peaked, Dave turned around fully, Klaus let a smile slip out

“You’re got me, I’m a fraud” he spoke these words almost gleefully, his own pain being masked by the pure glee of someone he could finally tell the truth to “I didn’t mean to start all of this, but I’m so fucked up, I can’t stop”

Dave straightened his back, looking Klaus up and down “I thought so...glad you could admit it?”

Klaus smiled a big, toothy grin “can I get you a drink? What you’re….23 correct? I can get you the best drinks that’ll knock your socks off-- think of it as a going away present--O-or better yet, a congratulations to finding out my con”

Klaus stumbled over to Dave, who stepped back slightly.

“This...isn’t another attempt to...convert me, Right?” Klaus laughed, shaking his head--like Dave was crazy to even think that-- “fine. One drink, then i'm gone.”

“Of course” Klaus lied through his teeth. Taking a deep breath as he walked towards Dave, right passed him. “One drink.”

The two of them walk to the house, Klaus leading Dave, who was apprehensive, but putting on a brave face.

Ideas swarmed into Klaus’s head on what he could do, he could try get Ben to lift him up again and show he’s not actually lying, and he could also just keep him here for a few days, convince him the war was idiotic.

With every thought pulsating through his head, an even more ridiculous one came to light, it was like his brain was trying to one-up itself.

Suddenly, it was like a lightbulb flashed into his head, it was the perfect plan--

Klaus jumped back a few steps as Ben appeared beside him, almost making him fall--he looked at the drunk man with annoyance before speaking, “Klaus, show him to the door and leave, I know what you’re thinking”

Dave jumped back as well “what the hell are you doing?”

Klaus looked to Ben, who almost had a pleading look on his face, then to Dave--it was clear he was on thin ice with the kid.

“Sorry sorry!” Klaus brushed himself off “thought i saw a bee, disgusting things” he turned to Ben-- he turned to nothing in Dave’s eyes--”Such pests, I think they need to stay in their own business”

As ben rolled his eyes, Dave's face twisted into more concern for Klaus, rather than anger, “...Right”

“Anyways” Klaus cringed at the look Dave gave him as he turned to the house again, and quietly, as Ben walked back up to him, he spoke to his dead brother.”

“I won’t if I can convince him.”

“You’re plastered, you won’t convince anyone”

Klaus waved his hand in the air “wow! These bees are crazy tonight! Don’t you think, Dave?” he turned to the man, who just stared back, following him sheepishly as they got to the door.

“I don’t see any bees.” he spoke matter-of-factly.

As Klaus opened it, gesturing for Dave to come inside-- he almost felt like the Witch in Hansel and Gretel, luring the man inside. “I guess you’re not looking hard enough.”

Dave could feel a pit in his stomach as he walked into the giant manor, paintings of Klaus plastering the walls with plants up to the ceiling.

With every step Dave could feel something sinking deeper and deeper in the already established pit in his stomach-- he couldn’t put his finger on it, it just felt so...off.

Surly he wasn't the only person who had found out his Con, and why was he being so nice about it all of a sudden? He was denying and Denying all he could a little bit ago, what was going on?

Klaus looked over his shoulder to look at Dave from time to time-- almost to make sure he was actually following-- Through the corner of his eye he could see Ben following, giving Klaus a death glare--- which technically every glare would be a death one since he was….dead.

Klaus finally stumbled into his personal room “This is my sanctuary away from the mob”

It was a small room, only a small bed, and the floor was covered in pillows, it actually looked quite comfortable.

“Feel free to sit wherever you want. I’ll get you a drink.”

Once Dave had taken a step into the room, Klaus closed the door quickly, making the kid jump ever so slightly.

Finally, Klaus had hit all of Dave's red flags, “Actually I need to be back to my Uncle, I should get going before he finds out where--”

“Sh sh shh.” Klaus shushed him, “Sure you don’t need a drink, but just stay a bit longer? We still have so much to talk about” with those words, Klaus popped open a random half full bottle of alcohol, and without another moment to lose, drinking almost all of it, cringing as it burned going down his throat.

Dave stared, just shocked that one person could drink so much alcohol, since he was already drunk.

“Talk about?”

Klaus, now losing any more of his sobriety that was left, finally spoke, his words slurring ever so slightly, “I know you’re all ‘patriotic’ and shit, but joining a hopeless war and--”

He was cut off

“Are you kidding?” Dave scoffed at Klaus, “I fucking knew it. I knew you wouldn’t just admit to me that you’re a fucking con.”

Klaus shook his head, “you have to listen to me, Dave. I may not be an actual prophet but i do know when you’re gonna die, you have to believe me”

“Shut the hell up! You’re just… a wannabe commie with a shit for brains group backing you.” Dave turned around, preparing to leave without another word.

That was before Klaus bolted up, practically sliding into the door-- a loud bang following as he used himself to barricade the door.

“You are going to die on February 21st, 1968--”

“Get out of my way--”

“Its on A Shau Valley, Hill 68--”

“Shut UP!” Dave pulled away from the drunken man, “I don’t care--Whatever you’re pulling out of your ass, you need to stop. This is ridiculous.” Dave backed up until his back hit the closet, startling him slightly, making him flinch.

‘Why am I so scared?’

Klaus turned to ben, as he sat on the bed, watching-- as if he was witnessing a car crash and couldn’t look away.

“Let it go, Klaus. Let Him go.”

“I fucking CAN”T” Klaus yelled at Ben, “He’s going to DIE.” tears threatened the older mans eyes as he wobbled back and forth.

Dave took the chance he got as Klaus was (or what he thought he was) hallucinating, He bolted for the door, pushing Klaus to the side, who fell to the floor with a yelp.

“Just stay away from me!” Dave grabbed the door handle, about to twist it-- until he felt Klaus grab onto his ankle, making him look down.

He was sprawled on the ground, hanging onto His pant leg tightly.

Pain, anger, and sadness, mixed with a shit ton of alcohol finally took control, bubbling up into him as he allowed his emotions to take control.

Dave couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “You have to know that's not going to stop me.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Dave's stomach dropped as Klaus chuckled back at him, a deep, almost menacing chuckle.

“Wha--” Dave couldn’t finish the word as a deep, dizzying feeling washed over him like a tsunami.

“Be careful, I don't want you hurt you”

Dave fell to his knees, which seemed like a much farther drop than he would’ve thought, he could feel Klaus’s hand slip off of him.

Klaus watched, sitting up into a crouched position, elbows resting on his knees, hands on his face, almost like a child, a smile wide as he watched in fascination as Dave fell to the floor and began shrinking.

He was always interested in this part, how each person he would shrink, reacted once they really understood what was going on, he called it his own guilty pleasure-- he would never admit it-- people would think he was nuts.

Not that shrinking people isn’t nuts.

“Wh-Whats happening?”

The same thing everyone said-- Dave held his head tightly as the dizzying feeling got worse and worse--though he opened his eyes as wide as possible, though his vision was extremely blurry--he could see one thing.

Klaus standing over him.

‘What the….fuck?’

Klaus looked down at the shrinking man, getting smaller and smaller by the moments passing by “What's happening? Exactly what you think.”

Ben rolled his eyes “Give him a chance to change his mind, please”

“I will!” I will! Now go haunt someone else”

Finally, as if by some miracle, Dave’s vision came back-- though once he saw what was in front of him, it seemed like regaining his vision was more of a curse.

Seeing a drunk, probably psychotic Giant in front of him staring him down, and he was talking to himself.

“I-I” Dave finally found his voice in the turmoil his head was put through, “w-what the fuck did you...you do?!” his voice started out small, but it was like it grew with every word he spoke.

Klaus couldn’t help but giggle softly, “Sorry, I know this is probably really bad for you but, you just look so goddamned cute~” Klaus reached his hand out slowly, and to that, Dave backed up right into the doorframe.

Klaus was wrong, this wasn’t just ‘really bad’ for Dave, it was Terrifying for the young lad, he felt the wood hit his back, his eyes darting around to find another way to get away from the looming man.

‘I could run under the door’ he paused for a moment ‘He’d get me before then’

“But…” Klaus pulled his hand back and shifted, so he was sitting with his legs crossed, hands still resting on his face. “To answer your obvious question; I shrunk you”

“I--How--you…” Dave sputtered, his mind scrambled in between what was really happening and how to stop it “Make me normal again!” Was all he could come up with, having to deal with the fact that this was actually happening.

Klaus then frowned, “Well that's entirely up to you, pal” The normal-sized man shrugged at Dave, who just blinked in surprise “You just have to do one thing for me.”

Dave could feel his heart sink at his words--‘what the fuck did he want?’

“s-Sure man, Anything, what is it?” Dave spoke, not even trying to mask the desperateness in his voice.

“Two words.” Klaus held up two fingers, “Draft” one finger down “Dodge” the other finger went down.

‘It’s still about this?’--Dave was almost surprised at what lengths this guy went to so he could just simply not go to war--”I-I can’t, I wasn’t even drafted--”

Klaus just waved a hand “Oh sure you can, millions of men did the same, some for multiple wars, its not too much of a big deal, just lay low for a bit. They’ll stop eventually”

‘Multiple wars?’

He was fucking crazy.

“I-I can’t”

“Why not?”

Dave couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just agree with this man, his uncle would probably say his pride to honesty or some shit like that----“My uncle will kill me! I’d rather die for my country instead at the hands of my shitty family!” Dave paused, realizing what he had just said-- he wasn’t lying, which is really what surprised him.

There was a pause from Klaus as well. Seeing the shock climb onto Dave's face made his fall into a frown, shaking his head.

“You could live here. No Cult shit needed.” Klaus tried once again to get him to agree, just a simple ‘ok’ would work for him, anything that could make this man stop his own death sentence… though one look from Dave made him realize that it was a dumb idea, letting out a slight sigh that turned into a chuckle “Scratch that, they never leave you alone--Fuck they never leave me Alone.”

Dave Stared up into Klaus’s enormous eyes, though Dave's eyes wandered seeing Klaus smile--his Mouth, it was huge-- Don’t think about that, you’ll give him ideas, Dave.

Though unbeknownst to the shrunken man, Klaus was already thinking it.

And his brain was close to considering it.

Klaus stared down Dave.

Dave stared up at Klaus.

It was a standoff.

Klaus could hear ben-- right beside his ear, in a hushed whisper “Let him go.”

He shook his head

“If i let him go, he dies”

“w-What?!” Dave called out, his heart sinking lower and lower as he watched this man seemingly talking to air. “w-what are you doing?!”

“He won’t forgive you for this if you do it.”

“---I don’t care! You're not the fucking angel on my shoulder--fuck off!” Klaus slurred throughout his tirade, turning to Ben with a glare “dead people don't get an opinion on what I do with the Living”

When Klaus turned, Dave took his chance.

The boy turned--stumbling into a run towards the door, he could barely feel the steps he was taking, it almost felt like he was floating--his heart pounded right outside his chest, if he was just fast enough maybe he could get away before Klaus even noticed.

Maybe.

Possibly.

No.

“h-HEy!”

Dave spun around at Klaus’s outburst, being caught red handed, right by the door, ready to crawl under it--- his stomach sank in, forming a large pit in the bottom of it.

Though before Dave could register what he was looking at, a pair of extremely large hands scooped him into their clutches, and he could only think of one thing---

getoutgetoutGETOUT

Klaus held the man tightly as he pushed against his fingers, kicking, screaming, punching--you name it, he was doing it--- all in an attempt to get out of the giants grasp.

“Come on, you didn't have to do that! I wanted to let you go.”

Dave paused, hearing the soft, almost disappointed tone Klaus’s voice produced, the tone hiring with each word, it was eerie how hurt the man was by this.

Klaus was even more upset on the inside, his gut twisting and his chest tightening. He didn’t look up to Ben, but the ghost could tell who he was speaking to.

“I have to do this”

Dave was about to yell out the obligatory “do what?!”

That was until he was brought closer to Klaus’s face, he cringed at the lingering pungent smell of alcohol on the mans breath.

“h-Hey...Klaus-- Listen I--”

“Don’t talk, It’ll make it worse”

“W-what?!”

Klaus didn't need to use words, as his lips parted, it was all too clear what his intentions were.

Dave's mouth hung open for a moment, waiting for a yell to claw its way out of him, something that would at least make sure that he was fighting back.

But nothing arose, he was just frozen in time, as the man before him simply pushed him into his mouth.

Dave's eyes watered as the smell of alcohol burned through the air, making him slightly gag. Fucking gross.

Somehow, this was what brought him back out of his shock.

Klaus laid back, smiling softly he rolled his eyes back in pleasure, it had been so long since he had eaten someone...at least someone that he actually wanted to eat.

For the first few years, having the cult members beg for him to eat him was exhilarating, he had never gotten to eat people before, and having these people basically put themselves on a silver platter was fantastic.

Until it wasn’t

He didn’t realize that he could actually get sick of this feeling.

The feeling of being actually full, having something alive inside of him, moving, breathing.

When its said like that I sound like a psychopath.

Dave let out a yell as Klaus began rolling him around, pushing him against his tongue, tasting the poor lad. The thick drool clung onto him, he couldn’t fight back, his limbs sliding against anything he tried to push against, the tongue, the teeth, he couldn’t grip onto anything.

This was really happening, he was in another human beings mouth.

He couldn’t stop himself, he had to yell out “HELP ME! ANYBODY PLEASE!” every second he yelled, the more hoarse his voice was.

Klaus couldn't help but smile, maybe the arrogance and narcissism in him was bursting at the seams, it was strange how some of the people in that very house would be on their knees--begging Klaus to do this to them.

Klaus rolled his head backwards slightly, head hitting the wood of the bookshelf as he did so.

“You can still let him out”

Ben sat right in front of Klaus, staring at him with disgust.

This hadn’t been the first time he had watched this same scenario, though it usually involved drugs and alcohol.

“Mmmm!” Klaus shook his head, shushing the ghost, and rattling dave around, the man sliding from side to side across the tongue below him.

“Come on Klaus the kid learned his lesson--”

“Mmm!”

Ben should’ve known this wouldn’t work, Klaus being angry, drunk and overconfident--it was a bad concoction destined to go wrong.

“Just let him go!”

“Mmfine!” finally, a slurred out word ben could recognize emerged out of it.

Klaus’s lips parted as he opened his mouth wide for Ben to watch.

Dave wheezed as his eyes adjusted to the light before him. He was staring at the other side of the room, the mountain of pillows and blankets on the other side of the room.

Out….outside!

Through the slippery and slimy cave, Dave pushed himself forewards, which was less of a push, more of a slide foreward.

Ben couldn’t help but feel pity for the poor dude, and if he was alive, he’d probably just outright snatch him out of the drunkards mouth.

But alas, being dead sucked.

And simply out of spite, Klaus swallowed. Staring into Ben's eyes as he did so.

Dave let out a loud gasp as his legs were pulled into the darkness, forcing himself down his throat

“NO!”

The throat muscles began to drag Dave down, pulling his body deeper and deeper into the tube below him.

Klaus shut his mouth, his point made very clear to Ben, who just sat there---mouth agape and looking disgusted at the man.

Though Klaus paid no mind to this, letting his head roll back into the bookshelf, a small thud following.

He wished he could just enjoy what he could, without his brother bothering him about every little thing under the sun.

It’s not like he was hurting the kid!

Klaus brought his hand to his throat, prodding, feeling the lad kicking through his skin as he began his descent into the esophagus.

Dave couldn’t believe it.

But he had to.

He was being eaten alive. His body being shoved down an esophagus.

Actually no, ‘being’ shoved, would imply that it was force. No. he was being pulled gently down, just another piece of food for the stomach to enjoy.

As dave traveled down his throat, slowly but surely, klaus found himself grinning, a hand on his stomach prematurely, waiting for the moment his prey arrived.

Though a small pout on his face formed as his tongue dragged across his lips

“Dammit Ben!” Klaus lifted his head, “I didn’t even get a good taste of ‘im!”

Though as he looked to face the ghost, Ben was nowhere to be found.

The room was empty.

“Fine! Be like that!”

Dave cringed as his body spilled into Klaus’s stomach, the putrid smell of alcohol pungent in the air.

Dave could’ve gotten drunk right off the fumes.

“no….nononoNONONO!” Dave pushed against the organ, cringing at the squelching sound it made around his hands. “PLEASE---PLEASE STOP!”

Klaus dropped his hand down to his bare stomach, the organ slightly mishapen, he blamed it on the kid, not the massive amount of alcohol he consumed.

He pushed back at the skin below his hands as Dave struggled, “thats not gonna do much, its best to just relaaaax”

Klaus began softly massaging the organ, small circular motions, though it didn’t help much, feeling the man continue to kick and yell to him.

But damn, it felt good.

As he continued to ignore the yells-- the pleading from within the confines of him, he could feel himself growing more and more exhausted.

“Well then, davey” Klaus patted his stomach, covering his mouth as a small burp escaped his stomach. “this has been a great time, but I am exhausted.” he groaned, getting up from his sitting positon, bringing his hand back down to his stomach.

Daves heart sunk...that meant...that meant….”p-please klaus…” his voice choked out “please don't kill--”

Dave let out a loud gasp as his surroundings shifted with each step, feeling a sickness inside of himself as if he was on a ship at sea.

Klaus shushed the man, “I already said you're gonna be fine!” did he? He couldn’t remember “I’m not going to hurt you, and if i was, I wouldn’t be this elaborate, trust me.” he fell right back down to the mountain of pillows, the softness engulfing him all around.

It was hard to believe a man who had eaten him alive.

Klaus brought his head up, poking his stomach. “Hey dave?!”

The kid paused his struggling, feeling the finger specifically prodding at him, “w-what?!”

“If its any consolation, you tasted really good”

“...its really not.” the disgusted tone in his voice growing slightly.

“Welp, can’t blame me for trying. Try and get some rest now.”

“W-wait you can’t just leave me in here!” dave pushed at the slimy walls, his hands slipping and sliding around, it was hard to get a grip.

Klaus just shifted around, making Dave wobble even more-- Placing his hand overtop of the organ containing the young man.

It didn’t take long for klaus to pass out, his full stomach mixed with the comfortable position, it was almost instantaneous.

For dave, it took a few more hours.

He fought for quite some time as klaus slept, seeing if he could do anything that would annoy the man into spitting him up. though as the hours droned on, and the fact that he was still fully intact, not even a tingle or twinge of pain started to dawn on him. Sure, he was okay, and sure, he wasn’t going to die in there--

But how long was klaus going to keep him in there for?

It really didn’t take long for the adrenaline he once had to wear off, his body begging for sleep, and even as the kid protested, not wanting to lower his guard, he couldn’t help but feel his eyelids pulling shut, the warmth and darkness almost forcing him into sleep.

He hated to mention it, but the sounds around him were quite helpful too.

Sure, he had bouts of anxiety with every gurgle and groan klaus’s stomach created, but he ended up growing used to them, the low drum of his heartbeat calming and rhythmic, even as klaus breathed in for air, he could hear the ‘wind’ going back and forth from his lungs.

As he finally gave into his own body’s pleas for sleep, he hoped to god that Klaus would let him out in the morning.

And with that thought, he was out like a light.

------------

and that’s it! please let me know what y’all think! I’m glad i’ve been able to share this with you guys and show off the fic i’ve been hyperfixating on for so long! and as i said above, if y’all want a part two i am so happy to do so for you guys!

-Q

#soft vore #safe vore #Quentin's writing #vore story #vore fanfic #non fatal vore #alcohol mention #digestion mention #g/t vore

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