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babybluebex · 3 years

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laszlo kreizler nsfw alphabet

so yeah this... Happened. the zemo version is coming soon, stay tuned! (probably tomorrow morning bc a bitch is tired lmao)

(gif credit to @lindir)

A = Aftercare.

Laszlo is such an aftercare king. He’s checking on you in every way he can think of: asking you if you feel alright, maybe massaging your hips if he had you in a weird position, offering you dinner or wine, maybe even a hot bath, if you’d like (and the bath would have special perfumed oils he had sent from Paris because Laszlo is SUCH a self care whore, he’s got soaps and perfumes out the wazoo).

B = Body Part.

His favorite part of yours are your breasts. No questions, hands down. He likes using your breasts as a pillow at night— just settling himself between your legs and resting his head on your tits is a dream he indulges in frequently. He also really loves seeing you in the new French-style of dresses that have a lower neckline, and, if you wear one of those dresses to dinner without telling him beforehand, he’s as good as gone. He’s staring the whole time and can only manage simple sentences.

C = Cum.

I think Laszlo likes to cum inside you, but he also wouldn’t mind cumming on your tits. If you’re on your knees, sucking him off, he’ll pull himself out of your mouth and almost rip your blouse in his haste to set your tits free before his orgasm rips through him. He only chooses to cum inside you if he can’t cum on your tits (for example, if you’re having slow, kissy sex and he can’t bear to leave your wet heat).

D = Dirty Secret.

Laszlo. Loves. To. Be. Degraded. From a psychological standpoint, he understands that his desire to be brought down and ridiculed is born from some sort of childhood trauma that DEFINITELY involves his father, but he just can’t help himself from getting so ridiculously turned on when you call him a dog for humping your leg while you try to sleep. Bonus points if you use his title while you do it: “Just like a little bitch in heat, aren’t you, Doctor Kreizler? You’re so aroused, you can hardly handle yourself. Are you too dumb to touch your own cock? Do you need me to do it? Oh, Doctor, what a dumb little thing you are.”

E = Experience.

Even Daniel himself has said that Laszlo has like NO experience. Laszlo got ZERO bitches (which I find hard to believe but ok whatever you say, writers of The Alienist), so, the first time y’all have sex, he’s more likely than not losing his virginity (let’s not get into the debate of “virginity is a social construct” because a.) IT IS and b.) Laszlo would lecture for hours about this). HOWEVER, these things come naturally to him. He is just Good In Bed. He figures it out very quickly, so, while you make fun of him for going a little stupid when he’s aroused, he makes up for it by bruising your cervix and apologizing later.

F = Favourite Positions.

Laszlo loves that soft, slow, kissy sex, so he’s into whatever position makes it possible for him to be inside you and to kiss you at the same time. Missionary is a go to, but sometimes he’ll have you sit on his desk and kiss your neck as he hikes your skirts up and fucks you all slow and nice.

G = Goofy.

Hardly ever? Laszlo is pretty serious most of the time, and the only time we ever see him Not Serious in the show is when he’s wasted after John’s bachelor party in season 2. So, maybe y’all went to dinner at Delmonico’s, then a ball for members of high society, and he had a little too much champagne and schnapps. He’s not like giggling and all, but his cheeks are red and he’s smiling more than usual, and calling you sweet names “Oh, mein Kätzchen” and “Meine kleine Prinzessin”. That’s Laszlo’s version of goofy.

H = Hair.

OK, my train of thought here is: LOOK AT THIS MAN’S BEARD. HIS BEARD IS NICE AS SHIT. If he treats his facial hair that good— regular trims, the beard oils we all know he uses, even if it isn't strictly canon— then his downstairs hair is nice too. Definitely soft, if maybe a little wiry sometimes (but tbh whose isn’t), and it’s a nice little cropping at the base of his cock. He also has a thin happy trail up his soft tummy, and a good amount on his chest (as we see in the show lol that much is canon).

I = Intimacy.

Laszlo is ALL ABOUT intimacy. You’ll know he’s in a ~mood~ because you’ll ask what’s being served at Delmonico’s that night, and Laszlo is like “I thought we might stay in tonight. John gave me his grandmother’s recipe for chicken soup”. He’ll light candles and pour you wine and play nice music on his gramophone, and he’ll romance you throughout dinner with little hand touches and sly smiles, until he’s kneeling in front of you and slowly kissing up your leg.

J = Jack-Off.

Honestly, he hardly does it. Of course, I’m sure he did it A LOT before he met you, but now he doesn’t need to pleasure himself anymore. He’s got you to do that. The only exception is if he has to travel for work and you can’t go with him. Even then, he’ll hold off until he absolutely can’t stand it, and then he’ll like read a letter you sent him or look at a sketch that John did of you while he whacks off; sometimes, he’ll just hold your letter to his face, and the faint trace of your perfume is enough to do the job.

K = Kink.

He likes impact play a lot (and perhaps a little roleplay wrapped up in it). On the rare occasion that his fucking is anything but soft and lovely, he’s gonna be hitting your ass and the backs of your thighs as you cling to him while he rails you stupid. Laszlo would try to hit your cheek, but he feels too bad when you wince at the pain of it. Spanking your tits is good to him too. His favorite though (and here’s where the roleplay comes in), is caning your ass. He’ll bend you over the desk in his home office and pull your skirts up past your hips, and he’ll make you count the amount of times his thick wooden cane connects with your soft asscheeks. The roleplay is, more often than not, you were his assistant who did something wrong and needed to be punished. If you miss one or forget to thank him accordingly “Thank you, sir”, he’ll focus the next hit on your thighs.

L = Location.

Either the bed or his desk. Laszlo is a little older (I don’t think we ever get an explicit age? But if we say he’s the same age as Daniel, then he’s 40 to 42-ish) so he can’t do it against a wall or anywhere too crazy (not to mention his right arm can hardly support much weight, so if he needs to hold you up, it’s probably not gonna happen). The bed is a special time for you two because of his arm; he’ll hold himself up with his left arm and rest his hand on your hip or wherever to give himself at least a little leverage. But the desk is usually easier because you can sit, or you can bend over and he can grab your hip.

M = Motivation.

He loves you and wants to worship you. It’s truly as simple as that. He loves you and thinks that you’re the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen, and he wants to show his reverence for you by making love to you.

N = No.

He can’t get into the role of “daddy”, nor can he call you “mommy”. Childhood trauma aside, he will be goddamned if Sigmund fucking Freud is correct about his bullshit Oedipus complex or whatever, so he just eliminates that whole thing entirely.

O = Oral.

He’s very good at it. He’s just… His lips are soft and his beard is good, and he’s not afraid to get a little messy with it. He’ll eat you out until he absolutely has to come up for air, and he’ll have a little bit of your wetness clinging to his mustache, but then he’s right back in it. His medical degree is also put to good use here because he remembers his female anatomy and he’s locked onto your clit the entire time. The first time you ever squirted, it was because Laszlo was nipping at your clit and sucking your wet little hole and pressing his thick fingers into you, and it was A Lot To Process, but you squirted and Laszlo came in his pants instantly because he’s like “I didn’t think women could actually do that… I thought that was a thing that penny novels made up”

P = Pace.

Again, he’s a little older, so he doesn’t fuck like some wild boy. He takes his time with you, touching you and caressing you and kissing you, and his pace is the same way. He’s slow and gentle, but has the capacity to go faster and harder if you ask for it.

Q = Quickie.

Hates them. Never. Never ever ever. If he can’t properly romance you and take his time with you, then what’s the point??

R = Risk.

Surprisingly, Laszlo is a little schemer, and he loves running a risk. He’s already looked down upon by other society members, so what’s the harm in squeezing your ass at a party? PERHAPS it’s inappropriate to get caught in a dark corner with your hand down his trousers and him kissing your neck, but it’s easy to blame it on the alcohol.

S = Stamina.

Once more, he is firmly middle aged, so he can do one round— maybe two, if he’s feeling particularly frisky. Usually, though, one is more than enough for both of you.

T = Toy.

HAVE YALL SEEN SEX TOYS FROM THE 1890S?? SHITS ARE SCARY. Laszlo does not like toys, but he understands their need for existing, so he may not like them but he tolerates them. That being said, he likes to watch you use them. LIke, he’ll sit in a chair by the bed and request you “put on a good show”, and he’ll watch you fall apart, and he’ll only come and touch you if you beg and plead for him to.

U = Unfair.

Mhm, so, in Laszlo’s mind, sex and pleasure are not just a give and take, it’s a two way street. They can (and often need to) coexist. He doesn’t like to initiate something if you won’t be able to reciprocate, so he’s not too into teasing or things. At the aforementioned parties, he’ll only goose your ass if he knows you’re 100% down for it.

V = Volume.

He’s fairly quiet. His mouth is usually really close to your ear, and you’re the only one who gets to hear his pretty little noises. The loudest he’ll be is when he’s come home after traveling and it’s felt like ages since he’s made love to you, he’s gonna come inside you, and his little gasp and moan are louder than usual.

W = Wild Card.

He is down to be tied up. He doesn’t like to tie you up, but if he’s the one being restrained, he’s all over it. It’s nothing too intense, just using a ribbon for your hair to tie his left hand to the headboard, not super tight but enough to make his fingers a little tingly, but he loves it. He loves the switch of the dynamic, how he’s fully at your mercy and you can use him however you please; usually, you just suck him off and ride him, but the endless possibilities get him hard as soon as you pull out the ribbon.

X = X-Ray.

Laszlo has Big Dick Energy, so he has to have a big dick. The best example of this sort of energy is in the very first episode after he goes and interviews Wolf, and comes to speak to Teddy, and Teddy is like “you interviewed the suspect? On whose authority??” and laszlo is like “Mine” like OH HIS DICK IS BIG I KNOW IT. He’s got an above average length and girth, but we know our man likes to eat, so some of his weight goes to his dick, so it’s like,,, He’s got a fat cock, sorry, I don’t make the rules

Y = Yearning.

Constantly. Neverending. He’s at work and he’ll catch a glimpse of a pastel drawing that you commissioned from John for Laszlo’s birthday that sits in a frame on his desk, and his heart starts to hurt from missing you. When he comes home, he’ll embrace you and kiss you like he hasn’t seen you in years, and he’ll want to hear all about your day. You have your doctor so whipped for you, and it’s a different kind of whipped than being pussy whipped. He’s, like, feelings whipped.

Z = ZZZ.

He’s a sleepy little baby after you guys finish. His eyes will be a little heavy and sticky as he’s cleaning up and caring for you (and you definitely coo at him “Oh, Las, you’re so sleepy!”) but when you’re both back in bed, our little man is circling his arm around your waist and nuzzling his cheek into your shoulder. He’s so soft and affectionate, and he’s out like a light when you kiss his forehead and tell him you love him.

#laszlo kreizler #the alienist #laszlo kreizler smut #daniel bruhl x reader #daniel bruhl smut #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl smut #laszlo kreizler x reader #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl

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junisfics · 3 years

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the masseuse

pairing: jean kirschstein x reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: fingering, squirting

notes: this post was making me think, not the exact concept, just many thinks. also, this is helping my writing block with chapter ten. whipped this baby up in ten minutes :))))

jean seems like the type of guy that would want to give you a nice full body massage after a long day. not necessarily to see your body — i mean, that is a perk — but also because he loves to spoil his girl

he'll buy all these massage oils and essential oils and creams before even asking you if you were down for it, he's just so excited.

and it takes a little convincing. because yes, he's seen you naked before but not in a sense outside of sex.

you're a little insecure and jittery as you lay face down on your bed as jean gathers all those expensive hemp oils he got for this exact occasion

there's only a towel over your backside, just barely covering the curve of your ass. and jean swears that if he bent down at the right angle he'd be able to see your pretty pussy underneath the fabric

he'll start slow, he'll warm up the oil in his hands before he spreads it over your shoulder blades. he doesn't really work it into your muscles just yet, but rather focusing on slathering it over the expanse of your back

he takes in the way it shines over your skin in the dim lighting, a glow emitting from your flesh and his own fingers tips.

you can feel his knees dimpling the mattress as he climbs up beside you, and once he does you can feel the pressure in his hands begin to grow

he works the heels of his palms into the stiff muscles beneath your shoulder blades, then he slides his thumbs over the center of your back and watches the soft skin give under the pressure as he makes his way up to your neck

it felt nice. his large hands push and pull at the soreness thats accumulated overtime from work and stress and a million other things. they squeeze at the squish of your sides, skim over the exposed sides of your breasts,

you slowly began to feel yourself melting under his touch, going lax against the mattress, sighing softly whenever he glides over a knot and allows it to come undone

ever sigh seems to encourage him a little more. his wrists shift down the towel that sits over your ass so he can press into the tops of either cheek. his fingers curl farther around your sides, tickling the skin of your stomach and the sides of your tits

and those sighs of relaxation begin to turn into shivers of anticipation and breathy moans, and you even begin the softest of grinding of your clit into the fluffy sheets

jean takes notice — he always takes notice — and feeds his growing desire to pull the towel down off your ass to expose you to him

his cock is already hard, throbbing and leaking precum in his sweats with every soft whine that escapes your lips.

he sees your back rise with an inhale when the towel is finally pushed aside and off of you.

you let him continue. you let him smooth his hands over the meat of your ass, press his thumbs against your tailbone, massaging and groping while his jaw slacks open.

he watches the fat give under his hands, he hears your sighs grow louder, needier, he can feel your hips tilt into the mattress whenever he gives them a gentle press

and fuck, fuck. he can see the backside of your cunt exposed to him, dripping and leaking arousal and glistening under the soft light of the lamp across the room.

"jean — " you breathe, flipping your hands over so you can fist the sheets beside you

"fuck baby, can i?" he asks, sliding his hands down to the backs of your thighs.

"oh god, yes please" you nod sheepishly against the comforter, arching your back ever so slightly to further expose yourself to him

he sees the way your pussy splits open at the movement, can get a good look at the way your little hole clenches around nothing and drips that cute little slick that he just wants to lap right up

he takes his hands off you for a moment to pump more oil into his palms, just to spread it over your ass and the insides of your thighs

he teases you for a while. his fingers slide against the curve of your ass, the crease where your thighs dip into your cunt, maybe he'll occasionally let his middle finger brush over your slit.

he'll do this until your begging for more, twitching underneath his finger tips and tilting your hips back against his hand to try and get relief

he loves the desperation that litters your voice. it stuffs his head full and swarms around his brain until his entire body is burning hot.

he wants to stuff you so bad. he could just shove down his sweats, climb over your body, straddle the backs of your thighs and angle his cock inside....

fuck, he wants it

but this was about you.

he splays his left hand at the base of your spine, sitting down on his calves, and his right hand pushes your thighs farther apart to give him a little bit easier access

you're soaked at this point. your clit throbs and your tits are hypersensitive with the way your nipples are brushing against the sheets with every squirm of your body

he slides his thumb through you, resting the other four fingers on your ass cheeks and sliding it through your cunt. he can feel the difference between your slick and the massage oils

you're more slippery, a little more viscous, and when he pulls his thumb up to his tongue he can taste you — saccharine and tart.

"jean, please. i need it"

he silently listens to your begs, brings his two middle fingers down to the base of your cunt, where your little hole pulses for him. and he presses his two fingertips up against you and pushes in slow — letting the suction of your cunt and the slick guide him inside

"oh god yes, yes — fuck," you whine, voice slightly muffled by the sheets but he can head you anyway

your walls flutter a few times around him while he's knuckle deep inside you, quivering with anticipation and aching for more more more.

he pulls them out slow — not to help you adjust but to rather see the way your cunt stretches around the thick of his fingers.

over the digits is a glossy sheen, creamy and almost pearlescent, and he cannot believe you've gotten this worked up over a little massage.

he fills you again, quicker, harder, deeper, until his spare fingers are pushing into the fat of your ass and your voice is getting caught up in your throat

"oh god jean - jean," you breathe, picking up your hips again to allow his digits to slide a little deeper

he curls them slowly to watch the way your thighs tremble and to hear the broken up moan that leaves your lips as he does so.

"you look so fucking good right now," he mumbles, grabbing ahold of your hips with his free hand and encouraging you to rise to your knees

you listen eagerly, bending at both the knees and the hip to allow your chest and face to be pushed into the mattress. your arms curl around your head, hiding yourself away from his view

"there you go baby — fuck — look at that pretty pussy," he grabs an ass cheek with his free hand, squeezing it tightly and pushing it away from your cunt

"feels s'good," you hiccup, the angle allowing his fingers to press into that spot inside you that has you melting

"good — shit, thats good. 'want you to feel good," he breathes

his hand releases your cheek, sliding over the two of them until he can bring his thumb and forefinger down to where his other hand fills you. he presses those fingers into either side of where your cunt stretches around him and spreads you open

"god damn," he hisses at the uninterrupted sight of your pussy sucking him in, leaking all over his hand and dripping down the backs of your thighs

he curls his fingers over and over, hooking them against your sweet spot and jerking his wrist to send them tapping against it again and again

it's almost too much. too much too fast.

and you're a mess. you've buried your face between your arms and into the comforter, trying your best to muffle your ever noise, but jean can hear it all

he can hear the repetition of "i love you, i love you? i love you" and can hear the "give it to me" and the "your fingers feel so fucking good"

and he hears the "make me cum, please make me cum" just before your cunt gushes all over his fingers, palm, and wrist

#jean kirschstein x reader smut #jean kirschstein smut #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirstein smut #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x reader smut

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lilsuzn · 3 years

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MLQC Victor - NSFW abc headcanons (REMASTERED)

Fandom: Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

Warnings: Explit sexual content (GN READER)

it's what I posted a while ago, but better - I changed some things, I deleted some thing and wrote new. I think it's much better now

A = Aftercare (What they are after sex?)

Victor is a man that has his values straight

You are the most important part of his life (even if he sometimes struggles to shop it) and he will do anything for you… and only for you

Other people don’t matter. He only takes what he wants and leaves.

But you - his sweetest, dearest, little love… can ask anything and everything (well, almost - see N).

You crave massages? He will buy the most luxurious oils on the market, might even take a course to perfect his skills to give you more pleasure

Want to take a bath? He will have a bathtub installed if he doesn’t have one already

Pillowtalk, kissing, snuggling, another round? No need to say it twice. He leaves to please you

When it comes to him, he likes to pull you close and tell you all the things he has no courage to say at any other time

Leave no space for misunderstanding in the department of his unconditional, boundless, eternal love and devotion for you

Tell you just how happy he is to have you and how everything is worthless in comparison to you

After he makes sure you’ve been pleasured throughly already, he will want to share a shower

And make no mistake - he will wash you. You can wash him too, if you want, but taking care of that pretty body of yours is his responsibility

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part is his waist

It wasn’t easy to get that V shaped body and he is extremely proud of this accomplishment…

Especially when he sees your hungry gaze roaming his torso up and down

And you… He couldn’t possibly choose one part

Beautiful legs, rounded butt, soft abdomen and that gorgeous, gorgeous smile

Yeah…

No…

That would be your thighs when it comes to the sexual aspect

You have such a delicate skin there. So suckable. Kissable. More plush than any pillow could ever be

He feels so secure and at ease when they squeeze around his head as you ride his face.

The sound of his hips slapping against them - heavenly

Not much can make him calmer than your lovely, plump thighs

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum)

It should come (hihihi) as no surprise that he loves to spill inside

It’s so intimate… Bonding…

Doesn’t really like to cum onto you for reasons he himself doesn’t really understand

It just feels… somewhat degrading? And he doesn’t like it that way?

Then again cuming into your mouth is a strong YES. Maybe it’s because of how enthusiastically you take him in

How you collect all the spill from your chin and lick it off your fingers like it was some kind of delicious delicacy

That sight makes him hard all over again…

D = Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory - a dirty secret of theirs)

He has a folder of your photos on his computer

Some of them were taken with consent… Some without you realising…

Because you were in his bed sleeping in your naked glory… And he could only stop himself the first, like 20 (?) times

He sorts them by aesthetic and cuteness/sexiness

Jacks off to them when you’re not around

Most of them are very artistic. He tries his best to make them as good as the ones he was using before you… (see J)

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He slept with a few girls in college, but he saw it only as ‘taking care of his sexual needs’ - no real feelings included

He had one dedicated booty call - a girl who fell in love with him despite him saying that he only only sees her for sex

That period really allowed him to explore his sexuality

So he knows what he likes and what to do, so his partner likes it too

F = Favorite position (This goes without saying)

Everything when he takes you from the back

He’s rather keen on yanking hair, slaping ass…

But when it comes to the person he loves - you, he likes to face each other during sex

He wants to kiss your face, neck and chest. Nuzzle his face into your abdomen while he’s going down from his height

Your legs thrown over his shoulders so he can slap his hips against your soft thighs

Or legs pressed to your sides, hands gripping your thighs

And he can’t even attempt to lie he doesn’t absolutely love when you sit on his lap… or get on top in general

Or when your thighs grip his head when you 69 on the couch while ‘watching’ a movie. Your lips sloppy around him as his tongue pleasures you with most precision and dedication

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

No goofy.

If they start to joke around, they get spanked. HARD.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Victor is a passionate swimmer, so most of his body is hairless

But he doesn’t shave his pubes. Finds it weird to be completely bare down there and the first time he had sex with a completly hairless girl, he was a bit taken aback with her baby like smoothness.

Only trims them with a ‘pubes razor’ which is his old razor that he doesn’t use for face anymore, because he got a better one from his aunt for Christmas

Carpet matches the drapes

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

No goofy.

Only love and eternal devotion.

He will caress and leave kisses all over your body. Keep you close in the warmest and most loving embrace

No dummies or idiots in bed. Only treasures and loves

Almost like he’s trying to make it up to you for his tendency to be so aloof on a daily basis

The sweet talk doesn’t stop there, but I already said everything about it in A

J = Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

This man didn’t have time to waste on women when he was building his empire, so he naturally spend quite a lot of his life masturbating instead of having sex

He doesn’t really enjoy porn, though. It’s too cartoonish for him. He much prefers to look through lingerie commercials or nude photoshoots - the more artistic the better

After he reunites with you, he starts to feel all that pent up sex tension and starts to jack off almost every day

Thinking about you. Looking at photos of you. Carving you with every small bit of his being

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

First of all - seeing his partner being pleasured. Either by him or by a vibrating toy plugged into them or pressed against their sensitive spots. He doesn’t even pump himself watching. He’s way too consumed with the enticing sights

Double penetration. His huge dick in one whole, dildo in another… Just thinking about it gets him going

He can’t deny himself at least some manhandling (if you consent - obv). Although he doesn’t go full on dom every time (at least with you) he seems to be unable to deny himself some hair pulling and choking... Although he almost does it lovingly? Spanking and whipping will surely also happen from time to time. Can get very rough when jealous

Also a slight daddy kink. When he hears it slip past your lips in the form of a joke - he feels some strange tingling in his groin and it’s not a venereal disease

If you sit on his lap, make a cute, helpless expression and ask daddy to play with you… It just turns him into a primal animal with no self restraint

That he kinda always seems to be

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Where nobody can hear them

Or see them

Anywhere with a stable surface really, but he needs to know you will have full privacy

Would never agree for public sex

All the sweet sounds and expressions he makes you do are his and only his to experience

M = Motivation (What turns them on/gets them going)

Stress, irritation, anger, hurt… Sex is a great way for him to gat this weight of his chest since he doesn’t really like to think those negative feeligs through

Or any feelings, if we’re at it

A nice butt is also a motivation, especially when it’s attached to a fine pair of legs

But both of these factors aren’t a guarantee of a turn on and even if they have that impact on him, he still will most likely not act on it

What he really struggles to control is a real attraction that reaches what’s beyond physical

A beautiful, hardworking and open-minded person is something Victor finds hard to ignore

N = No (Something they wouldn’t do/turn offs)

No sharing

No blood play

No permanent marking

Nothing too forcefull or aggressive

No sex before assigning boundaries and exchanging preferences

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

As I already said In B, Victor is an oral lover

More into giving than receiving, but would never push his lover away

(you can always 69, right?)

The man is humming in pleasure as his tongue slides along your sex

Is more than willing to go for hours if only you let him

The more you moan the more intense his movements become

His main goal is to please

The secondary one is to be the best at yet another thing

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

He has two base modes

One: I love you, my sweet creature - all about measured, unhurried but hard thrust. True, pure love-making

Two: Little girls don’t get a say in how daddy fucks them - you’re tearing up, sobbing, drooling and he gets even more turned on by it. Fucks harder and faster then you both believed possible. Years of engaging in sports come to show themselves

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He will participate when the occasion occurs

Might even initiate an occasion

But it’s not really sex for him. It’s a quickie

And when compared to the real love-making with you… it’s just meh

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

When it comes to taking risks, I believe I already made it clear that he isn’t too into that

If someone walked in you, it would be very upsetting for him

If you got accidentally hurt would break his heart

But experiment he would happily

New toys, new positions, new kinks… He will try anything once

Well, almost anything (see N)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

We all have our better and worst days, and this man has a whole company to run. It’s only natural for him to be tired

So usually he won’t last for more than one round. Maybe 3 on weekends

But will last a while if he sets a slower pace (see P)

On vacations however, after a few days of rest his stamina will increase dramatically

Have you seen this guy’s torso? Exactly

He has some stamina to spare

T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Not against, although he prefers to experiment with positions that to experiment with toys

Will probably never propose any, except when he knows his partner is into such things

If you do - Victor will do his research and find something exciting for you to enjoy

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He really is not patient enough for that

Doesn’t have time for it either

Why would he even want to? They’re unsatisfied = he’s unsatisfied (as I mentioned in K)

He sees no appeal in it. When he wants to fuck, he wants to fuck. No reason to beat around the bush

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Victor can be a bit more talkative than usual during the foreplay

Throughs some praise (a lot of it)

Tell you about his feelings (but not too much at that point)

About things that made him jealous…

A quiet Fuck may leave his lips when he enters you and when he’s about to come

In the middle of those two - he’s rather silent

Not much of a moaner

He grunts and growls a lot though. Can get a little bit loud from time

W = Wild card (A random headcanon for the character)

It was a sunny, autumn day. You were walking down the street. You’re fingers entwined. The sunlight was gracing your beautiful features so gorgeously… and he had already been yearning for so long

When you’ve finally reached the Souvenir’s door, the man is all worked up

Not that you could tell from his steely expression

But you sure got suspicious when he got all touchy feely out of the sudden

Not that you would ever mind - obviously

Feather light kisses on the nape of your neck and shoulders. Fingertips caressed your waist to then slide down to your hips. Then he reached for the hem of your dress…

“I love you…” he whispered in your ear

Goosebumps momentarily appeared on your skin as all the intense feelings he had been making you experience from the very day you saw him for the first time in his office travel down your spine in a form of a intense shiver

You wanted him. So bad. For so long.

And there was no hiding his feelings for you at that moment as you turned your head to face him

Soon after stomach was pressed against the kitchen counter. Your naked butt was all out on display for Victor to squeeze and spank as you squirmed and moaned under his touch

Victor didn’t take any unnecessary time to move his long, broad fingers down, to stroke your sensitive slit

He praised you for being so wet, so flushed, so eager for him

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

“I love you, too” you whispered to his ear as his arms pressed you as close to his body as possible, while you were still going back from your highs

And after that, from his lips slipped the words of the most sincere adoration… and true love

Words you would never expect to leave his beautiful, soft mouth

Matches the rest of the man

Long and thick

No curvature. Perfectly straight

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Rather average

Ha has periods when he doesn’t even think about it

And he has ones when he can’t stop thinking about it

However he doesn’t go too much either way

Z = Zzz… (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Remember what I said in S? Applies here as well

He’s a hardworking man

Simplu needs to work hard to keep his business growing and to keep his lover pleased

Then he just needs to get some rest. Don’t try to change his mind because he will

If he’s well rested however, he won’t let you sleep

Like, not a chance. You need to come at least five times. He doesn’t make the rules, sorry

#mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc fanfic #mlqc fluff #mlqc hc #mlqc headcanon #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc smut

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sidespart · 3 years

Text

The Fall of King Romulus Part 6

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

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

EXTRA WARNINGS - this chapter is pretty much unrelenting whump and the violence and consent issues (past) tags strongly apply. I have put more detailed (spoiler heavy) warnings at the bottom so if you’re particularly sensitive to that stuff and want to scroll down to check before you read you can do so.

Feedback appreciated.

NOW ON AO3 :D

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

In a tavern just outside of Leovan the crowd roars another! And Roman laughs and gamely starts to play another jig. He’s been playing for hours and he drinks in the attention happily, even as the cheers of the crowd become a ringing in his ears. The night is long and his throat is raw and his stomach empty and it’s harder and harder to keep his eyes focused, but his hands are steady on the strings. He sways in place, sweat dripping into his eyes, but it doesn’t matter- the crowd adore him. They sing and dance and laugh along, and after each set they call another, another, another until the room is spinning and his throat is bleeding and the audience’s laughter had turned cruel and high and lilting and-

Roman woke with a gasp and immediately regretted it.

The underground room was still pitch black, the humidity still cloying. At some point during his fitful sleep he had slumped to the floor, Lucius’ ill-attempt at binding having come loose enough to allow him to slide his arms down the length of the pipe. He was awkwardly sprawled at the base with his wrists still pinned above his head and his legs twisted underneath him. He tugged experimentally at his binding and got a sharp spike of pain down his shoulders and spine for his trouble. Whilst he had wasted time sleeping, the silk had become sodden from the moisture of the room and shrunk tight against his wrists, making even Lucius’ knotwork impossible to pull apart.

Not that it would have made much difference if he could get it loose.

Stay here until I come back with your transport.

Grunting with pain, he managed to untangle his legs out from under him and sit up. He pushed himself up on his knees as best he could, trying to relieve some of the pressure on his wrists, but gave it up quickly as the pain lacing down his shoulders intensified.

This was bad.

He chewed on his bottom lip, trying to think, but the heat was making it almost impossible. The black of the room kept swirling back in to crowded tavern, the rush of water into the jeers of a crowd…he could feel the raw burn on his throat and his mind scrambled desperately for another song-

Except it hadn’t happened like that. He shook his head furiously, his hair flicking sweat into the room, trying to banish the tavern from his mind. He had already started traveling with the others by the time he sang in Leovan and if he’d tried to perform so late into the night Virgil would have come stomping down the stairs to tell him he was being ridiculous and to go and get some sleep.

Or Patton would have sat up listening, playing bodyguard, until he couldn’t keep his own eyes open and sweetly suggested that the crowd might want to be getting home to their own families.

Or Logan would appear, pocket watch in hand, demanding he finish within a set time frame in order to allow for optimal sleeping hours.

Roman could almost hear the lecture, relief at a chance to escape the crowd mingling with exasperation at the scholars ridged scheduling.

In the dark Roman glanced over to where he thought the door should be.

The only sound was the gentle hiss of water.

He tried pulling at the rope again.

***

“Hey! It’s you!”

The man blocking Roman’s path back to the ballroom was clearly drunk. He stumbled towards Roman, half leaning on the hallway wall for support, a big dopy smile on his face. “I saw you- I saw you back there – wow!”

“Thank you friend.” Roman smiled brightly and took a step backwards, but not quickly enough to prevent the guy from grasping onto his sash.

“You’re so pretty.” The guy breathed, his eyes unfocused but his grip firm, “I saw you lookin’ at me when you were singin’.”

Roman squirmed. He was almost certainly better trained than his admirer, and he had had a lot less ale, but he was also shorter and skinnier. With the man pressed so close in the narrow hallway it was almost impossible to find the leverage he needed to push him off.

And. This was a nice place. And by the quality of the man’s clothing he was an honoured guest not a servant. Roman had been the one to convince his new companions to accompany him to the local lord’s house for the ball, he had wanted to give them to a chance to relax whilst he performed. He didn’t want to get himself, and them, kicked out by causing a scene- not when he was half hoping they would allow him to continue to travel with them even though the job he’d been hired for was done.

“I look at everyone-” he said, smile fixed and polite ”– engaging the audience is actually very important for-“

“Shush.” The man whispered.

Roman shushed. Grinding his teeth in frustration.

His assailant brought one hand up to paw at his face in a clumsy attempt at seduction, thick rings knocking against Romans jaw. His other hand released the bard’s sash to grip his wrist instead.

“Kiss me,” the man breathed, the stink of ale on his breath making Roman gag.

Face burning with mounting frustration and embarrassment, Roman attempted to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but the man twisted his head at the last moment to meet his lips with his own. Pressing Roman back against the wall with a slobbering assault as he attempted to pry Roman’s lips open with his tongue.

Panic flickered in Roman’s belly and then just as quickly dulled. It was generally easier to let these things run their course.

And then, suddenly, the pressure on his mouth – and wrist and chest - was gone.

Roman blinked open eyes he didn’t remember squeezing shut to see Patton with an expression so furious Roman had to fight the instinct to cower.

“What.” Patton snarled “Do you think you’re doing?”

“I di-didn’t mean to-“ Roman started.

“Well?!” Patton roared and Roman realised he wasn’t speaking to him – but rather the rich man who appeared to be rapidly sobering up in Patton’s grip. The warrior held him by the scuff of his neck, his toes just scraping the floor. When Patton shook him, the plethora of chains around his neck clinked together musically.

“Roman,” Patton asked, his voice still shaking with an anger that made Roman draw his shoulders up instinctively “do you…know this man?”

“Well…no.” Roman glanced at the chains again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as his heart rate started to return to normal “I think he might be the mayor though Pat, put him down!”

“I don’t care if he’s the King of the elves! Did you want to kiss him?”

“Well no, but – but its fine! These things happen!”

“You call yourself a Prince and this is how you carry on?”

Wait. What?

Roman blinked, feeling strangely hot in the cool hallway.

Patton wasn’t supposed to say that. Patton was supposed to ask what he meant. And Roman would backtrack and feed him some lines about people often feeling entitled to performers time off stage – which was not untrue – and Patton would look at him wide eyed and tell him that would never happen again –

“You’ve been told over and over, to keep yourself to yourself.”

- that Patton would stand guard at every performance from now on if that’s what it took.-

“If you insist on putting yourself into these situations, don’t come crying to me when the inevitable happens.”

-And Roman would be so elated at the implication that they were to keep travelling together that he would almost forget to feel embarrassed at the situation.-

Patton’s lips narrowed into a thin disapproving line, “Don’t be naive. You are far better off alone, Romulus.”

“Dad?” Roman whispered.

“He doesn’t look much like the Prince.”

“Oh, like you’ve seen him.”

“Well he’s meant to be handsome right? This guy’s not winning any contests.”

Roman opened his eyes, squinting against the light. Three men stood around him, illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp. For one wild moment elation flooded through him - his friends had found him after all!

And then their conversation registered and he scowled. Disappointment robbing him of a witty comeback to their insults.

Still. Let them travel almost non-stop for three weeks, spend a night standing out in the middle of a field whilst an old woman sang at herbs, march for five days through a forest - including a detour through he thickets brambles known to man- and then follow that up with an entire day wandering around the city, have two panic attacks and be left to sleep tied up in caller. And then see if they looked their best.

With the gag still in his mouth, Roman’s attempt to covey this sentiment were mercifully muffled.

“I don’t know.” The biggest of the three stepped forward, grabbing a handful of Roman’s hair and yanking his head back painfully, abruptly cutting off his complaints. “I can kinda see it.”

“Be careful Niki,” the one who had first spoken whispered, he was holding the lantern and keeping well back from Roman. “His nibs thinks he’s got devils with him.”

“In here?” Niki cast a glance around at the iron cage of pipework that covered the room. “If he does they’re not coming out.”

“Still.” Lantern-boy whined.

“Well let’s test it.” Niki grinned down and Roman spitefully and released his grip on his hair. In one quick movement he had produced an iron dagger, not unlike Roman’s own, and pressed the flat of it to Roman’s cheek.

Roman stared at him.

“There you see? If was possessed he’d be screaming.” Niki said smugly and pulled his knife back, twisting it slightly as he did so, leaving a shallow cut along Roman’s cheek, making him wince.

“Careful,” lantern-boy said meaningfully “he’s still the Prince’s brother.”

“Oops.” Niki smiled cheerfully down at Roman. “My bad.”

“He needs to drink.” The third man stood far enough back from the lantern that Roman couldn’t see his face, but he saw the way the other two responded to his soft voice, their posture automatically stiffening.

“Here,” lantern-boy stepped forward after a moment, holding out a water skin to Niki who rolled his eyes but reached down to rip the gag from Roman’s mouth.

Roman coughed, swallowing air greedily. His throat was painfully dry, all moisture sucked out by the silk, but he still hesitated when Niki held the skin up to his mouth.

“Listen to me.” He croaked “you-“

“Just drink it.” Niki snapped and Roman surged forward despite himself, swallowing a few precious mouthfuls before the skin was yanked away again.

“You’re from Notaleveale.” he whispered. “Right?”

“Obviously.” Lantern-boy muttered, taking the water skin back from his companion.

“Well then,” he drew himself up as much as he could, ignoring the pain the movement caused “ – as true men of The North I must implore you to assist me. The Marquis has been embroiled in some- some conspiracy of untruths, is perhaps plotting against the very crown itself and-“

“The Marquis de Orenlla couldn’t plot his way out of a paper bag.” Niki snorted contemptuously.

Roman opened and closed his mouth a few times.

“Isn’t he your Lord?” he asked eventually feeling bizarrely offended on the Marquis’ behalf. Niki and lantern-boy were both wearing chest plates embossed with the three peaked mountain range that signified allegiance to Orenlla, the royal kraken of Notaleveale floating above. They were clearly guardsmen brought with Lucius on his journey south.

The third man, who hadn’t spoken since he mentioned Roman needing to drink, wore no identifying uniform.

“It’s not an insult.” Niki shrugged, “personally I prefer an employer too daft to organise a coupe.”

Lantern-boy nodded in agreement, “It’s a, whatcha call it - a positive working environment, innt?”

“…alright.” Roman decided to change tactics. “I’ll double what he’s paying you.” This time both men laughed.

“With what?”

“Well, I. I’m still a Prince I’ll have you know - I have many rich and influential friends who would gladly-“

“Oh really. Where are they then?”

There was an unpleasant pause whilst Roman desperately tried to get his brain to think. He was supposed to be more creative than this!

“You’re no Prince of ours anyhow.” Lantern-boy stepped a bit closer to glare into Roman’s eyes. “Traitor.”

Roman flinched back at the pure look of venom on the young man’s face.

Little fae touched traitor.

“Listen to me. Whatever you’ve heard – it’s not true. My father-“

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” Niki surged froward, pulling Roman up by the neck of his tunic. Their faces were close enough that Roman could feel the spittle from the man’s mouth land on his cheek as he shouted: “After your despicable actions you would dare to-“

“Nicolas. Don’t upset yourself.”

The third man was barely visible to Roman over Niki- Nicholas’- shoulder, but as soon as he spoke the large man stilled, lowering Roman slowly back to the ground.

“Marcus. Some more light if you will.”

Lantern-boy -presumably Marcus– quickly produced a box of long matchsticks, almost tripping over himself in his haste to light more lanterns around the room. By the time he was done the room was brightly lit, the glow from each lamp bouncing off the metal pipes until it filled every corner.

The third man did not look especially Notalevealean, with skin almost as white as Virgil’s and pale white blond hair. He was dressed plainly, with pale grey robes and soft shoes, and carried only a thin walking stick. If he hadn’t spoken, he could have quite easily faded into the background - camouflaged against the dull back drop of pipes.

“Nicholas. Marcus. Go and guard the passages.”

“But we already have a dozen men out there-“

“And I’m sure they’re in need of leadership. Go now.”

The two men glanced at each other. Roman thought for a moment that they would stand their ground, but then Marcus snatched up his original lantern and headed for the door, Niki following after one last reluctant glance back.

“W-wait.” Roman called. “Is my Father alive?”

They disappeared into the gloom of the next room.

Left alone with only the quiet grey man, Roman found himself wishing they’d stayed.

The grey man smiled at him as he shuffled towards the kneeling prince. His smile was an awful thing that did not touch his eyes.

“The young Marquis de Orenlla is a rather silly boy.” He told Roman in his soft papery voice. “Much like yourself.”

Despite himself Roman let out an offended squeak, but the grey man continued unhindered. “He has very little idea how to survive alone, can barely function without his servants.”

Roman caught himself staring at the floor and snapped his gaze back to the grey man’s face. He didn’t want to miss any information he might let slip but looking at him was-

It was difficult.

When he tried to look at the details of his face they seemed to slip away. Was he young or old? What colour were his eyes?

The whole time he had been talking, had his mouth actually moved?

“What are you?” Roman whispered.

The grey man smiled again, Roman shuddered.

“But also like you, he is not wholly stupid. He has started asking some inconvenient questions.”

Within the blink of an eye, the grey man was next to him a knife in his hand. Before Roman had a chance to do more than flinch, he had cut the ties biding his hands, and was back across the room.

Dazed, Roman rubbed his wrists, trying not to wretch.

Up close, the grey man smelt of death.

“Now. Sit there, and listen to me until I finish.”

Romulus whimpered.

“Your father is dead.” The grey man told him bluntly. “You killed him.”

“No.” Romulus- Roman shook his head. Used his newly freed hands to cover his ears. “He was sick.”

“You poisoned him over many weeks.” the grey man whispered. “Disguised it as a common sickness. You tried the same on your brother but he was too strong to succumb.”

Roman lowered his hands. They were pointless anyway- the grey man’s voice seemed to be inside his head.

“That’s not how his strength works!”

“And so instead, you allied yourself with a traitor to the fae court and placed a curse of madness on the crown prince, rendering him unable to rule. You hoped to take over in his place, but luckily your father’s advisors found you out. You were forced to flea with your fae companion.”

Roman stared at him, eyes wide. “That’s insane!”

“That’s the truth.” The grey man insisted. “When The Marquis asks you for the truth, that’s what you’ll say.”

“No.” Roman shook his head. “No, no, no.”

The grey man reached forward, resting his hand gently against Roman’s cheek. Romulus stared up into his eyes.

“Julius?” he whispered.

“In a way.” The grey man’s face seemed to twist. For a single moment, it was Julius’ face that looked disdainful down at him, rendering Romulus mute with terror. And then with another twist to reality it was gone, back to the grey man’s blank visage.

“I’ve had eyes all over looking for you Romulus. I was so sure you must have died in the mountains and yet –“ His fingers tightened on Roman’s face, nails digging cruelly into his skin. “Here you are. Like a little cockroach.”

With a shove he released Roman’s face and walked swiftly to the centre of the room, where the largest pipes rose out of the floor. “Stay on your knees and come here.” he ordered. Face burning, Roman shuffled after him, knees bruising on the stone floor.

“Put your hands here.” He gestured to one of the larger pipes. Even before his hands touched the surface, Roman could feel the heat radiating from it. It was far hotter than the one he had been tied to and although he braced himself he couldn’t hold back a yelp of pain when his hands made contact.

He snatched them back quickly, his palms an alarming shade of red. And without pausing, sprang to his feet, aiming a punch directly at the grey man’s immobile face.

“Stop moving.”

Roman felt his muscles lock, momentum sending him crashing to the ground as the grey man easily sidestepped his swing.

“Don’t move until I tell you too.” The grey man added, leaving Roman frozen on the ground where he landed.

Slowey the grey man stepped around him, crouching down by his head. “Look at me, Romulus.” Roman did so, only moving his eyes to stare at the flickering mirage of the grey man’s face.

Up close, the smell was so bad Roman felt the remains of his pastry threatening to make a reappearance.

“I am going to ask you some questions. You are going to tell me the truth. Nod if you understand.”

Slowly, Roman nodded. The grey man – Julius – whatever it was, had already told him what it wanted him to consider the truth. But even so, ‘tell the truth’ was an easy enough order to get around. Truth being in the eye of the beholder and all.

“And if you don’t, I am going to tell you to hold onto that pipe again, and I am going to tell you to keep holding it until I am satisfied with your answers. Do you understand?”

Roman swallowed. He nodded again.

“Did you kill your father? Tell the truth now.”

“No.” he said quickly and then bit his tongue, cursing. Franticly he looked up at the grey man “You, you said that was a truth for The Marquis, not for everyone I can’t just –“

“Raise your left hand.” the grey man said mildly. “Bring it here.”

Romulus felt tears of frustration and fear spring to his eyes. He was stupid for thinking he had a chance at this. Julius’ tests were never designed for him to pass.

***

Roman wasn’t sure how many hours passed before the grey man seemed satisfied.

Fortunately, he had methods of persuasion beyond just the pipe. When Romans’ left palm had become completely coated in blisters the grey man had handed him walking stick and instructed him to bring it down hard on his own back instead. And then his shoulders. The side of his face. His left palm.

The grey man never touched him himself.

He didn’t have any need to.

Whenever there was a pause between punishments he ordered Roman to stillness. Time which Roman happily spent fantasising, first of smashing the stick down across the grey man’s head, then of pressing his own eyes to the hot pipe.

Even if they took him home – he could not allow himself to lay eyes on Remus. That was the one thing he could not fail on.

“Did you kill your father?” asked the grey man.

“Yes.”

The stress of raising Romulus, of hiding the curse; there was no doubt he’d contributed to his fathers early death. It was true, at least to him.

“Did you curse your brother?”

“Yes.”

When he was a little boy there had been a phase where he tried to put a curse on Remus daily, and Remus him. The kind of curses they dreamed up were for itchy feet and stinky farts, and none of them had worked, but it was still technically true.

“Why?”

“I was jealous of my brother.”

If Roman had only been born a half hour earlier he could have avoided a lifetime of being second best. He could have avoided his curse. Grown up with his Father instead of Julius. Not that he would wish any of that on Remus but. It was natural, surely, to be a little jealous of his brothers freedom.

“Good.”

Julius’ face smiled down at him. He reached out with the grey mans hands to stroke Romulus’ hair, like he sometimes did when he was a child. “You see Romulus, there is always a way to work within the confines of your curse, so long as you are willing to look for it. I taught you that.”

“Where are you?” Romulus whispered.

“I am waiting for you.” he smiled. “I have no sons Romulus, no one to pass the Stewardship to. And we must think about the future of our kingdom. When you are back, we can write a new story.”

“You…you’re ruler?”

Romulus frowned. There was a missing piece here but he couldn’t find it. The heat and pain were making his brain slosh against the inside of his skull. He found himself leaning in to the hand in his hair, even as revulsion rippled through him. “If you’re ruler then where’s –“

“Where’s the serpent?”

Roman blinked. Looking up, he found that Julius was gone again, the grey mans expressionless face staring back at him.

“What?”

“The serpent. Where is he?”

“I don’t – I don’t know what you mean.” Romulus held his injured arm close to his chest, curling over it protectively.

He heard the disappointed sigh and flinched even before the grey man brought his other hand to Romans’ bruised shoulder, squeezing hard.

“Look at me.”

Romulus did, eyes bright.

“I know he has left his prison. I know he was with you at that inn. I sent that stupid boy to get him and he found you.”

“I don’t know what you mean!” Romulus wailed, hating the childish wobble in his voice. “There wasn’t anyone else at the inn.”

“No?”

Julius eyes were peering out of the grey man again, a cruel glint to them. ”You were alone?”

“Yes.” Roman told him. Voice steady.

He’d entered the inn alone. He’d sat in the room alone. Climbed out of the window alone. Anything else was none of Julius’ business.

Before the grey man could speak again, a clatter from the next room made them both jump.

“Hmph. He’s early.” the grey man murmured. “Get back to your place.” He gestured to the pipe Roman had originally been tied to and, haltingly, Roman crawled towards it, sprawling at the base.

“If The Marquis asks, tell him nothing about your injuries.” the grey man added lazily, taking up his position in the centre of the room, fading back into the background.

Roman grunted. It wasn’t a bad plan: his most visible injuries – the burns on his hand which he couldn’t stand to look at – could be explained away as being caused by the very pipe Lucius had tied him to. As usual, nothing could ever be pinned on Julius.

They waited. But neither the Marquis or his men appeared.

The grey man stood across from him, gazing out into the darkness of the next room. Roman wasn’t even worth looking at.

He slumped further against the pipe and tried to focus on breathing. There wasn’t a single place on his body that didn’t hurt, though the worst by far was his hand. He shivered from cold, which, given the heat of the room, couldn’t be a good sign. He let his eyes slip closed. Exhaustion threatening to take him again.

And then he felt a soft pressure on his lap.

“Mrrp.”

Roman opened his eyes. Then he closed them again.

He opened one eye. It was still there.

“Mister Mittens?” he asked, slightly hysterically.

Romulus and Remus had grown up with dogs. He wasn’t sure if cats were supposed to be able to feel smugness, but this once clearly did. It butted it’s head against Roman’s chin with another self-satisfied “Mrrp.”

“What?“ The grey man was staring at the pair of them, looking as confused as his expressionless face could manage. “Where did that thing come from?”

Roman was saved from having to answer by a crossbow bolt. One that came through the open door, burying itself in the grey man’s skull.

Chapter 7

Extra warnings

Consent stuff – Roman relives a memory of being sexually assaulted (he doesn’t necessarily think of it in those terms). A drunk man kisses him and pushes him against a wall. The man tells Roman to ‘kiss me’ without knowing anything about Romans curse. They are interrupted before it goes beyond kissing. (whether anything else would have happened, or whether the man would have stopped if he had known about the curse, is not shown in the text). It is implied that this sort of situation has happened to Roman before, and that it has gone further, but this is not explicit.

Violence stuff – Roman is tortured in this chapter. This includes cutting, burning and beating with a stick. The majority of this is not described in explicit detail but it’s certainly going on. Due to the nature of his curse, most of this takes place due to another character ordering him to hurt himself. Roman briefly contemplates burning his own eyes (for ‘trying to get around my curse’ reasons rather than ‘self harm’ reasons) . Someone also gets shot in the head with a crossbow. Roman also spends most of this chapter dehydrated and suffering from heat stroke .

I’m not totally sure what this falls under but its grim stuff – a character from romans past spends a lot of this chapter tyring to gas light him/ manipulate him into believing a set of false memories. Roman retains his correct memories but gets hurt a lot in the process. Meeting said character causes Roman to dissociate (I think this is the correct term but please correct me if I’m wrong), he continuously switches between his name and his childhood name during the chapter and at some points reacts as if he was a child.

#ts roman #roman sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #creativitwins #sidespart writes

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valdomarx · 4 years

Text

The most disgusting parts of a witcher’s work were almost -- almost -- worth it for the simple pleasure of taking a bath afterwards. A contract on a zeugl, however, pushed even Geralt’s patience to its limits. With the job completed he’d arrived back at the inn exhausted, covered in fifth, and stinking to an unbelievable degree.

Jaskier had taken one look at him, led him out to the yard, and thrown buckets of cold water over him until the worst of the filth was washed away. He would have grumbled about that, but Jaskier had also ordered a hot bath sent to their room and prepared his lavender soap that Geralt secretly loves, so he decided to be magnanimous.

Now, he lets the warm bath water wash over him, bleeding away the stress and disgust of the day.

Jaskier sits behind him, rinsing out his hair with careful movements. The scent of lavender spikes as Jaskier lathers the soap between his hands and begins to rub it into Geralt's scalp. His fingers are strong and sure, digging in with just the right pressure.

Having spent the day being spat at and wading through hip-deep filth, it feels sinfully good to be touched with care and attention. Jaskier digs a thumb into a spot at the base of his skull and Geralt moans without meaning to. Jaskier only hums, and does it again.

He can't deny he's always enjoyed having his hair played with, and if he feels his cock filling out as Jaskier massages his scalp it's only because it's been too long since he's allowed anyone to take care of him, and because there’s something about being submerged in water which makes his body open to suggestion.

Jaskier is patient as ever, chatting away as he rinses Geralt's hair and moves on to soaping his shoulders, his back, his arms, his legs. Geralt could technically do that for himself, he supposes, but Jaskier seems to be enjoying himself and it would be rude to interrupt.

As Jaskier runs a hand up the inside of Geralt's thigh, his knuckles brush tantalisingly lightly, accidentally, against his cock. Geralt’s hands squeeze hard against the rim of the tub, but his breathing remains even. Jaskier raises his eyebrow in a tiny quirk but says nothing, and Geralt doesn't either. Best not to draw attention to it.

Jaskier keeps calmly running soap along his leg, and then the back of his hand brushes past Geralt's cock again, and then again, and Geralt can't suppress a moan. He's getting harder by the minute and there's no way Jaskier hasn't noticed.

He wants... He wants to run. He wants Jaskier to keep his damn hands to himself. He wants Jaskier to touch him more, to touch him all over, to take his cock into his familiar, calloused hands and...

"You seem tense," Jaskier says, voice low.

Of course I'm tense, you fucking prick, he thinks but doesn't say, you keep touching my cock and I think I might like it.

“Come on, let me see to that shoulder.”

A ghoul had sliced into his shoulder last week, and it was healed now but Geralt decides to indulge Jaskier all the same. He’ll only worry otherwise. He lets Jaskier guide him out of the bath, and Jaskier pointedly doesn’t mention the fact he's half hard. Somehow that only makes it more mortifying.

He lets Jaskier lie him face down on the bed, a towel draped over his lower half for modesty. Not that modesty seems to be a concern to Jaskier, who fetches his oils and makes himself comfortable sitting on the backs of Geralt’s thighs.

The weight of Jaskier on top of him is, surprisingly, not unpleasant, and he tries to unwind as Jaskier works oil into his hands and gently prods at his shoulder, checking the edges of the scar with careful fingers.

Still, it feels wrong, greedy even, to enjoy the way Jaskier touches him. Being the subject of such close attention makes him squirm, and he’s embarrassingly aware of his hard cock beneath him. His heart rate picks up in the beginnings of panic, and his muscles are tensing up…

“Breathe for me,” Jaskier says, fingers barely grazing him. “Just breathe.”

He can do that. He takes one shaky breath, and then another, Jaskier softly stroking his back.

“Good,” Jaskier hums, and the warmth of that sends a shiver down Geralt’s spine.

The scent of chamomile fills the air as Jaskier begins to rub at his shoulder, sweeping outward in firm strokes that dig into the muscles and release knots he hadn't realised were there. Jaskier has talented hands, everyone knows this, but Geralt appreciates it afresh whenever Jaskier does this for him.

Geralt feels himself relax inch by inch as Jaskier works across his back, down each arm, along his spine, the warm feeling of relaxation punctuated by the occasional twist of pleasure-pain when he digs in deep and releases a knot.

Jaskier takes his time, touching and smoothing over each section of skin, and yet all too soon he's reached the base of Geralt's spine and he's lifting his hands away.

Geralt manages to bite down on a whine, but only just.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Jaskier asks, and all Geralt can think is that he doesn't want this to end, he selfishly wants as much as Jaskier will give him.

"Yes," he rasps, voice shaky, and he thinks Jaskier's hummed response sounds content.

Jaskier pushes the towel away and begins working up his legs, starting at the soles of his feet and moving up in careful strokes. It's a rare thing for anyone to touch Geralt this much, and his dick twitches beneath him, confusing the touch of a friend for that of a lover. Jaskier hardly seemed shocked by his body’s reactions at this point though, so he lets himself slip into a warm, comfortable bubble of sensation, comfort and satisfaction with a low thrum of arousal far in the background.

Jaskier's thumbs press into the inside of his thighs and Geralt's hips dig into the mattress without him meaning them to. Heat creeps up the back of his neck as he realises what he’s doing.

“Mmm.” Jaskier doesn’t sound displeased, though. He runs his hands along the crease between Geralt’s thighs and ass, fingers kneading at muscles which are tight and sore from weeks of riding Roach.

It’s deliciously good, actually, even if it is a little close for comfort. Jaskier’s hands find every knot and pressure point, digging down hard into the meat of his ass, and Geralt gives himself over to it.

Soon, too soon, Jaskier’s hands slow and move away, and when they lift off completely Geralt lets out a little moan that he can’t contain.

He feels the air behind him still as Jaskier freezes, seemingly deep in consideration.

“Shall I keep going?” Jaskier asks, and his voice is husky, almost uncertain, like he doesn’t know how Geralt is going to react.

Geralt has no compunctions now though, too wrapped up in the feeling of Jaskier’s hands on his skin, craving more, not caring for propriety. “Yes,” he gasps, and mercifully, Jaskier’s hands are back on his skin immediately.

Jaskier drips more oil on his hands, and the sweet, floral odor of chamomile fills Geralt’s senses, lulling him further into that comfortable, pliant state. He trusts Jaskier. He trusts him to make him feel good. It’s nice to cede control for a while, to let someone else decide what he’ll do and how he’ll be touched. The only requirement is for him to lie there and do as Jaskier tells him, and he’s confident he can do that.

“Spread your legs for me,” Jaskier says, one oiled hand on each thigh, and Geralt does so gladly. There’s a twinge at the back of his mind at the thought of how exposed he is, but that’s quashed as soon as Jaskier’s hands are back at his ass, squeezing and massaging.

Jaskier runs an oiled finger along the crack of his ass and he shudders all over, acutely sensitive to each motion. Jaskier does it again, other hand holding Geralt’s hip in a way that’s more comforting than he’d be willing to admit.

He teases a finger around Geralt’s rim and gods, Geralt has no idea what’s gotten into him but he wants this, wants more, wants Jaskier to keep doing whatever he’s doing because it’s sending sparkles across his skin and there’s a restless hunger building up inside him.

When Jaskier slides a finger inside him he clenches up at first, unused to the sensation. But Jaskier runs a hand down his side, muttering kind words in a soft voice, and Geralt relaxes into the sensation.

“Good boy,” Jaskier murmurs, and Geralt glows.

Jaskier fingers him slowly, sliding one finger in and out before adding a second, and the stretch feels strange but not unpleasant.

And then Jaskier cocks his fingers and brushes against something deep inside him and sparks shoot through his body like lightning, and he’s grinding down into the mattress and gasping for air.

“Feels good, hmm?”

Geralt can’t answer, can barely focus, but he knows he wants more of that so he nods his head against the rough pillow, hoping Jaskier will get it.

Jaskier understands, like he always does, and he moves his fingers with more force, rubbing up against that spot until Geralt is boneless and breathless, caught on his fingers like a fish on a hook.

His sense of time is stretched like molasses but Geralt is dimly aware that it only takes an embarrassingly short few minutes before he’s keening and writhing under Jaskier’s careful attentions, heart beating faster and faster and breath coming shorter.

There’s a tightly coiled heat twisting low in his belly, blood thundering in his ears, the smell and chamomile and soapy bathwater and Jaskier building in his nostrils.

And then Jaskier leans in close to his back, fingers deep inside him, and his voice is soft in Geralt’s ear as he says, “That’s it. I’ve got you.” And Geralt lets himself fall, lets himself float, certain that Jaskier will catch him, and he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure that are cresting inside him.

He comes with a soft gasp, shuddering as all the tension and anger and heat he’d been carrying flows out of him in time with the gentle motions of Jaskier’s fingers, and he feels stretched and exposed but somehow light and free.

“There you go,” Jaskier says, withdrawing his fingers and patting Geralt with his other hand.

Geralt is too hazy to speak. But he lets Jaskier roll him over and clean him off. He has the sudden urge to pull Jaskier onto the bed with him and hold him close, but he’s fairly certain that’s not what this was about so he fists his hands in the sheets instead.

Jaskier sits beside him and runs a hand up his leg, and even now his touch leaves goosebumps up Geralt’s skin.

“You’re more comfortable giving pleasure than receiving it, aren’t you?” Jaskier's voice is curious, not judgemental.

He supposes he probably is. There's something functional about pleasing someone else: a challenge, a goal, a requirement that he can meet. Having someone lavish pleasure on him isn't like that. He's supposed to, what, just lie there while Jaskier works to make him feel good? It seems hedonistic, selfish even, like something he's not deserving of. Witchers are built to be efficient tools, not something worthy of care or pleasure.

He hums. But he feels like maybe Jaskier understands without him having to say anything.

“You are allowed to want things." Jaskier is so very gentle. "It’s not wrong to feel good. You deserve that.”

Something twists under his rib cage, some ugly mix of anger and shame, because that's not right, it's not like that for him, and he doesn't know how to explain that to Jaskier -

Jaskier lays a soft hand on his thigh. "It's okay," he says, and Geralt lets himself believe that maybe it is. "Just think about it, yeah?"

"Hmm."

If he allows himself to consider... allows himself to imagine a life where he's deserving of care... He wonders what that might look like. What he could be if he was worthy of something more.

And then his mind snaps back to the here and now, because such dreams are not meant for men like him.

Jaskier sighs, like he knows exactly what’s going through his head. "You'll get there," he says, and there's no pity in it, only hope.

Geralt wishes he could share his conviction.

#for your enjoyment: CHAMOMILE #geraskier #the witcher #geralt and jaskier's brothel adventures #my writing #thanks to my darling witchertrashbag for the help <3

2K notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

lavender latte: vii

(M (for now!)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 4 || chapter 5 || chapter 6 || chapter 8 ||

masterlist

word count: ~5.2k

the details

warnings: a little spice (see that M warning!), soft shit & emotional convos

beta’ed: @keiqos

---

wow :’^) through thick and thin, this one got here! thank u to molb for beta reading!!! this is beginning of the second act/final half of the story, a little ~*plot*~ if u will. enjoy 💗

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Being in Hawks’ arms was heaven, you were sure of it.

When he’d said that he’d ‘never done this before’, you, that first night, had confirmation that ‘this’ definitely did not refer to physical intimacy. It couldn’t, not with the way he had touched you.

His warm, well-trained hands squeezing and pulling you apart perfectly. He read each of your breaths and sighs like they were an in-depth instruction manual that he was meant to study, memorizing the perfect ways to make you cry his name.

...

Hawks was a fast learner.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that, right?” Hawks said with a kiss to your cheek, lips trailing to your jaw. “You’re fucking beautiful, angel.”

Your thighs hugged around his, your booted foot half-supported by the couch below. Straddling his lap had been a bold move, but neither of you complained, hardly. The shocked look that Hawks had first worn had melted into one of hot-blooded lust.

You drank it all in, him all in, greedily.

“You’re not bad yourself, you know,” You giggled at the compliments. He’d been laying them on thick as the night wore on, not that you were complaining. “I wasn’t lying earlier, agreeing that you were hot and all. It’s a little distracting.”

“‘Distracting’?” You could hear the raise in Hawks’ brow. “Spill it, dove. How am I ‘distracting’?”

You opened your mouth, ready to give him an entire heap of ego-boosting praise about how fucking hot he was in civilian clothes (and in general), but the words died in your throat as his hands trailed along your hips, dipping just below the hem of your shirt. His touch brushed along your bare skin and the waistband of your bottoms.

You sucked in a shaking breath.

“Angel,” Hawks’s sing-song voice washed over you as his nimble fingers stroked at your sides and quick teeth nipped at your jaw. “I’m waiting.”

His purposefully mind-snagging moves were all calculated, each brush and touch he gave you turning you gooey over him.

“U-uh,” You stuttered, Hawks snickered against your skin. You really would’ve loved to give him some sort of lip, but the gentle bites to the fragile skin of your neck made your words turn to smoke in your skull. “I-I mean, right now, w-what you’re doing.”

Hawks being a tease was hardly surprising.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks paused, hot breath tickling your ear. “I couldn’t catch that, angel. How am I distracting you? What am I doing?”

The bastard.

“Y-You’re—” You cut yourself off with a yelp. Hawks had taken to sucking at a bite mark on your neck, laving the bruise with his tongue. Pain pricked deliciously across your skin, and you let your head fall away to bare more for him.

“I’m surprised, you’re usually so good with words.”

You normally were, the banter you and Hawks shared was a testament to that. But with his lips and searing hands grabbing and damn near worshipping whatever they could, you were at a loss for words. You were more than happy to, balling up the back of Keigo’s sweater in your clammy palms.

Keigo was in rapture, he was sure of it.

The sweetness of the earlier moment of the night was still there in each peck and sweet caress. It radiated in each action.

The tension had simply been allowed to break.

The goodness was all foreign to him, something he’d never really known.

Keigo had plenty of sex— good sex, by definition. He wasn’t a slouch in bed, he knew that much. He’d been given glowing reviews time and time again. But, that was all hookups or platonic flings, nothing even close to the stored up desires that were finally able to be expressed.

Your sweet body already trembling over him with just easy touches got him harder and hotter than he’d been in a long time, probably ever.

It was you, as cliche as it was. The familiar scent of your perfume clouding over him, the little gasps and whines from the back of your throat, even the taste of your quickly salting skin drove Keigo wild. And it was all so intimately close.

He was suffocating in you and he loved every moment of it.

Keigo had already learned you from his side of the teashop’s counter. He mentally prided himself on recognizing your mannerisms after so many months of conversation and coffee. The little quirks in your movements and words that told their own stories.

The pride, of course, came from being able to use his trained interpersonal skills for something good, something that he knew was good.

With that first kiss, that sweet, sweet first embrace (of many), Keigo could finally indulge in learning about you in a new way.

He wanted to learn what would make you melt.

Keigo’s wings twitched, sensing how each nip to your jaw made your hips stutter like you were repressing the urge to roll them down onto his lap.

With each press of his thumbs against your sides, he could feel your breath catch, soft sounds muffled in the back of your throat.

You were perfect.

“H-Hawks!” His name cracked from your lips as he dragged down the collar of your sweater, sucking a bruise onto your collarbone.

Hawks chuckled against your neck, hot breath making you hazy in the best way, “This alright?”

“Uh-huh,” You nodded, giving him all the permission in the world to go to town.

Hawks wasn’t too rough with you, just sparks of teeth and nails that made your chest arch into his own. Keigo seemed more than content to have you in his lap, undoing you slowly like it was his divine mission.

It might as well have been, with his pretty scarlet wings unfurled. You’d never seen them so close, noticing all of the filaments and their depth and colors.

Throughout you and Hawks’s long, handsy makeout session, his wings (had they always been so massive?) slowly stretched out and open with each gasp and grunt. You’d catch the feathers trembling, shuddering when you ran your hands over the lean muscle of Hawk’s chest, fingers tracing up his ribs. You watched the plumage dance from their roots to the largest feathers when you graced him with the rare grind down onto his straining bulge.

“Can I touch them?” You asked breathlessly, head tilted to allow Hawks all the room in the world to mark up your neck.

He paused, the feathers shuddering in a wave-like pattern. You were mesmerized.

“They’re sensitive, so you have to be gentle.”

You paused, but only for a moment.

Hawks’ words from earlier echoed in your skull:

“I’ve never done any of this.”

Further questions rattled just behind it.

What does that even mean?

He certainly knew how to turn you into a puddle with confidence, so you could only assume the tabloids had been somewhat right in saying that he was... experienced.

(You were confident that you were only seeing a glimmer of what he was capable of. The prospect made your breath leave your lips hotter and harder.)

You shoved the thought off in favor of reaching behind him, carefully placing a hand on a downy bone near the root.

Hawks went rigid with your touch, freezing against your neck. The grip on your hips was nearing bruising, but you didn’t move your hand other than a few gentle strokes from the pads of your fingers.

It had Hawks shaking beneath you.

“This okay?”

Hawks nodded, taking a big breath, pressing his face into your neck, “Yeah. You won’t break me, I promise.”

You trusted him.

You ran your thumb along the spindly bone. The texture was odd, but not unpleasant, firmness covered by petal-soft feathers. Even if it had been weird to touch, you wouldn’t have minded.

You couldn’t have, not with the high, sinful moan that croaked from Hawks’s lips.

You smirked, “Does it feel good?”

Hawks’ breath grew more ragged as your grip drifted to the roots.

It was more than enough of an answer.

“That seems like a yes— Why don’t you tell me about it? How my hands feel right here...”

You could tease Hawks right back.

Your hold went the tiniest bit tighter, a few of your nails barely grazing him.

Keigo hadn’t been expecting the touch.

No one touched his wings. He plucked and preened them himself, using a bit of special oil for them on the rare occasion that he was in the mood for some pampering. His time training with the Commission drilled into his mind that his wings were him, beautiful weapons that required coveting.

So, he surprised himself when he so freely allowed you to touch them.

Then again, he trusted you an almost scary amount for the lack of definition your... relationship now had.

When your nails went against the grain of the small, soft, feathers at the base of his wings, the moan that ripped from his throat was entirely involuntary. The way his hips bucked up was too.

The way he accidentally sent you tumbling to the ground was very unintentional.

If Keigo hadn’t been caught in the absolute euphoria of his wings being touched by someone good for the first time in his life, he probably would’ve been able to catch you.

But, he was distracted.

Your back hit the carpet below, uninjured leg bracing your fall while the booted one shot up awkwardly, saving it from any impact. Your head spun despite not being hit, fully jarred from the sudden motion.

Hawks immediately sat up, sputtering and helping you from the ground. His feathers aided where they could, re-propping your boot and settling you against him.

“It’s okay, it totally happens, Hawks,” You tried to soothe him.

“Are you sure? I can get you so ice if you need—”

“Hawks, I’m alright, really, love” The affection slipped out easily as you popped a kiss onto his jaw. “I’m totally okay. Besides, it’s worth it to know how sensitive those wings of yours are.”

“Be careful there, angel,” Hawks’s cheeks lit with blush, smothering face in your hair to hide it, “Using those against me has some... consequences.”

The thought made your insides burn in the best way.

“Oh yeah?” You raised your eyebrows, thinking of the wonderful possibilities. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m serious!”

“So am I.”

Any... tension in the room diffused, though not unpleasantly.

You fell against Hawks, pressing your nose into his arm. Your earlier fears of getting ‘too used’ to him were now very much a reality, an unavoidable one. You had already come to crave the heat of his touch and the baritone of voice.

You accepted the fact, squeezing him.

It was inevitable, really.

...

You knew it was late, very late, probably early morning. You and Hawks had been all over each other for hours, and as nice as it was, you could feel sleep beginning to pull at the back of your eyes. Despite the exhaustion and quiet aches of the marks across your skin, you didn’t want to stop, not at all.

Admitting you were tired meant that Hawks had to leave and that would mean facing reality.

As lovely as the evening was, there was plenty swirling that was left unsaid. Things that needed to be addressed, though you both stalled. There were plenty of bits and pieces that wouldn’t be pleasant to talk about, details that could ruin the precious air of the night.

You leaned into him, eyelids sagging against your will.

“Aww,” Hawks giggled, pulling you closer by the waist, as if you had spoken your insecurities, rather than just thinking about them. “You getting tired, dove?”

You nodded against him, tucking into his side the best you could like it could stop the inevitable.

“Do you want me to stay?”

The question surprised you. Your guts fluttered at the prospect.

God, was it an alluring idea.

With obvious implications.

You swallowed.

It’s all going too fast.

The months of leadup and heat between your thighs didn’t assuage your fears. If anything, it made your fear the deep-end of a night together more.

“Hey, you’re getting nervous, I can literally see it,” Hawks frowned, tipping up your head. Even the little, casual touches he got to give you made your hearts pound. “I don’t have to.”

“No, it’s like—” You ran a hand down your cheeks. “I want you too, that would be very nice, I’m just a little...”

You struggled to find the words, even feeling your quirk begin to stir. Anxiety prickled like jolts of sour berries across your tongue, burning your eyes and nose. You scrunched your face, shaking your head and willing yourself to relax.

“Overwhelmed?”

Hawks was right, of course, with his observational skills being so unmatched. He probably even noticed your quirk activating with the widening of your pupils.

“Yeah, you could say that.” you sighed, finding his hand to squeeze it. “It all just feels really fast, you know? I really want to sleep next to you, with you, yet... I don’t even know your real name.”

Hawks went still and tense.

Keigo hadn’t really thought about that part.

Of course, you’d want to know his name. It was only natural, every hero had a civilian name.

Except for him.

He was Hawks, the hero of Fierce Wings and unrivaled speed. That was him. His name was Hawks.

Keigo had been Hawks for years. His identity was tied to the name, melded to it. They were inseparable. He hadn’t been called anything else in so long, not since he was a shiny new recruit. Any other name had been torn from him, snuffed out and suffocated long ago.

Every news report and every article, all the calls from friends and colleagues, every scolding he received was always for Hawks.

Never Takami Keigo.

Yet, sitting there on your well-worn couch, surrounded by the warmth of your apartment and your own heat nestled into his side, his given name bobbed to the surface of his psyche.

It lay on the tip of his tongue, Keigo mulling over the personal consequences of telling you his birth name.

This was all different for him anyway, right?

Maybe it would be good to use his name for something good.

Maybe using his name would be okay.

(Even if it was scary.)

“Uh, Hawks? Are you okay?” You asked, rubbing his knee.

His eyes had gone blank, gazing far-off like you’d never seen before. Hawks even had a nervous bounce in his knee. His body was rigid against yours.

Concern bloomed in your gut.

“Hey, Hawks,” You tried to get his attention again. “You’re okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

Hawks shook his head, biting his lips and mussing his already sexed-up hair. You bit your lip, refusing to move, not wanting to force any unwanted affections on him.

A sigh shook from his chest.

Carefully, he met your worried gaze.

His eyes, all prettied and honeyed, looked a hell of a lot more-wide and fear-filled then you’d ever seen.

“It’s Keigo. My name is Takami Keigo.”

You rolled the name around in your skull. Reaching for his hands, you brought them into your own lap.

It wasn’t hard to tell that it wasn’t easy for him to say.

“That's a really pretty name. Thank you for telling me.” Gently, you rubbed the pads of your thumbs into his palms. The sensation shot up Keigo’s spine, making him sit up a few degrees straighter. “People tend to hold a lot of tension in their hands.”

Keigo nodded, unusually silent (you got him that way a lot), unsure of what to say, genuinely and truly. His heart was pounding and he was sure you could feel the layer of sweat slicking his palms.

“You can’t tell anyone my name, (Y/N). Can’t even joke about telling people, okay?”

You squeezed his hands, “Whatever I need to do, I’ve got you, okay, Keigo?”

It was the first time he’d heard his real name in years.

He was incredibly glad that it was from you, assuring him in the same breath.

...

Vulnerability was terrifying.

Keigo liked you, irrefutably. A lot. But, all of the nuts and bolts of actually having a relationship (would you two even have that?) seemed daunting. There was plenty to figure out that you had been electing to ignore.

“There’s a lot I won’t ever be able to tell you,” Keigo forced himself to fess up. He had to lie strategically all the time, but it wasn’t the time to. “Even if I want to.”

“That’s okay. We’ll both have to be flexible.” You replied quickly, probably not taking enough time to fully mull over the extent of what you’re saying. You slid your hand into his. “Can I be honest too?”

“Of course.” Keigo tugged, urging you back onto his lap. He liked you there the best so far. He could wrap you in his arms so well, satisfying that deep need to keep you safe.

When you got situated on top of his thighs, you wrapped your arms tentatively around his chest, careful to avoid the base of his wings.

“I’m terrified.” You pressed your face into his chest. “That’s probably why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

“Oh, dove,” Keigo hugged you tight to him. “You don’t need to be scared of anything. I keep people safe. It’s literally my job.”

“It’s different, though, this kind of stuff,” You replied, voice soft and low. “Aren’t you scared at all?”

Of course he was.

A lot.

And he had to say so, didn’t he?

Honesty— real, cogent, emotionally mind-bending honesty, felt uncomfortably new on Keigo’s tongue.

He would have to learn to reflect your own.

“I’ve never been with anyone before, not like this anyways.” Keigo hated how weak his voice was, nothing like the silken charm he was used to exuding. “So, you could say I’m a little scared.”

“We can go slow,” You easily responded, tilting your face to meet Keigo’s. “I know it’s not normally your thing, but I think we have to.”

“I’ll manage,” Keigo cupped the side of your face, the remnants of tension bleeding from the muscles of his back as he let himself smile (hopefully). “So, you want to?”

“‘Want to’ what?” You asked, tilting your head in his hands.

Keigo relished the way you leaned into him, letting him bear a bit of your body weight. He accepted the responsibility without hesitation, an idle hand stroking at your hips.

“I know that functionally, we don’t know a ton about each other, but,” Keigo exhaled, noting how your eyes went soft and a bit glassy. “And I’ve never done this, but like, a relationship. Try it, anyway.”

You only took a moment to answer, hardly pausing.

It was a given, wasn’t it?

With the big, intense feelings that had made their home in your insides long ago and had been given so much time to grow, it only made sense to at least try. Your feelings had roots that ran deeper than just those suited for fucking for sport.

You already cherished each other.

“Of course, tailfeathers,” You stretched to kiss the stubble on his chin. “I like you a whole lot, you know.”

“I like you plenty too, but really?” Keigo falsely frowned. “‘Tailfeathers’? I thought we were passed that one?”

“I dunno,” You smirked to yourself, curling your free, uninjured leg over his own. “Maybe I could be persuaded to find another bird-adjacent nickname.”

“Like?”

“Is lovebird too cliche?” You looped your arm around his neck. “Maybe just birdboy, the classic.”

“Hmmm,” Keigo’s squeezed your sides. “Not sure if I’m much of a lovebird, dove.”

“You sure about that?” You flickered your eyes to note that Keigo had you entirely wrapped up in his arms, wings shuddering in time with your own breaths. “I think you might be on your way.

“Maybe,” Keigo huffed, pressing his lips to yours. “Just for you, dove. Just for you.”

You melted into each other, starting the beloved dance all over again, not caring how late the night wore on. You were both certain, silently, that this would not be the last time you’d find yourselves like this. You both could only hope that there would be many more nights spent tangled up in each other, both sweet and spiced.

For now, you, together, settled for the blessed slowness of it all.

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Keigo did stay the night.

You loaned Keigo an old shirt (that you didn’t mind cutting slits in for his wings) and a pair of sweatpants, even loaning him a toothbrush. Deliberately, you placed it in its own cup, just in case he stayed over again.

(He would.)

It was a little nerve-wracking, clambering into bed together.

Your room was decorated and lit the same way the rest of your home was. The same soft, diffused lighting cast your room with a yellow glow. You had taken a brief moment to hastily (but carefully) tuck several plushies on top of a desk in the corner, chatting over your potential embarrassment.

(Truthfully, Keigo thought it was adorable that you had a myriad of stuffed animals that you slept with. It made your bed look a whole lot more... nestlike. It scratched an itch deep in his bird-adjacent brain that he didn’t know he had.)

You two slid beneath the sheets, though you stayed sitting up, fisting the sheets in clenched fingers.

You knew the implications of sleeping together, obviously.

“H-hey, you know how we said we’d go slow?” You swallowed, glancing down at Keigo.

“Yeah, dove?” He flipped onto his side, peering up at you.

You fidgeted.

It was a conversation that you hated having. It was always met with disappointment or confusion or both.

“I meant it.” You sighed, relenting and fluffing a hand through his messy hair. Remaining blunt about your reality was always the best option, you’d danced around it enough that night as it was. “The overstimulation part of my quirk makes sex really... hard? I guess.”

You wished there wasn’t so much damn internalized shame shoved into your brain about this particular facet of your quirk. You didn’t give Keigo much of a chance to respond, good or bad.

“Like, I can, don’t get me wrong, it just gets to be too much really easily, and like, I just need a bit more time—?”

Nervousness ticked and writhed in your voice as you scrunched the duvet in your hands.

“Hey, (Y/N), It’s alright, I promise.” Keigo shifted, tugging you down into the sheets, facing him. “Come down here.”

You lowered yourself cautiously, a mix of expressions crossing your face, all of which felt unfamiliar to Keigo.

As much as he teased and embarrassed you at the teashop, you’d never looked genuinely upset. Even when you were struggling to tell him how you felt, just earlier that night, you’d never looked so...

Uncomfortable?

Keigo saw the crinkle at the corners of your eyes and the scrunch of your nose and quickly corrected himself:

Guilt.

“We can go slow, as slow as you need. I mean it.”

You laid facing each other, the duvet settling over the two of you. Carefully, Keigo took your hand by the wrist, laying a soft kiss at the joint.

The guarded look in your eyes wasn’t one Keigo was used to.

“Really? You don’t mind?” Your gaze was trained on the sheets below, picking at a loose thread.

“I really, really don’t mind at all. I want you to be comfortable.” Keigo assured you the best he could, heart aching with your nervous glances. “Slow, remember?”

“Slow.” You repeated, finally giving him a bit of eye contact. “You sure? I don’t want to force you to curb your hero’s libido because of my quirk’s bodily side effects.”

“Okay, one,” Keigo huffed, tugging you chest to chest and peppering your face with the kisses he’d always wanted to. “How often do you think I bang?”

You snorted and relaxed visibly, “I mean, I’ve seen the tabloids, so I’m assuming all the time. Like, rabbit-level.”

“God, no, please don’t believe that shit,” Keigo groaned as he threw an arm over your waist. “I am bird-adjacent, as you say, not bunny-adjacent. Then you’re talking about Mirko—”

“Keigo,” You stopped him with a finger on his lips. “I’m not sure if I can handle the details of any of the top-ten’s sex lives, sans yours. Which hopefully includes me.”

He spoke besides, “You’re telling me you don’t want to know about Wash’s—”

“Keigo—”

“I’m just saying, I have pictures—”

You silenced him, thank god, with a firm kiss you dragged him into by the collar. You made a point to hold him in place even as his wings twitched, nipping at his bottom lip. He licked into your mouth, pulling you forward by your hips.

You decided to make it a habit to kiss Keigo breathless more often.

...

Keigo traced nonsense shapes and phrases on your sides, you sucking a few bruises well below his collar.

(You both opted that, sex or otherwise, Keigo wearing a shirt was... unnecessary.)

You settled under the covers spooning, your back against his bare chest.

After everything that had happened that night, all of it, you were exhausted.

“I have patrol pretty early tomorrow,” Keigo pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. “I’ll let you sleep when I leave, okay?”

“No, I’ll get up a little too,” You could hear the slur of sleep in your words. “I’ve got a shitty little espresso machine. I’ll make you a drink, to go.”

“You sure? You need all the rest you can get with that leg of yours healing,” Keigo tapped your booted calf with his foot.

“Of course, Kei’,” You can feel sleep tugging you down, Keigo’s heat lulling you. “I miss making you drinks.”

You didn’t see it— you were already half-asleep by the end of your sentence. But, Keigo hid his biggest smile in your shoulder, wings fluttering in time with the butterflies in his tummy.

It felt good to sleep next to someone else, especially when it was someone you loved.

—

But, all good things must come to an end, or at least to a momentary pause.

Keigo was out the door as dawn rose, kissing you hard and long with a travel mug of a coffee in his hand.

“I threw together what I could, making one of those warm feelings drinks,” You’d said as you pressed the hot tumbler into his hands. “It’s cinnamon, caramel cappuccino, pretty simple compared to what I’d normally make you.”

It didn’t matter, truthfully, you making it meant the world.

Keigo flew from your balcony, flying high physically and mentally. He took the time to stop at home and change into his hero costume.

It gave him ample time to mull over everything.

Despite the months of (mutual) pining, a lot had happened in such a short amount of time.

He was happy, overjoyed, that things were finally out in the open. Getting to be near you and feel you was a luxury he was ecstatic to be able to indulge in. His heart would leap and jump against his sternum if he thought about it too hard or for too long.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t to be challenges or complications.

There were, of course, many details that would have to be sorted and straightened.

Hawks was a hero after all.

His patrol was fairly calm, sunrise didn’t tend to be a time of high crime.

Though, his sharpened eyes caught the telltale plumes of smoke on the other side of the city not long after he’d launched from his apartment.

He flew as fast as he could, dodging between buildings and sending his fast feathers in front of him. The closer he got, the more the smell of smoke stung his sinuses.

When he arrived at the scene, he dove into action.

An apartment burning was burning, nothing new or surprising.

Except, this was a well-groomed highrise, a nicer building in a very nice part of town.

It took Keigo a moment or two to realize that he’d seen the building before. He recognized it from the brochures and pamphlets he was occasionally given at heroes sponsorship events. He’d gotten plenty of papers and pitches for buildings like it too.

...

Jets of orange flames burst through the windows, shattering them down its many stories. The blaze was thick and hot, searing Keigo as he flew around the building.

For this reason, there wasn’t a ton he could do to help, not with how flame and fire. The feathers he managed to send in burned up after only a minute or two. Even if he dulled their sensitivity, the feeling of flame licking the sensitive plumes made him want to shudder and writhe.

He eventually opted to just help with rescue operations on the ground. He felt somewhat more adept at doing so, following what had happened in the shopping district the tea shop was in. His feathers were far more useful running supplies from place to place than trying to outpace flames.

There were plenty of heroes around.

Plenty were local, lesser-known pros. He recognized a few from the charts, top thirties maybe. They were mostly in plainclothes, no costumes or regalia. Some still wore house slippers.

And very few of them appeared to be alone.

Usually, they stood with at least one other person, maybe a child or two.

It dawned on Keigo once he saw Edgeshot appear from the rubble, helping a young man walk with a hand around his waist. As Edgeshot walked past Keigo, regarding him with a firm but curt nod, he noticed their twin wedding bands glinting against the mixing light of flames and the early morning.

Oh.

Keigo took in the remnants of the burned-out building, recalling its splendor from the ads he had been sent so many times and dismissed.

It was Hero Affiliate housing.

He’d been given the spiel so many times as a young bachelor, that’d he’d tuned them out long ago.

It was a trend that had caught on a few years prior, specific luxury buildings made for the family and partners of heroes. Better security, better resistance to disaster and villain attacks(sure), and a community of people who all dealt with the same struggles of being closely attached to a hero.

They were supposed to be safer.

Yet, he was staring at the corpse of the building, burned out and soggy. Around him were soot-covered civilians that should have never been in harm's way. That’s what complexes like this were built for. That was the intent, anyway.

Yet, there stood reality.

Keigo’s kept the calm, laid-back smile on his face, his veneer up and solid as limestone, unfractured like it too.

As Keigo aided where he could, his mind was elsewhere.

It was on you, undoubtedly curled up and asleep, safe.

But, could he keep you that way?

...

He’d have to.

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ko-fi

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taglist:

@thepandapopo @hawksexual @sinclairsamess @darcia22 @inhalingsoysauce @yee-fxcking-haw @aproperthottie @seasalttrioforever @msgrungie @mia—merc @a-monster-love @call-me-rhee @peach-buns-unicorns @amethyst-rose-17 @mega-bastard @an-untamed-rose @ravioliplease

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawk x reader #takami keigo x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo #hawks #hawks mha #mha reader insert #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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writinglizards · 3 years

Note

for the spotify wrapped prompts! 24 and laiden! if you’re not big on laiden, geraskier 💖

I’ve actually never written laiden before??? A gross oversight. This was a GREAT exercise lovely, thank you! It’s. Uh. NSFW.

(Send me a number between 1 and 100 and I’ll write a ficlet based on my that song in my spotify wrapped playlist!)

Also on Ao3

Song: Mess Me Up - Neon Trees - I think I know how these things go / If you’re gonna mess me up, don’t do it slow

It doesn't mean anything.

Lambert's never had anyone, not really. Eskel had Deidre, at least for a time. Geralt has his bard, his sorceress, his child surprise, Ciri. Lambert's had...no one.

Not until Aiden.

Aiden had come in like a whirlwind, worked his way under Lambert's defenses with his quick wit and his easy smile, made him feel things. And then he'd been gone. And he kept doing it.

It was a fucking tease, and Lambert didn't appreciate having his head and his feelings messed with.

"Lovely seeing you here, wolf," Aiden grins, sliding into the seat across from him at the tavern. He snaps up Lambert's ale before Lambert can protest and downs the dregs.

"Fuck off, cat." Aiden just smiles. It makes Lambert's stomach flip pleasantly.

"Mm, you don't mean that." His canines glint in the low light as he grins wider. Lambert forces aggressive eye contact instead of letting his attention linger on his mouth. Aiden's eyes crinkle anyway, amused.

"What are you here for anyway, fucker?"

"The griffin contract, same as you I'm sure. Wanna lend a helping hand a split the coin, puppy?" Lambert snarls at the pet name and Aiden laughs, delighted. "Oh, you do."

"I'm gonna let it eat your ass, just for that."

"Promises, promises." Lambert glares harder, hates that his chest feels tight, that Aiden knows his pulse is elevated. Aiden's not unaffected either, flushed and grinning.

It means nothing or he would stay, after.

--------------------

They agree to share a room and hunt the griffin in the morning, on the pretense of saving coin. It's a thinly veiled excuse.

"Fuck, wolf," Aiden laughs, breathless when Lambert slams him up against the door of the room, pinning him with his body.

"Shut up," he growls out, slipping his fingers up into the short hairs at the base of Aiden's skull and tugging. Aiden arches with the tug, making a pleased little rumble of noise as Lambert bites at his throat, right over his pulse point.

"Shit," Aiden squirms against him, hikes a leg up to wrap around Lambert's waist, presses his growing hardness against Lambert's hip, "Really know how to make a guy feel wanted," he teases.

I do want you, he thinks. All the time. Always. Lambert doesn't say that, just fumbles the clasps of Aiden's armor open, slips him out of it as quickly as his slightly shaking fingers can manage. They always end up here and it's still not enough.

"Yes," Aiden praises when Lambert pulls back to wrench him out of the chest armor before descending on his newly exposed collarbones with more teeth than is strictly necessary. He feels Aiden's own hands on his armor, stripping him just as franticly. His fingers scrape nails through his hair when he tugs Lambert's mouth away from his skin long enough to peel him out of his armor, too. "You know I love your mouth, puppy, but I'd like to get on with it sometime today."

Lambert growls, deep and menacing as he shifts backward to let Aiden finish working his chest piece off him. "Keep calling me that and I'll fuck you into next week, kitten." The grin on Aiden's face tugs at something in Lambert's chest and the moment he's free of his armor he locks his arms under Aiden's ass and lifts.

"Fuck, that's hot," Aiden laughs, hands fumbling out for Lambert's shoulders to steady himself just before Lambert tosses him on the bed. He lays where he lands, fingers alternating between playing with the ties of his trousers and pressing against the bulge of his cock as Lambert hastily undoes his own, standing in the vee of Aiden's splayed legs. "You gonna get up here and give me that gorgeous dick, wolf?"

"Where's the oil?" Aiden just waves the little vial at him playfully. The grin on his face is in contrast to the way his pupils are blown wide, the way his heart thumps faster than any witcher's should outside battle, his elevated breaths. "Turn over."

Blessedly, Aiden keeps the 'doggy style' comments to himself, although Lambert can practically see them run through his head. The way his grin slips a little wider tells him he knows Lambert knows, which is somehow worse. He shimmies out of his trousers and rolls over, slow and seductive.

Without Aiden's gaze on him, he can almost do this. He loves to watch the play of his muscles as he moves, the way his scars bunch and shift in response. His dick pulses near painfully when Aiden moans, rutting against the sheets.

"No," Lambert grits out, tugging on his hips until Aiden has his knees under him, cock hanging beneath him.

"Aw, Lambs--"

"No," Lambert repeats, firm, "or you can get yourself off." Aiden whines, presses his forehead to his folded arms, but doesn't attempt to drop his hips again. Lambert rewards him with a little pet to his thigh, free hand uncorking the vial. He pulls away to slick his fingers before recorking the little vial and tossing it aside.

He presses the pad of his fingers against his hole, rubbing firmly before slipping two fingers in. Aiden freezes, keening. "Fuck, fuck Lambert, that's perfect." He doesn't give him much time to adjust before he's pumping them in and out, scissoring them with purpose. Aiden likes it when it burns, when he can feel it (and what does it say about Lambert, about whatever the fuck this is, that he knows that?)

"You want the whole inn to know how badly you want it?" Lambert asks, slipping a third finger in and deliberately avoiding his prostate. Aiden nods viciously, rocking back on his fingers.

"Please, Lambert," he pants, "give it to me. Let me have you."

His chest clenches. You already have me. Stay. He slicks his cock with quick, efficient strokes before he's holding him open and pressing in, slow but insistent. Aiden fumbles a hand out from under his head to reach back and clutch at Lambert's scarred thigh, haul him in closer.

"You have no fucking patience," Lambert grunts as he bottoms out. Like this his head presses right against Aiden's prostate and Aiden gaps, the hand on his hip flashing to wrap around his wrist where he holds Aiden's hips steady.

"Not for this gorgeous dick, puppy. Now fuck me." And Lambert doesn't have to be told twice.

He fucks him hard and fast, bed creaking with each movement. He angles each thrust for Aiden's prostate just to watch him shake and gasp, watch the way he falls apart under Lambert's hands. He molds himself along Aiden's back, mouths along his shoulder blades, traces his scars with his tongue.

"Lambert, fuck, come on--"

"Ready, kitten?"

"Yes, yes, please, I want--"

He doesn't let him finish, just wraps his hand around Aiden's dick and strokes, hips still working. It doesn't take much until he's coming, teeth buried in his own forearm to cut off the cry he makes when he does, hips stuttering between Lambert's fist and his cock.

He works him through the aftershocks until he's nearly shaking before he pulls out, intent to finish himself off, but Aiden's already rolling over, limbs weak with pleasure.

"Lambert, come 'ere," he rasps, voice gone low and fucked-out. It sends a shiver down Lambert's spine, "lemme finish you off."

Aiden's laying square in the middle of the mess he made, but he doesn't seem to mind. He drags Lambert down on the comparatively clean linen beside him and wraps his fist around him.

"You're so good, Lambs. Come on, let me make you feel good." He twists his wrist on the upstroke the way Lambert likes, presses his lips against the curve of his shoulder, only teasing with the blunt pressure of his teeth. It's almost enough.

"Aiden--"

"Yeah, that's it. Come for me, Lambert." And that's all it takes.

--------------------

They hunt the griffin in the morning and split the coin.

"Well," Aiden says when they've made their way back to the inn to collect their things, "you're good for more than just a quick fuck after all, Lambs."

"Shut it," he says, without heat. He knows Aiden's teasing, but it hurts. They've fought together, they've fucked together, and now he'll leave, like always. It doesn't mean anything.

"Mm," he's hovering too close and smiling when Lambert turns around, "Keep that pretty face safe Lambs. ‘Till next time." He surprises him by ducking forward to catch Lambert in a quick kiss, too soft compared to the frantic, heated way they fuck.

He's out the door and gone before Lambert can recover.

It doesn't mean anything.

#witcher #laiden #reader reviews #ask game replies #ficlet #lizard writes #im particularly happy with this one actually #lovelyeskel

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Good as Gold pt.19

[part eighteen] | [part twenty] [prostitute!jaskier masterpost]

Geralt stumbles into the brothel, doubled over and breathing hard, sure that this is the time they'll toss him out for good. But by the grace of some unknown god, he makes it up the stairs without being stopped, his control still intact - if only just. He knocks on the door and it's opened before him quickly, but as soon as it is, Geralt is assaulted with Jaskier’s scent and he groans as the burning need claws at him.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks, "are you okay?" He reaches out to touch him, but Geralt knows better than to let him. Not when he’s like this.

"Don't," he warns, waving an arm for Jaskier to stay away without touching him. Jaskier is undeterred, the frown on his face deepening as he steps closer. "Stop fucking around Jaskier." Geralt growls, shoves Jaskier back. Even the light tough rips through him and Geralt curls that hand into a fist, dropping it to his side. "I need your help."

"Anything, darling, just tell me what it is." Jaskier’s voice is light and just this side of panicky. Geralt hates to hear him like this.

He shuts his eyes and takes a breath, which proves to be a mistake when the scent of citrus and cloves fills his senses once more. He steadies himself.

"I don't know how to explain.”

“Try, darling.”

“There are certain plants that serve, in small doses, as an aphrodisiac. They're mostly harmless if you avoid them, but in large doses, they can be-" he takes another steadying breath as arousal sears through him "-overwhelming. I was fighting a fiend, got thrown into a field of the damn things."

"So you're-" Jaskier starts and Geralt can feel his eyes track down his body, settling low with a soft gasp before snapping back up to his face. "Fuck." The smell of arousal curls up between them and Geralt grinds his teeth against it.

"It'll work through my system eventually, but if I don't submit to it, it will become excruciating. I don't know how long it could last, sometimes you just need to come once and it eases up, sometimes it's hours."

Jaskier's lips twitch and Geralt is expecting some snarky response, but he gets none. He takes a step forward and Geralt moves back.

"Jaskier, I need to hear you say it."

"Melitele's sake Geralt, of course, I'll help you!" He rolls his eyes as he steps toward him. The second Jaskier's hands are on him, Geralt lets out a low moan, letting himself be walked backward. His back hits the wall and Jaskier drops to his knees, quickly undoing Geralt's trousers and freeing his aching cock.

Geralt whines as Jaskier's mouth wraps around him. He drops his head back against the wall, sliding his hands through Jaskier's hair and trying not to push too hard. But Jaskier's mouth has never felt so fucking good and he needs more of it. His whole body burns with the need for more, to fuck, to come. And Jaskier does his best to offer that, sucking hard and taking Geralt's cock deeper than seems possible.

Geralt comes, remarkably quickly, just like that, both of them still dressed with Jaskier's mouth wrapped around him. He shudders through the aftershocks, rocking into Jaskier's mouth until he's spent. Jaskier rises to his feet, presses up against him.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure."

Jaskier hums thoughtfully as he pulls at the straps of Geralt's armour. It's such a practiced motion that he hardly even looks anymore and Geralt stands patiently as Jaskier removes each piece with care. He moves onto his clothing after that and there's a constant buzz under Geralt's skin, but he doesn't know if it's the affliction or just Jaskier, not that it matters much either way.

"It's okay," Jaskier says, taking in the frown on his face, "we'll get through this." He dips his head to kiss Geralt's shoulder where his shirt pulls away and lifts the shirt over his head before dropping to remove his trousers. Geralt's pulse spikes at that, but it's still not so urgent as it was when he arrived.

Jaskier rises back to his feet, kissing up Geralt's stomach as he presses him back toward the bed. He presses him down and smiles encouragingly at him before turning away. But the second Jaskier's hands aren't on him, the urgency returns like a storm, racing through his veins. Geralt groans at the intensity of it, dropping onto his back and wrapping a hand around his cock.

It feels... better. Not great. but better than the desperate ache when he's not touching himself. Not as good as Jaskier's hand. Not as good as his mouth.

He's not even aware of Jaskier's return until soft fingers slide around his wrist, pulling his hand from his cock. Hr groans at the loss but a moment later Jaskier's palm presses against him, slick with oil and so, so good. Geralt arches off the bed with a moan, barely aware that Jaskier is talking to him.

"If we're going to be at it all night, you're going to get sore just using your hand like that."

Geralt's breath catches as Jaskier slides over him and he reaches down, brushing his fingers over Jaskier's. He slips further, pressing back between his legs and Jaskier breathes a low fuck.

"Okay, darling, let's get you up on the bed properly, alright?" He slips off the bed himself and Geralt moves as quickly as he can, forcing down the rising heat in his skin. Jaskier arranges the pillows under his head as Geralt takes hold of himself again, getting him settled.

But after even a second, it's not enough and Geralt drops his free hand between his legs again, pressing against his hole. It feels good, better, but it's still not enough and he pushes further, grunting when it's too dry. Jaskier helps, tipping the bottle of oil onto his fingers and Geralt is quick to press deeper into himself. Jaskier's fingers slide in next to his and Geralt rolls his head back, breathing hard.

"Oh fuck," Jaskier breathes, "you're already ready." His eyes flick up to Geralt's and Geralt can't bring himself to speak. He can't tell Jaskier that he barely made it here or that he spent half an hour fucking himself on the plug before realizing that wasn't going to be enough.

Jaskier gets him off again just using his hands, stroking and fucking into him until Geralt is breathless and limp beneath him. But his cock remains firm, aching.

Jaskier ducks, nosing at the base of his cock and working his way up, mouthing at Geralt's skin. It's not enough, not nearly enough to satisfy the need, but it does feel good and Geralt doesn't want him to stop. Jaskier's knees come up under his thighs and Geralt reaches for him, slipping his hands around the back of his neck. He wants to touch as much as he wants to be touched and Jaskier is more than happy to allow him.

He ducks down into Geralt's hold and his cock nudges against Geralt's hole, pressing into him even as he shifts positions. Jaskier drops onto his elbows and Geralt presses his nose into his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of Jaskeir's skin. He rocks his hips down and Jaskier doesn't hesitate any longer, pushing steadily into him.

He pauses when he's fully sheathed and Geralt rolls his hips slowly, revelling in the way Jaskier fills him. And he gives this so easily, so readily, drops everything to help him. Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier's shoulders, kissing and biting at whatever bit of skin he can reach with his mouth.

Jaskier picks up his pace, rocking a little quicker, a little harder and Geralt moves with him but doesn't let him get far away from him. The ache is lesser with Jaskier inside him, but he still needs more than he's getting, more than is likely possible, he realizes. Because this isn't arousal, this is some sort of magic at work that makes him need this. And Jaskier does his best to give it to him.

He doesn't last long when Jaskier starts talking in his ear and he comes hard, squeezing around Jaskier’s cock and pulling him over the edge with him. Geralt remains still under him, arms still wound around Jaskier's body. He's exhausted, but his body isn't satisfied unless Jaskier is touching him, so he holds him close for as long as it's comfortable.

As soon as Jaskier starts to shift, Geralt releases him, and almost immediately the need returns. He's still rock hard, his cock having refused to give up even after three orgasms. Jaskier flops onto his back next to him.

"How are you feeling?" he asks and Geralt can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

"Okay," he says, "better." It's a half-truth, but Jaskier looks and sounds exhausted and Geralt would like nothing more than to lie down and sleep beside him.

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

“Mm, good.” Jaskier rolls onto his side, shifting back until he bumps against Geralt and he settles with a soft sigh. Geralt takes the opportunity to curl around him, shutting his eyes and breathing in Jaskier's scent. Most nights it's comforting, but today it's like a goddamn aphrodisiac itself and Geralt doesn't need any encouragement. Already, he's struggling to get comfortable, trying to shift into any position that doesn't have his hard prick sliding against Jaskier's ass with every little movement.

Eventually, Jaskier tires of it and reaches around, grabbing Geralt's hand and pulling his arm over him. He gives a little tug, just hard enough that Geralt moves without consideration and his cock presses up between Jaskier's cheeks. Jaskier doesn't seem to mind, apparently ready to roll with whatever this night brings, but the heat of his body is overwhelming.

It picks away at Geralt's composure even as he settles in to rest and he's already so fucking hard. He doesn't need the reminder of what it feels like to be inside him, doesn't need the reminder of how ready and willing Jaskier always is for him. Heat zips up his spine and Geralt groans with the restraint it takes to not just rut against Jaskier's ass until he comes. Fuck, but it would feel so good and he can practically feel it already... His hips shift unbidden and he freezes immediately, but Jaskier isn't convinced.

"It’s still bad," he realizes. Geralt winces at the sound of his voice, thick with exhaustion, but he knows he can't lie to Jaskier. It wouldn't do him any good anyway. So he says nothing. "Geralt," Jaskier says, already turning around to face him, "you don’t have to lie to me. You asked me for my help, let me give it."

Geralt is about to insist that he can hold out a little longer, but then he's rolled onto his stomach and subjected to the wet heat of Jaskier's mouth, pressing a line of kisses down his back. Jaskier shifts to straddle his thighs and Geralt is surprised to find him already half hard. Jaskier rocks against him and it doesn't take much encouragement to bring him to full hardness again. Beneath him, Geralt just moans, pressing his face into the pillow and breathing in Jaskier's scent as the head of his cock presses into him. As soon as he's inside, the painful need stops, replaced by a different type of want that feels much more natural.

Jaskier fucks him slowly, kissing Geralt's shoulders. Like this, Geralt can hear every little moan and groan that spills from his lips and he presses his hips back to try and push him deeper. Jaskier appeases him, pushing harder with the next thrust as his teeth graze Geralt's neck.

"Good?" he hums and Geralt just whines.

There's a soft laugh against his ear and Jaskier's hand works its way beneath him, wrapping around his cock and squeezing hard. Geralt's breath catches, but his hips snap forward instinctively, fucking into the heat of Jaskier's fingers. He grinds forward, muffling a moan in the pillow as Jaskier's thumb rubs over the head of his cock.

Trapped between Jaskier's cock and his hand, Geralt is helpless to do anything but rock between the two, and it's good, fuck is it good. But after a few minutes, the pleasure plateaus and Geralt whimpers as he grinds harder against Jaskier's fingers and works his hips quicker, to no avail.

"What do you need, love?"

Jaskier's voice is low and thick with sleep and what he's sure is supposed to be an encouraging question only makes him feel guilty. Jaskier is having none of it. He pulls out and rolls Geralt onto his back, crawling up to lie against him. Geralt suspects it's a ploy to keep him from looking away, but right now he doesn't mind because he likes having Jaskier pressed up against him. Jaskier brushes his hair back, rocking his hips against him and it keeps the need away but doesn't get him any closer to coming.

"Geralt," he hums, "tell me what I can do, darling. I want to help."

"I don't know," Geralt groans. He's hot and sweaty and so fucking horny but his godsforsaken body won't cooperate with him. Jaskier runs a hand through his hair, looking down on him and Geralt groans in frustration.

"If I'd had more time to prepare, I'd tie you up," Jaskier murmurs, dipping down to kiss his neck, "you seemed to like that last time."

"Yeah," Geralt agrees. Jaskier's teeth press into his skin and electricity zips through him. He tips his head back, giving him more space and Jaskier hums thoughtfully before doing it again.

Geralt lets out a low groan and his cock throbs against Jaskier's, hips pushing up into him. It's ridiculous that he should have such a reaction; he's been taught from the beginning that a Witcher needs to protect his neck, volunteering it to be bitten is about as far from that as he could get. But Jaskier's teeth sink into the skin under his jaw and he whimpers as the lust that rushes through him.

"Oh," Jaskier breathes and Geralt almost misses it as nimble fingers tangle in his hair and tug. He's vaguely aware of Jaskier talking to him, mumbling against his skin, but Geralt sinks into the pleasure, unaware of anything until Jaskier's cock nudges against him again.

As he presses in, Jaskier tugs his head down and licks a stripe up his throat, letting his teeth graze over the cooling skin. Geralt sinks into the mattress, letting Jaskier take full control over him as he rocks into him, quick and hard. His head is foggy and he feels like he's floating, like Jaskier's mouth and hands are the only thing tethering him here and it feels good.

He knows he shouldn't want to give someone control over him, but he can trust Jaskier and aside from the other wolves, he's never felt as comfortable with someone.

Jaskier's cock bumps up against his prostate and his eyes nearly roll back in his head. Mindlessly, he reaches for his own cock, jerking himself quickly as Jaskier grinds into him, angling his hips to hit that spot with every thrust. It doesn't take long after that, with Jaskier's fingers in his hair and his mouth against his neck. Geralt spills between them, arching off the bed with a desperate cry and Jaskier follows seconds later, collapsing against him.

They both fall back to the bed, still tangled together and Geralt hums as Jaskier tucks his head under his chin. He reaches one hand up, slipping his fingers into Jaskier's hair and his eyes fall shut.

Geralt doesn't know how many hours have passed, but he awakes to something hot and wet around his cock. He moans as he blinks awake and leans up to find Jaskier halfway down the bed with his mouth around him. Any other day, he'd be overjoyed to be woken up like this, but he'd hoped he was finished with this damn curse. Evidently not.

Before he's even awake, his body jerks and he only realizes he's coming when Jaskier pulls off and it splatters against his chest. He blinks as Jaskier slips up against him, wiping his stomach with something soft.

"You were hard again in your sleep," he hums, "didn't want to wake you."

"Why were you awake?" Geralt mumbles, wrapping an arm around Jaskier's shoulders as he curls against him.

"Unimportant." He kisses Geralt's chest and Geralt knows it's a diversion. When he scents the air, Jaskier's regular scent is tinged with something sour.

"You were worried."

"I've never seen you like this," Jaskier whispers.

"Hopefully you never will again."

"What does it feel like?"

"Awful," Geralt mumbles, "hot and like I need it to survive. If I hold out for too long, it feels like I'll lose control, like I can't stop myself. You shouldn't worry though. I won't hurt you."

"Geralt," Jaskier scoffs, "I'm not worried about myself. I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

Something shifts in Geralt's chest and it's overwhelming. To think that even like this, Jaskier trusts him so blindly is nothing short of incredible. He shifts onto his side, pulling Jaskier up against his and presses his lips into his hair. He doesn't know what to say in the face of such trust, so he just holds him close and shuts his eyes.

As they lie there, the nagging urge creeps up on him again and Geralt doesn't realize his hand is drifting until it slips around Jaskier's soft cock. He strokes him slowly and Jaskier lets out a little shuddering gasp as he presses back against Geralt's chest. He's only vaguely aware when his strokes become quicker, more focused on the sound of Jaskier's breath and the way he squirms against him, grinding back against his cock.

"Geralt," he breathes, hushed and strained, "I don't think I can come again, but I want you to fuck me."

"You're sure?"

"Completely, love. Let me help you through this." Geralt grumbles against his neck, but Jaskier just huffs another soft laugh and reaches back to thread his fingers through Geralt's hair. "I'm here for you."

Geralt slides his hand back, dragging his fingers between Jaskier's cheeks and he's surprised to find the plug missing, but Jasker is slick and ready for him anyway.

When Geralt presses into him, it takes every ounce of control not to just shove his cock in and fuck him hard, but even from the beginning, something feels different. Jaskier must be exhausted, but he still rocks back onto him like he's desperate for it, keeping one hand firmly in Geralt's hair. It's quick and hot and this time, Geralt comes quickly, burying his face into Jaskier's neck as he ruts into him.

He's tired, afterward, but the bone-deep exhaustion doesn't return and once Jaskier has cleaned them both up a little, Geralt settles. He's sweaty and sticky and sore and they'll probably both be feeling it for days, but he feels calm. The burning itch under his skin is gone and he sighs softly as he turns away from Jaskier.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles and there's barely a second's hesitation before Jaskier's fingers slide against his arm.

"Don't be sorry darling, no one keeps things interesting like you do." It's meant as a joke, Geralt knows, but it doesn't stop him from tensing up immediately. There's a soft fuck, and Jaskier presses up behind him, kissing his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean to upset you, this is different for me, too."

Geralt doesn't know what to say to that because this is different, has been different for a long time, but neither of them has ever brought it up before. Geralt wouldn't trust anyone else to see him like this and he knows if another Witcher came in, unable to control his lust, Jaskier wouldn't welcome him so easily.

"Geralt?" Jaskier shifts behind him, lifting his chin to rest it on his arm. "Geralt, you know you're important to me right? This isn't just... you're not just someone I fuck because you pay me." He leans into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder and Geralt nods.

He does know. He's terrified of it and he doesn't know what to do with it, but he does know.

#rex writes #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #prostitute!jaskier #good as gold

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achliegh · 3 years

Text

Golden

SORRY FOR THE WEIRD SCHEDUALE RIGHT NOW!!!!

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death/suicide, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 11:

Monsters

I Think I’m Okay

Clay looked so good, and it was making Noelle feel some type of way. He was sprawled out on the couch, one arm over the arm of the couch by his head while his other hand was holding his phone. The leg on the inside of the couch was straight and his other was bent. He was wearing a pair of running shorts that he only wears at home that are just a little snug around his thighs. He was wearing a shirt that was old and well worn, it was short enough that it rested above his belly button, showing off his happy trail that Noelle can’t help but follow down with her eyes as she finishes sorting some clothes that she wants to donate.

Thomas and Noelle haven’t done anything sexual with Clay yet because they want to have a talk about boundaries and everything before they just… jump into sex. But, she was reaching her limit, Clay has been driving her insane lately. Even if it is little things that he doesn’t mean to be sexy, it makes her have to take a breath and calm down a little. Sometimes she even has to leave the room to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts.

She couldn’t take it anymore though, she was at the edge. She stands up and walks over to him, standing in front of him she puts her hands in her sweatpant pockets and just looks down at him. Waiting for him to look up at her.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” He clicks his phone off and puts it on his chest, putting both his hands behind his head and smiling up at her with his stupidly sweet smile. She swallows the cotton feeling in her mouth. She doesn’t say anything, she just straddles him, obviously taking him by surprise from the way his hands flew to her hips. “Feeling lonely?” He is rubbing his thumbs up and down on her hips in soothing circles as he looks at her full of adoration.

Making her stomach flutter.

Smiling, she leans down and kisses him. He returns the smile and the kiss, he expects it to stay gentle and innocent like all their kisses have been. But he is surprised when she grabs his face and deepens the kiss. Soon they are in a heated make out. Noelle is pulling his head by his hair into deeper and more intense kisses. Their tongues dance around each other but Noelle is in control. They pull away just far enough that they are basically breathing each other in, Noelle has this wild look in her eye that makes Clay feel hot all over. That dull heat all over turns into a sharp spike of heat when she starts kissing by his ear and whispers.

“I want to fuck you.”

He pulls away and looks her in the eyes again, it sends a shiver of excitement straight to his groin. Clay is someone who loves being used, loves being submissive, and thinks he loves her as well. His brain is almost gone into a submissive state but he picks her up and carries her to Thomas’ room. He sets her down on her feet next to the bed.

“You really want to fuck me?” He takes his shirt off and sits on the bed. Looking up at her with his big brown eyes in a way he knows drives people insane. Especially people like Noelle. She nods and walks towards him, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him so he lays down. Her hand travels down to his waistband with featherlight touches, she looks up at him for permission to take his shorts off and he gives it to her.

She yanks them off him and just about pulls him off the side of the bed, causing both of them to laugh, leaning down for a couple of kisses, Clay pulls her tank top off as she pulls away.

“You’re beautiful.” He looks at her and places one of his hands on her ribs and pulls her closer so she is straddling his waist. He smiles at her and sits up a little so he can start kissing on her collarbones and chest, he remembers Thomas mentioning how sensitive her boobs are. He smiles and wraps his arms around her waist as he starts showing her boobs some attention, she starts to squirm but doesn’t pull away, instead hugging his head to keep his face in her chest.

He loves boobies.

After a while she reaches around and grabs his wrists and pins him to the bed, so they are face to face.

“Let’s get you ready for me to fuck you, yeah? I can already feel just how much you’re dripping for me.” She smirks at him as she runs a finger up his shaft of his leaking cock. He swallows down a moan but his breathing starts picking up. “Get comfy while I go get some things.” She gives him a kiss and gets off the bed, wandering into the closet to get her things.

She comes back after a few minutes with a couple of fun things. First off, she is wearing a bright pink strap-on the dick is dark dark fuchsia and it was about the same size as Clay.

She also tosses a bottle of oil based lube on the bed and crawls over to him. Laying down between his legs and giving his thighs a few kisses.

“Have you ever been fucked before?” Clay was watching her but not answering as he had mostly slipped into his submissive state of mind. So, she pushes herself up and looks at him with a serious look. “Answer me Clay.”

“Yes, I have. Only once because I’m usually with women, who don’t want… this.” He gestures between them as Noelle rubs his thigh and grabs the lube. “Have you fucked Thomas before?” He watches her fingers rub together to warm up the lube as she starts lowering her fingers towards his entrance.

“Not Thomas, I’ve asked but he has never been into it. But… I have fucked a few people before and have been wanting to do it since. This strap is very special, not only does it go into you and make you feel good.” She bites her lip as she slips a finger into Clay who is nice and relaxed as well as extremely horny. “It also goes into me and makes me feel good.” She smirks as Clay takes a shaky breath as she starts moving her finger in and out of him.

“Fuck, really? That's uh- so hot!” It has been a few minutes and Noelle has added in another finger and is curling them to press into his prostate. She definitely knows what she is doing. Clay moves his hands under his thighs and grips them to pull them up higher. He hears Noelle curse under her breath and he whines, arching his back as she adds another.

“You’re doing so good for me baby, so amazing. I’m so proud of you.” Noelle watches as a flush appears in Clay’s chest and a sappy smile rushes onto his face. She moves her hips a bit so the dildo that is in her attached to the strap relieves her with some pleasure for a moment.

“Noelle.” Clay calls for her attention and she looks into his eyes and sees he is in another place. “Please, I need you.” She kisses his hip hiding her smiles and slides her fingers out of him, she grabs the lube again and pours it onto the dildo and spreads it over the plastic appendage. She smiled and happened to take a look at the clock.

“I think it’s time to call Thomas, is that okay?” Clay nods, she grabs her phone and was first going to just call him but decided that facetiming him would be more effective. She sets the ringing phone right next to them and teases Clay by tracing his entrance with the dildo. Thomas answers and she enters Clay, holding his hip and slowly pressing in, until Clay grabs her ass and pulls her in harder. He moans loud and Noelle joins him as she is also fucked.

She tries to talk to Thomas but his connection is too bad. So he hangs up and calls back with a normal call. She answers.

“Hi!” Noelle answers, out of breath and panting. “I was trying to facetime you to show you something beautiful but sadly we don’t have a good connection. Sad~.” Noelle purrs into Clay’s ear, which is also right next to the phone as she continues to slowly pull out and push in, groaning quietly herself.

“I- What are you doing? You have your sexy voice on!” She smiles and feels Clay wraps his arms around her and his legs as she starts moving fast, causing his moaning to get louder and squeezing her with every jolt of pleasure he feels from her grazing his prostate.

“Mm I’m doing Clay.” She smirks and nips at Clay's jaw. “You know what I meant right~ I’m doing Clay.” She hears fumbling on the line and knows Thomas is taking off his clothes. She whispers to Clay. “Let him hear how pretty you sound. Let him know you’re here.”

“T-Thomas! Ugh-ah I-I FUck.” Noelle would thrust in deeper or harder when he would try to speak and watch as his eye would roll back in his head. She herself was starting to feel herself getting closer to the edge and she knows Thomas doesn’t last long in bed. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck- FUCK!” Clay was gripping onto her anyplace he could, his back was starting to arch, his toes were curling on her back where his ankles were crossed.

“You sound so good, Clay.” Thomas was getting off to this by the sound of his voice and the random groans they could hear. Noelle taps Clay’s arm so he loosens them and takes him by surprise by pinning his biceps to the bed and starting to pound into him, hard and fast, but not too deep. Clay starts basically screaming, Noelle’s moans weren’t any quieter, both focused on their own orgasm’s getting cloers as Thomas listened and imagined what was happening.

Noelle and Clay start to sloppily make out as they get close, Noelle actually breaks first. As she is cuming she pounds into Clay, riding out her waves. Causing Clay to fall over the edge completely untouched and the hardest he has ever came.

Thomas muffled himself with his hand a few seconds after Clay. All of them panting, Noelle having collapsed onto Clay who is still out of it but is petting her hair.

“You two- are going to kill me.” Thomas huffs over the line, causing Noelle and Clay to smile. “What brought this on?” His phone call was becoming spotty and they don’t know if it was like that the whole time or if it was just starting.

“I was horny.” Noelle laughs a little as Thomas makes fun of her. “Your call is starting to break up, Doll.” Thomas said a glitchy goodbye after a while, staying with Clay as Noelle cleaned them up and made sure Clay was alright.

Noelle hasn’t been in this good of a mood in a while.

Leo and Clay knock on the door of Reg’s house, waiting patiently for their bestie to open the door. When Reg opens the door he is met with a rather uncomfortable looking Clay leaning against Leo who has the biggest shit eating grin on his face.

“Ummmm, did I miss something?” Leo’s grin gets even bigger as Clay turns red.

“Well-”

“Noelle fucked Clay so hard he can’t stand properly.” Leo cuts Clay off and receives a backhand to the stomach causing him to fold over a bit as he laughs. Reg can’t help but snort at them too. Walking, or limping, into the house the trio makes their way to the kitchen where a makeshift barber shop was set up.

“Okay so, Leo, you just want your head shaved right?” Leo nods and sits on the chair as he is scrolling through Finn and Logan’s joint tik tok account. Reg has noticed that's a coping mechanism for him when he isn’t around his boys. He can still see and feel the love from them even when they aren’t there.

Yes, Leo has somehow gotten the whole tiktok community to think he is homophobic… because he always duets their tiktoks in a way of making fun of them in a way they all know is just leo missing them, but some people don’t see it that way.

Like dueting their coming out video with him shoving popcorn in his mouth and then spitting it out when they kiss and acting disgusted and offended.

Leo lets Reg work on shaving his hair off while his eyes are closed and he just enjoys the chitter-chatter of his friends while his head becomes lighter physically and emotionally because his boys come back home tomorrow night.

They are coming back to him, willingly.

Leo is brought out of his meditative mindset when Reg pokes his head right above his left temple and says something that Leo misses.

“Huh?”

“You have a strawberry on your head.” Reg smiles at him and pokes his tattoo again.

“Oh yeah! I always forget I have that one until I shave my head again.” He smiles as he takes the mirror from Reg and looks at his hair and said tattoo. “I got it… in Georgia after I lost a bet. It’s my sweetest tattoo.” He hands the mirror back and Clay narrows his eyes at the chair from where he was leaning against the counter.

“Do I have to sit? Leo is taller than me and Eloise usually cuts my hair soooooo…. I vote he does it.” Clay sends them his usual blinding smile that convinces way too many people into giving him what he wants.

“Fine, but I can’t promise it will be good.”

“Thomas can always fix it.” The little smile that tugs at Clay’s lips is frankly adorable in Leo’s opinion. Leo has been with Clay through all his ‘relationships’ and no one has ever made Clay react like that.

He deserves to be this happy.

Leo gets to work on Clay’s hair, Clay usually gets the normal short on all sides and long on top. The top of his hair that he likes to have longer needs a trim though, so Leo lets Reg tell him what to do because they have been cutting their own hair since they were 12 because his parents said barbers and hairdressers were dirty.

Does Leo shave a bit too high in the back?

Maybe…

Does he tell Clay?

Nope! Because it’s kinda funny.

“What's the plan for your hair Reg? It looks nice long, honestly. 10/10 would smash. But, you said you had an idea but wouldn’t tell us.” Leo hops on the counter next to where Clay is leaning and causally bumps Clay a little. Making him catch himself and jolt a little from the soreness of his booty. Which again, bring on another smack to the stomach.

“I think.. I want a mullet.”

“The country lifestyle has really taken over you!” The two yeehaws high five and whoop a little.

“Non! I want a more, I don’t know, punkish maybe alternative style mullet? Does that make sense?” When the response is crickets Reg decides to pull of the photo of the man he saw with this hairstyle. “Make sense?”

“I think so, but your hair is curly and his isn’t so it isn’t going to look the same.”

“No shit Clay.”

“I was just saying!”

Reg smiles and rolls his eyes, Leo takes his phone. Looking closer at the picture he looks at Reg and then back at the picture.

“You can definitely pull this off. Let’s do it!” Setting the phone on the counter and hoping back off Leo pushes Reg down in the chair and gets to work. After cutting the first strand of hair he asks Clay to stand in front of Reg and hold the phone so he can look at the picture and work on the hair. Asking Reg how to do certain techniques.

Once the last cut is done, Leo once again looks at the picture and back at Reg.

“I think I did it…? I tried my best, dude.” Clay hands Reg the mirror. Holding the mirror up and looking at himself, Reg notices a few odd cuts but his hair is so curly that is styled right no one would notice. He feels this feeling, he doesn’t know what it is, but it fills his tummy and makes him feel like the person in the mirror is really him.

“I love it, I really really love it.” They stand and hug Leo, taking him off guard but Leo hugs back in the tight way he always does.

“I’m very happy I didn’t fuck it up. Also, point to me for making you happy enough to hug me.” They pull away and Reg can’t help but look at himself in the mirror again. He’s just waiting to look again and his hair is back to the military style cut he has had his whole life. It never does though.

“We should probably clean up, maybe we could sell our hair online and get some money.” Clay is looking into the closet where all the brooms are and pulling out three. “I would like to make it at least twenty more years before I keel over and if your brother sees this mess.. I give us two minutes after he gets home.” Tossing a broom at Leo, he does catch it, but accidentally hits the mirror out of Reg’s hand and it smashes to the ground. Loud enough to hear the mirror break.

Oh shit.

“Leo! That’s seven years of bad luck!” Leo rolls his eyes, Reg always talks about superstitions and Leo being the smart man he is. Doesn’t believe in them.

“Reg, that's not real. I have broken many mirrors and have never had bad luck.” He starts cleaning up the glass with said broom, he makes a pile of glass and hair. Going to grab a dust pan he just does his thing while he feels two sets of eyes on him. “What?”

“Leo, you literally have the worst luck.”

“No I don’t! Now get to cleaning maid boy!” Clay flips him off.

“I’m gonna turn on music as we clean like the children of god we are, after we should make food because I’m a hungry bitch.” Reg is tapping on his phone and turns on Monsters by All time Low, before grabbing his own ‘broom’ which is the only one left.. The little hand broom, so they are on their knees like Cinderella.

Leo walks into the apartment, it's empty, obviously. He sets his keys on the counter, automatically turning on some music from the same station he was listening to at Reg’s while they made dinner and cleaned up. He sits on the couch, scrolling through his phone for a bit, just mindlessly looking at things when he gets a text from his mom.

Text from: Mother Goose

8:27pm

Hi Merigold, I wanted to text you and tell you about how my check up went. I meant to do it a while ago but forgot when Peanut decided to try and eat my hair while I was grooming him. I was told I need to get another aid for my right ear because my hearing has deteriorated too much for me not to have one anymore. So now your mama is definitely going to start learning ASL, I think you should too.

8:29pm

Mama you know I don’t want to learn how to sign

8:29pm

But I’ll try for you

8:30pm

Thank you Goldie Locks! I need to go do my beauty routine before heading to bed! Peanut and I miss you baby.

Image.4457

Leo smiles at the picture of his mom sticking her tongue out in the same way Peanut is in the photo, he misses them a lot and it was really really hard the first week he was living here because he couldn’t take Peanut out and just escape the world.

But now he copes by letting Logan color in his back tattoo with scented markers as Finn lets him rest his head on his lap while he reads to them. Leo has learned that Logan shows his love in many different ways, but his favorite is drawing on the people he loves.

Connecting Finn’s shoulder freckles into shapes.

Coloring in Leo’s back piece.

Drawing a mustache on Sirius when he is asleep in random places.

He paints the Dumias’ kids nails and ‘tattoos’ them with a washable marker. Ever since they met Leo and Clay they have been interested in tattoo’s, having never seen Logan’s own tattoo.

Randomly drawing tiny smiley faces with an ink pen on his teammates.

Once he colored Dumo’s toes orange while he was sleeping on the couch while Celeste and the kids watched.

He writes little quotes on Celeste's left palm.

He can’t express his feelings with words, so he does with actions instead. Leo loves it, Logan has never colored the tattoo on his back in the same way more than once, and it always looks beautiful.

Fuck… He misses them. Then remembers the game is on live right now, so he turns it on to watch his boys play against Ravenclaw. He ends up falling asleep as Kuny gets interviewed in the locker room.

He will see them tomorrow.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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thenextchapter22 · 3 years

Text

Mail Order… Kitten Girl

Part 7: Bath Time

Description: Satan accidentally orders a special type of ‘cat’ online after having a few too many drinks…

Tags: Past Abuse, Past Non/Con, Slavery, Pet Play, Cat Hybrids, Fluff, Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content

Pairing(s): Reader/Everyone (but Luke)

Link to my AO3: Click Here

In this chapter: Continuation of the last chapter... Asmo gives Kitten a bath, featuring some fluff and hurt/comfort...

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

+++++ MINORS DNI +++++

Asmo carried you into his bedroom first, and then straight into his bathroom which adjoined it. It was one of his favorite places, he always told you.

The smells that hit your nose were sweet, and the air was warm and pleasant on your exposed body. You began to purr, tail flickering lazily, occasionally brushing against his body to make him shiver. The continued contact with another person always brought you comfort, so you curled up into him, pressing your breasts to his shirt, feeling small in his arms like you did with all your Master’s when they held you or carried you. They were large demons, after all, and you loved to be coddled.

"Smells nice," you commented quietly.

Asmo smiled down at you. "I was hoping that these aromas wouldn't overwhelm that sensitive little nose~" he leaned down and eskimo kissed you, making you giggle.

He set you on a cushioned bench along the wall. As he sat you down, you squeaked and reached up for him immediately, your bum tensing up. "Ngg!"

The demon made a sympathetic sound. “Oh Kitten, does it hurt?” He lifted you up again into his arms, careful to hold you at your thighs and back with each arm. You did, after all, still have that plug nestled inside of you, your hole throbbing around it.

You shook your head, pressing into his neck. “S-sore, ‘s all.”

“Here, let’s lie you down instead.”

He got a pillow and placed it at the edge of the bench, and lay you down on your side. The leash was still attached to your collar, and so you moved it to drape it so that didn’t get in your way. Your Master would take it off, you were not permitted.

There were still some aftershocks from before, and you blushed remembering what happened. Cumming in front of all your Masters... So obscene, and really fun, too.

But now, as you watched Asmo pouring oils of different colors into the large tub, you made the realization of just what was about to happen, and it honestly started to scare you.

You had a fear of water. Or rather, a fear or taking baths. Of being dunked in deep water. So far you had only showered, and the warm rain-like water made you clean and felt nice—you liked the rain, it was calming—and you had room to breathe inside the shower.

The fear was like a dark smoke clogging your lungs, and every inhale made it harder to breathe. Memories of past baths at that terrible place began washing over your mind, and you whimpered, bringing a claw-extended hand to your mouth to keep quiet. Your Master wanted you to take a bath, you had to do it...

But Asmo heard your groan. His head popped up to face you from where he was kneeling over the giant tub. “Kitten?”

His soft-spoken concern had you crying. You sniffled, and your voice echoed in the room, “No bath, please!”

His orange-yellow eyes widened. “Baby, no, don’t cry,” he begged, quickly rushing to you. He took your hand from your mouth and held it tight, stroking over your knuckles with his thumb. “What’s wrong, do you not want to have a nice bath?”

Your mouth stretched open into a wail, “Nooooo-”

He hushed you, and pet your hair with his other hand. “Love, it’s okay, I’m here. Please tell me what’s troubling you, so I can help.” His hands kept caressing you, trying to alleviate your anguish. From your head to your cheeks, he was continuously touching you, grounding you.

Eventually he took a seat on the bench by your head, and you crawled into his arms, the plug in your butt was uncomfortable but it took a backseat to the emotional distress. Your hands curled around his neck, and your legs outstretched one way over his, and you cried for a little while, his arms rubbing your back and neck, his lips kissing your head and cheeks, shushing you softly.

“Darling, I have you,” he would say over and over.

Soon enough you were just shaking, and breathing slowly and with minimal trouble. Your face felt raw, as did your throat. You leaned back a bit from his body to breathe, and glanced at his face. His kind eyes stared into your own, and you gathered the courage to speak on the past that haunted you.

“They-” you stuttered out, “w-would make m-me go un-nder. Hold m-me, h-hurt me...”

“You’re talking about where you came from?” he said, tense as he held you.

“Y-yeah...” you sniffled.

Flashes of ‘before’ came behind your eyes. Dunked in a large basin with cold water, or too hot water. Your ears got wet and it hurt. They tore your tail with rough scrubbing, and your skin was fire hot and itchy.

You sobbed dryly. “I-I’m scared...”

Asmo kissed your head. “Do you want me to go in with you? I can put on my swimsuit, or not. Whatever my Kitten needs.”

You nodded. That would be better, you thought. Having him close, your Master by your side. “Please, in with me? Um, n-no clothes? But I don’t wana play... Is that okay, Master?”

He cooed. “Of course, dearheart.” He reached around and grabbed your collar, the bell ringing, “let’s get this off, and then we’ll go in the tub.”

The collar and leash were taken off, and he lifted you up as he stood. You gasped, not expecting that, and frantically gripped his neck, claws digging in a bit. He winced but said nothing. Then he set you down on the edge of the tub, and you stood on shaky legs. “Put your feet in and tell me if it’s too hot or cold, okay?”

You did as he asked, dipping a toe in, and it was perfect. You looked up at him and nodded shyly. “The water is fine...”

He grinned. “Perfect!” He held out his hand, and you took it, and he helped you step in. “Careful, there are steps here to get in.”

You took a deep breath, each step making it harder. Eventually you were up to your breasts, and he got his clothes off quickly and slipped in the tub, too.

“Why don’t you go over here, beautiful, so I can take out your plug,” he pointed to the side.

You bent over the side of the tub, knees on the outer seating but still in the water, just a few inches of your back out of the warmth. He put his hand on your inner thigh and pulled you open, and then grabbed the plug to gently twist and pull. It hurt a little, and you clenched down.

“No, no, love, you need to loosen up so I can pull it free. Bare down now,” he whispered.

You did, and it was easier then, and the plug came loose. Your bottom felt open and loose, and he softly rubbed his finger over your abused hole. “Does it feel good, or bad?” he asked matter of fact.

You shifted from side to side, and winced. “Hurts, not a lot, though.”

“Hm, that’s very good. Satan used plenty of lube. When we’re done, I'll put some lotion on it to help the aches.”

You settled back down, sitting carefully on your bottom. He came over and maneuvered behind you, and you felt him against your back, his cock wasn’t hard but it was there, and you suddenly had a thought that you should please him.

“I-I...”

He understood, and placed his hands around your body, skin to skin, chest to your back, his head fitting to the side of your face. He was soft and warm. “It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. Let me wash your hair, and your tail if you’d like that.”

You were glad of that. You loved pleasing them, but the non-sex stuff you did with them was fun, too.

“Please... I-I'd like that, Master...”

“All right then, lovely kitty, we’ll get your hair wet first.”

He cupped a hand over your eyes, and water was pouring over your head, and he was mindful of your ears, too. You were tense, though, and he paused after he did it the first time. “Kitten, are you okay if I keep going?”

You swallowed with eyes shut tight. “Y-yes. Just... my ears, please...”

“I’ll be careful not to get water in them, I promise.”

He used a cup and poured it over your head, and was patient when you tensed up. He kissed your cheeks, and said how proud he was of you, how brave you were. It made you blush.

“So sweet~”

“Master, please...”

He laughed, and nodded. “Okay baby, now for the shampoo.”

He lathered up a sweet-smelling shampoo that was on the outside of the tub in a basket and scrubbed it on your scalp. You immediately leaned back into it. “I put some calming oils in the tub for you, and this is one of my favorite shampoos. It softens your hair and smells like cotton candy. You like sweet things, don’t you, Kitten?” he teased.

You blushed. “Yes, Master, I do...” It was known by now that you liked sweets. Cakes, candy, anything with cream. It was all tasty and you never got to have much.

“I love sweet things, too. Especially sweet Kittens like the one in my arms,” he bent to kiss your neck, and you shivered. It was a sensitive spot for you, your neck. He just hummed, “Let’s rinse this out, and then we can condition your hair.”

You were thankful he was telling you what he was doing. You still felt a nervous but having his hands caress you and guide you was perfect.

He finished rinsing your hair, and it was done. Then he did the same with conditioner, and it was all good, no water in your ears.

He pecked your cheek. “Such a good job,” he praised. “Can I touch your tail?”

You nodded, and lifted your tail out of the water. “Here... ‘m sensitive at the base of my tail.” They sort of knew that, but you wanted to double check.

“Okay, thank you for telling me.”

He did the shampoo and conditioner and was very gentle, and it was nice to have your tail pet like that. Usually, it was just your ears that got pet, so this was a nice change.

“Okay, my dear, all done. Do you want to soak, or do you want out?”

“Out.”

He didn’t laugh at how quickly you replied and instead helped you stand up. The water dripped down your nude body and the air felt cooling on your skin, your nipples hardening. Asmo didn’t pay mind to that, either, and led you to stand on a rug. He put on a robe and tied it around his waist. You did see his mild erection, but right now you didn’t want to do any of that. Your head wasn’t in the right place, and thankfully your Masters were kind enough not to force you into doing things.

Asmo was rifling through the closet for towels, picking at them and shaking his head, looking for a specific one obviously. “I have a nice fleece robe for you, and cozy slippers. Do you want me to blow dry your hair, or let it dry naturally?”

You didn't like the sound of the blow dryer. “No dryer,” you said adamantly.

He chuckled. “Got it, love.” He used a towel to dry over your body, and you let him, feeling pampered. The towel was so soft and fluffy. You purred, leaning into his touch. “Ugh, you are the most precious little thing ever,” he cooed, kissing at your cheek. Then he grabbed a bathrobe, pink and fluffy, and put it around you loosely.

“No underwear?” you asked with a frown.

“Do you want some?” he asked back.

You pursed your lips, and swished your tail back and forth. The robe was snug and felt soft on your body, so no, you actually didn’t want underwear.

“No thank you.”

He nodded. “We have to put cream on your bum anyway, so come this way,” he held out his hand, and took you to his bedroom and had you lay on the bed on your belly. He left for a quick second, and then he was back and lifted the robe up and spread your cheeks open with one of his hands, your puckered hole tensing from the cool air.

“Master...”

He hummed, and a cold finger glopped with something rubbed over your hole, dipping inside just so in order to curl and rub. He did this for a few seconds and then his finger was gone. “Good, that’ll help you feel better.”

You turned your head, and then decided to just roll over on your back. He came over to kiss your nose, and you swiped at his face with your tongue playfully, catching his chin. You felt warm and soft and floaty from the last hour of sex time and bathing, or it could have been longer or shorter, you were not totally sure.

“Playful Kitten,” he teased. Then your stomach growled. He giggled. “Hungry Kitten, too. It is dinner time.”

He frowned a second later, and sat on the bed next to you, grabbed his phone and started texting. You leaned over to see him messaging Beel for food. You whined. “Can I have sweets?”

“After dinner, lovely. We can all have some cake that Barbatos made.”

Your ears perked up. “Barb made cake?” your stomach growled louder, and your cheeks reddened.

Asmo cooed. “He came by while we we’re in the bath to drop it off. I'm not sure why or what it was for, but it looks good. And Beel promised to save some for you.”

There was a knock on the door, and Beel peeked in after Asmo gave the okay to come inside. He held a plate of food, steaming and aromatic. His eyes ran over you, and he seemed satisfited with what he saw and stepped in fully.

“None for me?” Asmo blinked, but he had a small smile on his face.

Beel frowned. “Sorry, I only brought food for Kitten.”

Asmo sighed. “That’s okay, I've been watching my figure lately anyway.”

Both your Master’s sat on either side of you, and took turns feeding you. It was nice. You leaned back against the soft pillows eventually and yawned.

Beel’s large hand went to your head, and he smiled. “You should sleep now after eating all that food. Your stomach isn’t as big as mine.”

You yawned again, and smiled sheepishly. “Yes, Master. Can I have a hug before bed?”

Beel grinned. He held you to his chest, smoshing you perfectly. He smelled like warm spices, and his hugs were some of your favorite hugs out of all your Masters’ because he was so big—muscles, you meant, not fat. He did work out, and you also liked to lick his sweat from his pecs or neck.

The red-headed demon kissed your forehead, humming. Then his lips pressed to your cheek, and slid over to your lips. You licked at them for a second, tasting him, but he didn’t let you in. That was okay, though.

“You get hugs and kisses, little kitty. Always,” Beel said, and he pet your wet hair from your ears and smiled.

Cheeks flushed, you reached up to peck his lips in one last kiss. “’night.”

Beel took the plates and turned at the door to smile at you, “Good night, Kitten. Sweet dreams.” He shut the door as he left.

Asmo wiggled on the bed and whined. “My turn for kisses now!”

You laughed. “Yes, Master,” you leaned over and gave him several kisses on his soft lips, and one on his nose, your fangs grazing ever so slightly.

“Kitty has such a lovely mouth,” he sighed.

You yawned, and reached for him. “Cuddle me?”

He did not hesitate. “How can I resist that face?”

He curled himself around you, his fingers went to your bare belly to rub circles, and it soothed your full stomach. His hair was wet at the ends and dripped on you, but you didn’t care. This was exactly where you wanted to be.

“Sleep tight, lovely,” Asmo whispered in your ear, right as you shut your eyes to enter dreamland.

#obey me fanfic #fanfiction #obey me #reader fanfiction #cat hybrid #hybrids #mail order kitten girl #female reader #obey me reader x everyone #my fics #ao3 link

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thisisthehardestthing · 4 years

Note

For your 1k follower event -congrats by the way!! Gemini + Kirishima + 7, please!

OKAY LISTEN. I GOT VERY VERY CARRIED AWAY. Who the fuck knew this inspiration would strike me on a TUESDAY at 9:00pm? Not me. Anyway. Thank you for the congratulations, and I hope you enjoy this! It started out innocent, and then just completely derailed into this.

18+, “Is that a tattoo?” x Kirishima Eijirou

word count: 2.2k (what. the. fuck. written in 3 and a half hours) warnings: smut, size kink, public sex, unprotected sex. Thank you for encouraging me, @koiibito and @queensynderella

Kirishima was the hardest guy you knew, even without his quirk activated. The muscles rippled down his back as you stroked deeply, kneading out the knots with strong, practised fingers. You were a private masseuse to the Pro-Heroes, and you were the best. When he booked an appointment, you weren’t shocked, but damn, were you curious.

Your colleagues all talked about the hulk of a man, wondering what he was like, what his skin felt like. Does he get hard all over? You know, down there? They’d whisper to each other, ask you to find out. Like hell, you will. There’s a reason the Pro’s come to you. You’re professional, courteous, confidentia-

Wow, he’s got a nice ass. You can’t help but think while you worked the lower sciatica, taking out the kinks. He groaned, twitching on the bed, the thin, white sheet covering him doing nothing to hide the firm, toned muscle. “Is the pressure okay?”

He grunted, lifted his head a little to flash you a killer smile.

“It’s perfect,” then fell back down, head in the hole, “I’ve actually been having a bit of back pain so this is great.”

“Happy to help,” you replied, cordial and quietly, so as not to take over the ambience music in the room, but rather blend in with it. “Have you been training your legs more?”

“Yeah, can you tell?” there was a tease to his question, but you bit back a retort, not one to instigate. It wasn’t his first one of the session, and it was getting harder to remain placid.

“The main reason for back pain in heroes is the overuse of the glutes and tight hips,” you commented, digging your finger into the very round of his buttock, right where the nerve ending sits. You’d never heard someone so buff make such a whine before, and you shivered in the sadistic delight of hearing it. God, you love your job.

“Shit, that’s sore,” Kirishima curses under his breath, you ignored it, the knot of muscle dissipating and relaxing under your relentless fingers. “Damn, you’ve got a magic touch.”

That’s when you let your facade slip; a giggle escaped your lips.

“Ah! So you’re not a robot!” the red-haired Hero exclaimed, you huffed, walking back to his head. You warmed another pump of oil in your hands, pressed them down to his neck and stroked up into the shave of his undercut.

“Of course not,” you scraped at his scalp, watched goosebumps as they danced along the back of his arms. That’s a surprisingly soft, human, skin reaction, something you could tell your co-workers, and as you pulled the longer hair up, you gasped, “is that a tattoo?”

On the back of Kirishima’s head, covered with thick hair, were two RR’s in his logo. He chuckled, the laugh booming and shaking his body.

“Yeah,” he paused, only slightly. His voice dropped an octave, sending shivers down your spine “it’s not my only one.”

Now, how could you resist that? You couldn’t, that’s why you answered him, matching his drawl with your own.

“Oh? And where are the others?” your heart thumped in your ears, you’d never, ever crossed that line before. But he’s so fit, so charismatic, your mouth responding before your mind caught up.

He was fast, astonishing for how much muscle he had to move, but he pushed himself up, onto his heels, kneeling. His quads stretched, flexed, the four individual muscles formed hills and valleys up his legs. Your eyes trailed up from his knees, slowly, frightened to see too much at once. Then you saw the second tattoo, right next to his--

“Oh my,” you cleared your throat, averted your gaze, well, tried to. You felt your face catch fire, but the stiff cock stood up against the taut muscle of his abs. Everything about him was rock solid.

“Like what you see?” he teased, an overwhelmingly large hand wrapped around the base. You swore he was not this massive laying down on your table a few moments ago. You swallowed, scolded yourself mentally for not looking away, eyes devouring his third leg, and the dragon tattoo next to it. He moved the dick to the left, the skin of his groin pulling flat so the tattoo stands out: black, intricate, dangerous. It stretched across his upper thigh, right below the line of where his hero costume would rest. You opened your mouth to remark, shut it, then opened it again. Fuck.

“It’s, uh, nice,” you complimented, finally ripping your stare from his bare hips and up to his face, “the tattoo, I mean.”

His red eyes glinted mischievously, his grin lopsided, teeth sharp.

“And the cock?”

“Big.” The words flew from your mouth, your hands instantly covered your lips. You could be swallowed by the earth now and have no complaints. “Shit, sorry.”

There it was, that deep, boisterous laughter. It made your core clench, a fresh wave of heat pool between your thighs. You watched as his chest shook, abdominals flexing and cock bounce. He laughed with his entire body. Does he fuck with it too? You took a few deep breaths, steadied your nerves. There was always a first for everything, and Lord knows, you’re not going to let him book another appointment when his hour is up. You glanced at the clock, there’s still some time. Kirishima’s eyes were closed, his mouth open and head back.

“How about I help you take care of it?” you propositioned. It shut him up quick. His jaw snapped shut, body frozen as he peered at your serious expression, your relaxed stance. You had a perfectly manicured hand on the edge of the bed, leaning into it, glistening with massage oil.

“If you think you can handle it,” he smirked.

“Oh, I can handle anything, Red Riot.”

He red eyes flickered, lit by an internal fire. You rounded the bed, trailing your hands on the edge. He moved to seated, legs hanging off the side. With the lightest of touches, your fingers tips ghosted over the thick thigh. They widened, and you slotted yourself between his knees. There was no time to waste; his hands cupped your cheeks, yours pressed onto his knees, and your mouths met in a hungry kiss.

His tasted like spices, sandalwood, warm and inviting. His hands drifted lower, down your neck, to the front of your uniform where he began to undo the aestheticians’ coat buttons with deft fingers. You rubbed circles into the muscles of his quads, feeling them ripple beneath your touch as you stroked up, leaning into the kiss with your entire body. You felt the coat loosen. You took a step back, a whine leaving Kirishima’s mouth desperately. The coat is strewn onto the floor. You grabbed the hem of your simple dress and tug it over your head, standing before him in a matching set of underwear. Thankfully.

“C’mere,” he growled, pulling you close again. His large hands wrapped around your middle, the sheer size of them making you feel petite, dainty, but oh, how you were not. You snaked your arms around his neck, pulled him down for another kiss. He tightened his grip, keeping you flush against his chest and straightening up. You followed, leveraging your weight around his neck, not that you needed to, and straddled his thighs. Fuck, how wide is he?

You moaned, lowly, under your breath, when you felt the hardness of his cock slide between your bodies, bump against your mound, tickle your belly. You were getting hot, sweaty, the oil on his body, your hands, slicking up the skin between the two of you. There was a pounding in your chest, your ears, your cunt, as you grind against him, splayed open around his hips. His thick fingers trailed from your waist down your ass, reaching under and pulling up. They massaged between your folds, feeling how your slick soaks through the thin cotton panties.

“I need to get you ready,” he whispered against your lips, his kisses moving so that they littered your jaw, your neck. Still, you grind down on his hand, the tip barely providing enough relief. You eyed the clock over his shoulder.

“No time, just fuck me.”

He pulled back, remarkably restrained for someone who’s cock was practically ready to burst between your bodies.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then, but don’t scream.” The cocky bastard winked at you, then had the audacity to rip the seam of your underwear, the side falling apart and down. His lips came back to swallow your cries. It was a fucking matching set. He shifted back so that he was more on the table. Your shins pressed into the firm mattress to lift your hips. One of his hands wrapped around the back of your neck, warm and moist and gravitational. It kept you grounded into his kiss, his tongue coaxing yours from it’s resting place to dance together. His other hand trailed up your thighs, dipped between the gap, and rubbed two fingers against your slick slit, opening it up for the tip of his cock to tease your lower lips.

He pressed in, and you severely underestimated the stretch, collapsing onto his shoulder. His trap was between your teeth, muffling your moans. Oh God, fuckfuckfuck, but it’s delicious. You breathed through your nose, relaxed into that weighted palm, leaving the smallest of pecks where you almost broke the skin in your bite. Almost.

“You’re doing good, baby,” Kirishima whispered into your ear, dropping you lower. Your thighs quivered from being spread so thinly around his waist. But his praise spurred you on.

“Look at you, taking my cock so well, we’re halfway now, just relax.”

Hold up.

You pulled back from his shoulder and looked down. Bitch, he’s not going to fit. He must’ve seen the expression of horror on your face, because he smiled, lips smug, eyes like an inferno as he chided you.

“I thought you said you can handle anything.”

You can. So, you ground yourself a little further down, feeling how his silken cock filled your so completely.

“That’s it, keep going beautiful.”

The tip of his cock tapped your cervix, and your eyes almost rolled into another dimension. You stayed like that for a minute, then two. Kirishima felt how your walls clenched around him, wanting to swallow all of him, more than you physically could. Your forehead rested against his shoulder, his arms around your waist, and he just couldn’t take it anymore.

He began to bounce you. The pressure in your womb climbed up, coming out in short ragged breaths against his chest. You were like his little plaything, controlled by his hands alone. You whimpered, feeling fire and ice pour into you from his palms and his cock; opposite ends of a spectrum meeting in the middle to explode sinfully in your body. Your fingers clawed at his body, massaging his back, his waist, before it found that gap between your bodies and pressed against your clit.

You’ve been so good at hiding your moans. Until now. The whimpers left your throat desperately. You clenched around him, pulled him in deeper, tighter, and he spiralled into you --no, he twisted you. He’d found his footing on the floor, and spun you both around so that your back pressed into the table and he could now fuck you with more power, more leverage, with his entire body. Fingers clamped around your jaw, two pushed inside to shut you up, the other massaged a breast, your nipples, tugging and pulling until you were biting those sinful fingers.

He thrusted into you, hips snapping, breaking your inner walls down so your emotions broke free into the room. It filled with energy so raw, so powerful. You had no idea where your hands were. At some point, they were in your hair, then his forearms, gripping them so fiercely, even he thought he’d snap. Your practised fingers could leave bruises on most men. But not Kirishima. His cock hit that perfect spot inside you each and every fucking time. You sucked down his digits, somehow you were not done being filled, but you were close, so so close.

“Red Riot,” you mumbled around his fingers, all thoughts had already cleared out of your head, but he seemed to understand. The hand that massaged your breast flicked tight, quick circles against your throbbing clit. His pounding was getting sloppy, mistimed, and you broke down in pieces. A part of your soul escaped, latched onto his as you both died a small death. Yours unseen, black and ascending to the heavens, while his left warm, wet traces across your stomach.

His fat cock throbbed as it rested against your mound, spent, once more soft. His fingers slipped from your slack jaw, his head bowed forward as both your chests heaved from the exertion.

“Wow,” you managed to say after several seconds, your high subsiding into a gentle hum. Then, what you just did hit you like a train, your torso shooting up, cum dribbling down onto the table and between your legs. You fucked a Pro-Hero at work. A smile split your face in two.

And honestly? No regrets.

-----

:| idek what this was lmao. @joyousandverywarlike since you want to be on my permanent tag list and I love you x

#1kevent #kirishima #kirishima x reader #what the fuck #its 1 am #im so tired #kirishima eijirou #mine #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha smut #my writing #claudia seriously needs to check herself #oh well

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lovestrucked-again · 4 years

Text

First Time | L.Mark

Summary: Loosing your V card to your best friend.

Genre: smuT Pairing: Mark X female reader Word count: 3.8k

Warning: SMUT, oral sex (reader receiving), first time sex, unprotected sex, 18+ ___

"Are you walking behind me so you can look at my ass?" you ask, jokingly.

The reply comes out simply, “Yes.”

“Oh.” and you carry on walking up the stairs - more deliberately now, so he can enjoy the view.

When you reach the top of the stairs, you take Mark’s hand and lead him into your room. The lighting was subdued. Your usual animal painted curtains pulled shut in particular for today. Mark was familiar with your room, having been in here countless times.

You plop down sitting on the edge of the bed, your skirt flattened on your lap, with your bare feet dangling, hardly touching the floor. Your knees were slightly apart and your thighs were lightly pressed together as they disappeared under your skirt.

Mark gazed back at your face and you were smiling a little too much, slightly nervous. His mouth suddenly felt dry. He swallows and sits down on the bed beside you, never taking his eyes from you.

He takes your hand in his hand and leans in to kiss you. It’s brief, but electric. You had always imagined kissing your best friend, but it felt so surreal. He shuffles closer to you, releasing your hand, and putting one arm snugly around your back. Then he gently places his other hand just above your knee. The two of you lean into each other, your eyes fluttering shut as Mark brings his lips to yours, kissing more deeply.

He had kissed you like this once before. It was a sudden kiss where he drank too much, blurting out the hidden feelings he had for you since years ago. In fact, that night he'd ended up on top of you, grinding you through your shorts, and you had been kissing him aggressively in return. Kissing now was more gentle and passionate.

Mark became hard quickly, and his dick automatically slid upwards inside his trousers, lubricated by the wetness he'd been experiencing all day. As you carried on kissing, he slowly slides his hand from your knee to the upper surface of your thigh. You started kissing him more insistently. This was the first step, and you both knew it.

He was getting harder and harder the further his hand moved as he inches his way closer to your pussy. He wanted to touch you so badly. He had dreamt about this for so long; it would be the first time you would ever be touched there by a guy.

The hidden sexual tension in your relationship was being broken and you were both enjoying the moment, moaning with desire, and with the unspoken promise of what was to come.

Mark slides his hand an inch further up your leg, and moves it inwards so his able to brush across your inner thigh with his fingertips. You give a high but quiet moan, and instinctively move your knees apart a few more inches, so he can have access. As Mark strokes your sensitive skin, he can already imagine your pussy getting wetter under your skirt.

Your hands press against his stomach through his T-shirt as you kiss, while his hand continues its slow and deliberate journey up your thigh. His hand touches the hem of your skirt as he creeps his fingertips slowly underneath the loose material, sliding them off easily.

You shuffle slightly on the bed, moving your knees further apart and fully separating your thighs. He can feel your warmth on his fingers now, a damp heat radiating from between your legs.

He waits for as long as he can bear, then slowly detaches a finger from your thigh, moving through open air, until he feels fabric. Your underwear. Gently, he starts stroking your pussy through the material, applying a slight pressure. You stop kissing back, and Mark watches you while he rubs his finger up and down, lightly massaging your pussy through your panties.

Your eyes blink back open to the sight of his smug face, and you smile, placing your hands behind your back and leaning against them as your legs are left open.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks, rubbing in circular motions.

“Very much.” You hum back, as your eyes close once again.

The fabric of your undies had initially felt rough but as he moves his fingers around, it was becoming slick. The material was wet, almost slimy. He presses a little harder with his finger until the flesh below gives way and the fabric slips easily between your pussy lips, oiled by your juices and you let out a gasp.

Mark watches your expression change as he rolls his fingertips to the edge inside, and then to the other side. Inch by inch, he moves his fingers inwards, sliding your thin panties until he feels the tip become warm and wet. He lets out a long low moan of fulfilment. He starts running his fingertip around, hardly moving, sliding frictionless just a few inches up and down each time. Your mouth falls open slightly and you moan, quietly and contentedly.

He watches you quietly purring, with your head back and your eyes closed. He could feel his dick twitch. It was pressing against the inside of his jeans now and he could feel that he was soaking his clothes in his own pre-cum. A large dark area was showing through leaving a visible patch.

He applies a gentle pressure and bends his fingertip, pushing the soft part of his finger against your virgin hole. Your pussy gradually yields to the pressure as his fingertip slowly pushes the sides apart. As he pushes slowly inwards, the wetness spreads further and he curls his finger more and feels the end of his fingertip go inside you. With a little more pressure, his fingernail slides against your wet vagina. Then he gently pushes, and the end of his finger slips inside you, up to the first knuckle.

You open your eyes and look at him with a serious, lustful expression as you give out a deep moan of sexual relief. He could feel the wetness streaming out of his dick.

Your eyes trail down from Mark’s face to his pants, noticing the darker colour stained on his jeans and you suddenly sit upright. At your unexpected movement, Mark pulls his finger out. But before his able to ask anything, you’ve crawled back closer to him and your lips are back on his.

As you kiss him your hands roam to the top of his jeans and with both hands you tear the button from its hole, separating the two halves. Mark breathes in sharply, breaking away at the contact. He wasn't expecting you to be so controlling – like you knew everything you were doing.

You unzip the fly on the jeans in another moment, and his rock-hard cock was relieved from the pressure it had been under ever since he’d seen up your skirt on the stairs. His cock slides around wetly inside his boxers as you fold back the button flap letting you see Mark’s underwear for the first time. You flatten your hand and place it directly on the visible part of his underwear.

"You're soaking wet..." You mumble out, feeling a red flush of heat in your cheeks.

"Can you blame me?" he asks with a soft chuckle, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Then why didn't you ask?”

“Because I thought you had no interest in me, and that would’ve made things awkward.” He replies, staring at your eyes.

Your gaze trails back to his cock and you cup your hand around him, letting it point along his thigh. You squeeze it firmly but gently, out of curiosity and you’re rewarded by a long sigh from Mark. More wetness comes out of the end as you play around, applying different amounts of pressure while he moans.

“Babe lie down.” He mumbles out, bringing a hand to stop you from continuing. If you continued anymore, he would’ve wanted more, and it was too early for that. He pushes your shoulders firmly backwards with both hands as you crash down onto the bed with a squeal of excitement, your skirt flapping up over your stomach. He brushes the loose strands of hair fallen onto your face and strokes your cheek with his palm. "I love you," he says, then he kisses you.

Mark slides his hand over your stomach, across your exposed panties and down onto your wet pussy, pushing his finger inside you once more. Meanwhile your hand is inside Mark’s jeans, and then inside his boxers. You found his dick quickly, and pull it into a more vertical position inside his underwear. It was wet all over from his pre-cum. You slide your hand up and down the shaft while Mark sighs and moans and, in response, setting off a chain of reactions, as he pushes his finger inside you to the second knuckle. You gasp loudly and start moving your hand faster on his dick.

Mark pulls his finger back out and rubs two fingers around inside your lips, wetting them with your juices. Then he pushes the two fingertips against your hole with a little more force than before. They quickly slip an inch inside you, stretching your pussy as they go. You cry out in pleasure, which just sends more wetness out of Mark’s dick and makes it twitch in your hand.

"Does that feel good?" he asks and you moan in response. He slips another finger in, moving around inside with a scissoring motion to stretch the inside of your walls. His thumb presses against your clit as you cry out in pain. “The pain will go away in a second babe okay?” He whispers, continuing his stretching. “You’re doing so well.” He hums, as you grip harder on his cock, feeling it twitch.

In less than a minute, the feeling of pain slowly replaces with pleasure, his thumb continuing to rub on your clit. He pushes his finger in and out of you at a steady pace, pushing all the way to your hilt where his knuckles are stopped and then pulls back out. Your orgasm comes flushing over you quickly, your body convulsing as your hand releases his cock and flies to the bedsheets instead.

Mark continues fingering you as you ride out your orgasm.

When you’re finally able to come down, you slip off your skirt and panties, as Mark follows your actions, freeing himself of his jeans which were restricting his movements. Your button on shirt comes off easily, leaving you only in a bra.

You grab his cock through his boxers now, feeling the tip all the way to its base. You could feel his balls underneath, and you could feel the soaking wet material where the end had been earlier, and where it was now. It was pressing against the material of the boxers, pushing them out like a tent, and where the end of his cock touched the fabric there was a huge droplet of wet pre-cum that only seemed to be getting larger. You put your thumb in the liquid and move it around bringing a low moan from Mark.

"God that feels so nice," he whines out.

You were friends since primary school, and even though you had never imagined this ever happening, being here, now, felt so right. Mark sits next to you as you play with the end of his dick through the boxers, stroking your thighs softly. Again he moves upwards and quickly finds his way between your pussy. He pushes two fingers inside you, and this time you arch your back as you cry out, still sensitive from before.

You trace your hand upwards along the material of his boxers to the elastic at the top. You lightly glide along the top of the elastic, caressing the bare skin, and giving Mark goose bumps. You smile at him mischievously. Your hand dives down inside the elastic and finds his dick. With your other hand you pull the elastic down and his cock finally pops free, a sudden coolness hitting it.

Mark holds his breath as he watches your fingers reach the bell end and rub over his sensitive spot. He lets out a cry and his head falls back at your brief touch leaving a pit full of anticipation eating inside his stomach.

His fingers inside you slow down as you continue stroking his naked cock, enjoying the feel of control you now had. Playfully, you move your hand back down over the same area, trying to figure out the exact spot you’d touched. He cries out again as you travel past it. You grin at him, sliding back over it.

"Does that feel good?" you ask.

Mark could only nod and grin before your hand touches his spot again and he cries out, no longer in control of his voice. You tease his spot over and over again, until he was bucking with pleasure and moaning constantly.

Mark, feeling like he’s about to burst, quickly brings your hands up to his chest, stopping you from teasing him anymore. “I’ll cum if you keep going.” He tells you bringing his face to you so his eyes bore into you.

You giggle back at him, feeling pleased at your actions.

He gives you a grin, before linking his arms around your legs, pulling them over his shoulders. You let out a shriek as he pulls your body towards him and immediately, your shriek turns to mewls as he lowers his face to your pussy. He kisses it, then pushes his tongue between your lips. You start writhing on the bed and moaning at the touch. He licks around inside your lips, licking your clit, and licking the soft pink parts of your pussy. He teases your hole a little but doesn't push his tongue inside just yet, preferring to massage the whole area.

He moves his head upwards and kisses your stomach. He works his way up, his hands on the sides of your waist now as he kisses in a line, reaching your bra. He kisses the inside of your cleavage and all over the exposed parts of your breasts. His hands snake around to the back and you arch up, letting him unclip the material and remove it. He sits up to help you remove it from your arms and then pushes your body back against the bed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and his lips find your nipples, flicking them with his tongue and sucking them into his mouth.

You tug on Mark’s remaining T-shirt, pulling it quickly over his head, forcing him to release you. Your eyes finally trail down along his now fully naked body, before flickering back up to meet his gaze. A moment passes as you look at each other.

"You’re on the pill right?" He asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah.”

Your body was stiff with nerves but you felt so excited. With one arm above your head and the other resting on Mark’s knee. Mark shifts you slightly across the bed so you’re in the middle of the mattress, your legs apart. He kneels between your knees and looks down at you, his dick standing to attention, ready for action.

"What do you want me to do now?" he asks with a smirk.

"Fuck me," you plead, "I want you to put your dick inside me, right now."

He leans forwards over you, holding his weight with his left arm. He gradually edges closer to you, until the end of his dick just touches your pussy. He teases the end up and down between your pussy lips, as he had with his fingers. You shudder and let out another moan.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

"Yeah," you smile back.

Mark pushes the end of his dick against your pussy, sliding into place right over the entrance. Your fluids run together, soaking your pussy lips as he rubs you directly with the end of his uncovered dick. He pushes gently, and is met with gentle resistance. You hold your breath as he pushes a little harder. There was some give, but still resistance. Mark stops for a minute, with his dick in place, and leans in to kiss you. He really didn't want to hurt you. You kissed for a minute like old lovers, then pull apart again.

"Do it," you tell him.

Mark gulps. He pushes a little harder, then a little harder, then a little harder still. Suddenly he feels the resistance give way with a rip. You scream at the top of your voice as your pussy opens up, for the first time ever, to allow his dick inside you.

"Are you okay?" Mark asks, concerned. Your face was red and you were panting heavily. You couldn't smile, there was too much going on for that.

"I'm fine," you tell him, nodding your head.

Mark takes it little by little. He withdraws slowly and pushes back in, no further than before, playing with the penetration that he'd achieved. You continue to breathe deeply, recovering from the torn skin inside as your redness slowly fades from your face. You look at him seriously as he matches your gaze, no words exchanged. Mark withdraws once more and you brace yourself.

Mark pushes in again hard, forcing entry, and opening your pussy wider and deeper than before. You arch your back and scream again. It was unsettling, feeling that he was tearing you open and making you scream, but it certainly proved you were a virgin. You looked at him lustfully, and he leans over and kisses you passionately, with his dick still not fully inside you.

You continue kissing Mark while he plays with the length he'd opened up, pulling in and out slowly so you could feel every movement. You were melting into his kiss now. The pain had passed, and he was giving you pure pleasure.

You held each other tight, your mouths melting together, moaning with lust, as Mark continues slowly fucking you. Every few strokes he'd add a little force and push a little deeper, opening you up a little further. Each time you would shudder in his arms and gasp into his mouth, then melt into his lips again. Eventually the resistance stops, and he seems to break through into an opening inside you. He slides an inch further with ease, until he’s about halfway inside. He stops trying to go further, and just fucks you slowly with half his length.

"God, it feels so good," he moans out. You smile back, and nod as best you can.

Mark brings your legs back onto his shoulders, giving himself a better angle to fuck you with. He starts fucking you faster, getting some momentum from the new position. You were shuddering at the speed and intensity of his fucking, but you couldn't stop moaning with pleasure.

Without warning, Mark takes a big plunge into you and puts more force behind it. Your pussy stretches once more and you scream. Mark tries to keep the rhythm up and pushes hard on the next stroke too while you scream again. Your hands grip onto the bedsheets in a bundle. He fucks you harder and harder on every stroke, trying to ram his dick all the way inside you.

Each time, your pussy opens deeper for him, and each time you scream at the top of your voice. The only thing on his mind now was to fill you with his cock, to let you feel the whole thing inside, to give you a proper fucking. Soon Mark was pulling his dick out slowly, letting you breathe.

“It’s almost in babe.” He whispers, wiping away the drops of sweat forming on your forehead. “Are you okay?”

“I t-think I’m losing my voice.” You stammer out, laughing at yourself.

Mark leans forward a little, planting a little kiss on the inside of your thighs before ramming his cock back inside of you, as hard as he can, forcing his way through the last untouched parts of your virgin pussy. Soon he was fully inside you, and grinding against your pussy on each stroke.

You screamed and screamed, completely driven by lust while your face was getting redder and your breathing faster. Again and again he pounded your pussy. With a final long scream, you stopped. Your face was bright red, you were panting and you looked like you were trying to say something. Mark paused his movements, looking at you curiously while you tried to breathe again.

"I think I just came." You tell him sheepishly. Mark laughs at you, pulling himself out with the feeling of satisfaction in leaving a good memory for your first time. He’s about to lift your legs off his shoulders when you stop him, “What are you doing?”

“I think your body should rest a bit.”

“What about you?”

“I can just jerk off,” he shrugs, completely unbothered.

“C-cant you just finish in me?” You ask, embarrassed at the question. Mark is surprised at your question, clearly thinking that continuing anymore would be exhausting on your body. However, after the screaming and your moans, he was more turned on than ever and already very close.

He lowers your legs so your more comfortable now and props himself up with his arms, his body hovering over yours. He slides back in slowly, his lips connecting to yours. He chooses a rhythm that makes him cum quickly, going in at a relaxing paced with forced thrusts. It wasn't long before he could feel his orgasm approaching, your tight insides brushing against his sensitive spot on his cock.

Mark fucks you as slowly as he possibly can, savouring every last moment of the sex, holding you close and kissing your neck, telling you how much he loved you, running his hand through your hair. Eventually, he starts shaking uncontrollably as he slows down even more to drag it out.

"Cum for me," you mumble, clenching his dick with your pussy as you pull him down and kiss him.

He pushes his dick inside you as far as it can go and you arch your back and cry out again. He pulls his dick nearly the whole way out, then he feels you squeeze the end with your pussy and it pushes him over the edge.

"I love you," he whispers, studying your face and gazing deeply into your eyes.

With one final decisive stroke, he shoves his dick all the way into your soaking wet pussy and comes violently inside you, splattering his semen right through your unprotected cervix and into your womb.

He squirts and thrusts into you, over and over again, holding your body tightly to his as he shudders and spurts his orgasm inside you while you scream with delight.

As the last remnants of his orgasm dies out, you both collapse in a hot sweaty hug, still joined by penetration, and completely spent for the day.

There was nothing left to say. You just looked into each other's eyes, until the vibration of your phone finally rang, indicating it was time to sort your relationship out. ____

A/N: This just kept going and going until rip :/ I exceeded my expected word count of like 2k. (Feedback always welcome)

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jangofctts · 4 years

Text

Madness (Poe Dameron x Reader)

Rated: Explicit

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Smut, handjobs, language, sex, creampies, Poe Dameron is a warning in its self, slight description of blood/injury

A/N: sorry that this is a day late y’all. I'm v sick and high on nyquill yehaww brothers

This is not your fault.

Oh, Stars, but it is.

You bury your fingers, blackened with motor oil, into your hair and fold into yourself. You wish you could disappear. Wouldn't that be a fucking miracle and a half? You spare another glance at the destroyed droid and with a despaired wail, you bury your face into your knees again.

What the fuck were you thinking?

See, it started out fine, like most things do. But of course, like always, it turned out to be a real garbage fire. No, not even that. It was worse than a garbage fire. All you wanted to do was help out, and with the slowly dwindling amount of pilots available, you are pushed to the side. No pilots, no mechanics.

Droid maintenance is not your forte, but Kaydel Ko had specifically asked for your help and of course being the blubbering mess you are, you couldn't say no. All it took was a sweet, helpless smile and then boom! Here you are, stuck with a First Order droid with a processing chip all but fucking obliterated.

You thought it'd be easy to rewire the little BB unit, but the spunky little thing had its very own arsenal of weapons. Your legs and hands are a mess of electrical burns and tiny slashes that sting much worse than a papercut and steadily ooze blood. It would absolutely not stay still, so you resorted to a makeshift prison made out of duct tape and bungee chords until you could sort of pry into the droid's mainframe. You toyed with one wire at most and the droid spun its little head around, knocked the tweezers clean out of your hand, tore three more wires and with a disheartening woop; exploded in your face.

You aren't really thinking straight the moment you decide that hiding the blasted thing would be a grand idea. So, with your face covered in black soot and your hands bordering being numb, you scoop the destroyed droid up and sprint out of the base. You do have some luck, you figure. You run into nobody in the hallways leading outside; no one to see your absolute disaster that you plan on chucking into the dense forest.

You beeline towards the X-Wings and just as you think that you'd finally, finally be done with this whole mess, your worst nightmare appears.

Poe Dameron in all his neon orange jumpsuited glory steps out behind the body of his X-Wing. Right in your path of destruction. It's inevitable, really. The first syllable of watch out is barely out of your mouth before he even comprehends you're there and then you're crashing into him, faster than fucking lightspeed.

The resounding 'oof' as you barrel into him will no doubt haunt your dreams, and you have just enough time to watch as the droid bounces on the ground, spraying sparks everywhere, then disappear into the underbrush, before Poe collapses on you. At least one of your problems is solved.

"What the hell?"

You would ask the same thing, but the entirety of Poe's weight focused on your back is doing a splendid job of crushing your lungs. Your hand shoots back and slaps at whatever it can. "P-poe! Can't breath!"

"Aw, shit. Sorry, kid."

You heave in precious air once he unravels himself out of the pickle you've put yourself in and before you know it, he hooks an arm underneath your armpit and hauls you up. He takes one good look at you, up and down, and has to bite his lip to keep his smile away. Not like it does much good.

"You—uh—ok, kid?" He coughs, trying real hard.

You throw your hands up. "Oh! Go ahead and laugh! That's all I'm good for anyway!"

What little pride you have left rapidly dwindles but as his shoulders shake in uncontrollable laughter that morphs into one of those laughs where you can't breathe, you can't help but smile yourself. Poe's glee is contagious (even if you are the butt of it) and you're glad you can give him some comedic relief. The days are getting darker, more friends are dying, and it's harder to put on a smile, even for Poe. It's a rare and special moment to provide some momentary happiness.

Eventually his chuckles taper off. He's folded over, clutching his stomach as tears shine at the corners of his eyes. "You—you!"

Another fit of giggles consume him after taking another peek at your face. "Wha—what ha-happened?"

You huff and cross you arms over your chest. Try as you might to appear irked, a lopsided grin still lines your face. "That is none of your business."

Poe wipes at his eyes and stands, his chest still heaving. "You're the one who tackled me. The least you could do is tell me."

"I did not tackle you," you scoff. "You were in the way!"

He's still smiling as he shakes his head. "Yeah, whatever. Kaydel Ko asked you to rewire that FO droid, right?"

You grimace. "No."

He raises a brow and ruffles your unruly hair. "Sure, kid."

Poe takes a glance at where the droid launched into the trees and points. "C'mon, I think it went over there."

To your horror he seizes your upper arm and drags you forward. Oh. nonononono. You dig your heels in but Poe is persistent and you're quickly coming to terms with your impeding doom and ridicule, so you let him take you.

It's easy to find. The droid is still smoking and sparking, looking oh so sad nestled between a tree and a large fern. Poe starts laughing again.

"The hell d'you do to the poor thing? Run it over with a pod-racer?"

"Something like that," you mumble.

Poe scoops it up and the damage looks even more devastating when he's holding it. You chew your lip and sigh as he hands it back. "Thanks, I guess."

With an amused 'mhm' he once again places a hand on your shoulder and wheels you out of the forest. You don't mean to tense up (a force of habit really) as his thumb whispers over your shoulder blade, but the damage is done and his hand drops. You want to wack yourself with a stick.

You pause by his X-Wing. "Hey, I'm sorry for, y'know tackling you. Also, th-thank you..."

He flashes you a smile and shrugs. "No biggie, Sparky."

You scowl. "Don't call me that."

That pulls out another laugh and then he's staring at you. Those big brown eyes, so warm and deep like the richness of the soil, capture yours as if they have their own gravitational pull. All grasp on words slip your mind and you're left to wrestle with your tongue into saying something. Why is he looking at you like that?

"I can help."

You blink. "What?"

"With the droid, I mean," he offers. You swear you can see the skin underneath his collar flush red. Poe Dameron blushing. Hm.

You have absolutely no clue why you agree, but his bright smile is enough to launch your heart against your ribcage.

"Great. I'll let Kaydel know we'll have it done by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" You squeak. Fat chance.

Before you can argue, he ruffles your hair again and shoots off. "Meet you at 1900 in maintenance!"

You glance down at the droid. The hole in its head sparks. "Oh, Stars."

=-=-=-=

You're pacing by the time 1850 rolls around, your stomach a mess of knots and twists. You don't want Poe Dameron to help you. In fact, you don't want him here at all!

You're clean at least. The black soot covering your face was a bitch to scrub off and there's still some of it hiding in the lines of your skin, but it's the best you can do. Not that you care. Well, you shouldn't care what Poe thinks. You know each other—scratch that. You know him from the years spent in the Resistance, because, well, he's Poe Dameron. As for yourself, you're 99.9 percent positive the only reason he happens to know your name is because there's only fifteen of you still alive following the aftermath of Crait. Kinda hard not to know your fellow survivors.

You never minded it. You're used to being alone, pushed to the side where you could blend in like a shadow. Really, it's the only reason why you managed to escape the First Order. No one paid you half a mind when you slipped inside that ship and piloted away. Well...you were shot at shortly after, but that's not important.

You're not paying attention--lost inside your head again when the blast doors swoosh open. You don't even fucking see him until you collide head on for the second time today. With a strangled yelp, you both stumble and trip over a flailing limb here and a hidden wire there. The whole debacle ends up with you smacking the back of your head devastatingly hard on the duracrete floor and with Poe's entire weight once again crushing down on your chest cavity.

"Holy shit, Sparky," he groans. His head is nestled in the crook of your neck and if you weren't seeing stars spinning in your fucking orbit, you'd have the decency to be embarrassed. "You trying to kill me?"

"Un-Unsuc-successfully," you wheeze. "How-how m'I doing?"

He pulls away just a fraction, hovering so close that you feel his nose brush against yours. "A for effort. Though, I don't think you're really cut out to be an assassin. Might wanna reconsider that career path."

"Agreed."

Fuck. Your head is pounding. You don't even get to enjoy the way Poe feels pressed against you, or how good he smells. Maker, he smells good, something warm and woodsy, but fuck, you are in so much pain. Are you bleeding? You're pretty sure you're bleeding.

"Did you hit your head?" He asks, his plush lips twitching into a frown. He still hasn't moved from the current position of lying between your legs and it makes everything worse.

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine," he huffs. "I heard your head smack the ground, Sparky. Lemme see it."

Poe peels himself off of you and tugs you into a sitting position. You reel and squeeze your eyes shut as nausea punches through your gut and the edges of your vision go a bit fuzzy. Damn, you really did not plan on getting a concussion today, nor have Poe Dameron be the one to patch you up.

He sits behind you and as his calloused fingers sweep across the back of your neck, you tense up. Poe hesitates then, his fingertips ghost above the skin, barely there and you try to relax. Years spent in an organization where corporal punishment is encouraged will surely make one hesitant of touch and try as you might, it's a hard habit to curve.

"I'm just checking to see if you're bleeding," Poe says softly noting your tension. "Is that ok?"

You nod and wave his concerns away. "Yeah, s'fine."

He cradles the back of your neck in one calloused palm while the other gently cards through your hair. He sucks in an audible wince and icy panic floods your veins. He must sense your apprehension because his thumb unconsciously begins to rub tiny circles onto your skin.

"Don't freak out... But you have a teeny, tiny cut," he tells you. "Microscopic, really."

You're gonna die. Maker, you're gonna die because of that stupid fucking droid. You're going to smash that fucker into smithereens even if it's the last thing you do. You try and move, eyes locked on the piece of junk across the room, but Poe is hurriedly pushing you back down.

"Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa!" His hands are like metal clamps on your shoulders and you grunt in irritation. "Just sit. I'll go get a medkit. Nothing a little bacta won't fix."

He's right. You're overreacting, but that droid's beady little eye seems to sparkle with smug satisfaction at your demise. You glare and swear revenge.

Behind you, Poe runs to the wall where the kit hangs and hurries back with the spray on bacta canister. You barely feel it coat the back of your skull and then he's done. "See, I told you. It's already healing."

"Wow, thank the Maker that the joke of the Resistance is saved," you sigh. You reach up to touch the dully throbbing area but Poe smacks your hand away. "Ow!"

"Don't touch it." He chides.

You roll your eyes and turn your head to face him and jut a thumb over your shoulder, "How long do I have to wait until we get to fixing that piece of shit over there."

Poe blinks, glances at the droid then back to you. "I dunno, half an hour?"

"Half—Poe! Are you serious?" You hiss. "We're going to be here all night!"

The pilot has the audacity to shrug. You want to throttle him. "It's not like we have anywhere to be."

You open your mouth to protest, but once again he's right. You scowl and glare at the frayed laces of your boot. This is officially, the worst day you've ever had.

A prolonged silence, a bit awkward and filled with your obvious irritation, blankets the room. Poe has enough sense not to prod at your buttons and settles down to your right. Your head is starting to feel much better at least.

It continues like this. Neither of you speak for the better part of ten minutes and then, quietly, almost to too quiet, he says;

"You're not a joke, y'know."

Your brows furrow together and you pause. You look up and he's got that warm, familiar look again and it only brings a dull ache that eats away inside your chest. Part of you wants to agree, but that dark and nasty other part that lurks deep in your chest lashes it's claws out at the thought. He doesn't know you—doesn't know the pain you've been through. You don't want his pity.

You look away. "I...I don't think you know who I am, Poe."

Your teeth bite the inside of your cheek as you pick at the skin along your fingernails. You can feel his eyes crawl over your face and you do everything in your power not to catch his eye because tears are starting to prick at your eyes. Maker, why are you crying? This situation, in its entirety, is beyond stupid.

He says your name, your full name and the air in your lungs seizes. "I know you. You were a Lieutenant in the First Order before you came to us. I remember the day you arrived too."

You spare him a glance and he smiles.

"I remember 'cause that janky Xi-class you were piloting was blasted to hell and you somehow managed to park it without killing anyone. And then—this is my favorite part—you walk out, still in your uniform and you go 'I do hope I don't have to pay for parking'. And then you collapse face first onto the ground." Poe's chuckling as a blush flushes up to your ears. You recall. Vividly.

You snort and rub at your chin. "It wasn't all that amazing."

"Sparky, you stole a First Order ship and flew to a Rebel base. That's pretty ballsy."

You shrug.

"I also remember that time you tricked out Jess's rig with those mods. Me and Snap were jealous for weeks. And that time you spilled caf all over Leia's datapac. Remember that?" Poe says. His hand inches closer your knee. "And when you gave her that replacement one, all those ads about male enhancement pills and 'hot Twi'leks near YOU' kept popping up?"

"Arhg!" You cry, burying your face into your hands. You're pretty sure at this point you could fry an egg on your face from how hot your skin feels. "That was so fucking embarrassing. I-I can't—why would—ahg!"

"Kid, that was the funniest thing I've ever seen."

"That still makes me the butt of every joke! And I still can't even fix a droid properly!" You wail. "Or how about that time I dropped a crate of explosives? I might as well throw myself in a trash compactor."

Before you can even fucking blink, Poe's hands snatch up yours and hold them so firmly you have no choice but to look at him. "Sparky, listen to me."

You quite like the color of his eyes you come to find. A honeyed caramel, so rich that it'd take years to explore the countless layers. There's no malice, no hidden motives you can detect. Just pure, unrefined kindness and hope and—Stars, he's gorgeous.

His thumbs run across the slopes of your knuckles and it's electrifying. "You are one of the only people keeping the Resistance together."

"Bu-"

"Shut up. I'm not done."

You mouth zips shut

"You focus so much on the bad that you don't realize how much you contribute," he says with a gentle smile. "You maybe aren't the best with droids, but people? Sparky, so many of us look to you for hope. I know it's cheesy, but you really do brighten a room with your smile."

A tear trails down the curve of your cheek and he's quick to cradle your jaw and swipe it away with the pad of his thumb. "I don't know what we would—what I would do without you."

"Poe," his name comes out shaky and soft and you know he can feel your blush under his palm, "I—I...thank you."

His eyes flicker down to your parted mouth and then he brushes his thumb across the seam of your bottom lip. He leans in close enough that you can feel his lips just graze yours, warm breath fanning over your chin, and your eyes flutter shut.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispers against your lips. Fuck, he is so infuriatingly perfect, isn't he?

"Yes." Maker, yes, yes, yes. That shouldn't even be a question.

The first kiss is fleeting. An innocent peck that flings open the gaping maw of your desire. Your hand shoots up, tangles in the thick curls atop his head and you drag him closer. He groans into your mouth, grabs at your neck and tilts your head, deepening the kiss. His tongue, hot and wet sweeps over your bottom lip and you readily open your mouth and let your tongue glide over his.

He's playful; breaking away to catch your bottom lip between his teeth, then releasing to hook the tip of his tongue into your top lip then swoop in for a lingering kiss. It's impossible to keep up—he dances to his own tune while you stumble along. There's no lack of enthusiasm on your part however and he isn't bothered in the slightest by the occasional bump of your nose or when the hard enamel of your teeth click together. Your whole juxtaposition changes, and you suddenly want to thank that dumb droid. You'd break a thousand of them if it meant you could continue forever on like this.

Poe eventually leans away, the hand tangled in your hair firm so that you're still only a hairsbreadth apart, carefully lowering himself down until you hover above him. His warm hand that leaves a burning trail down your waist, hooks around your thigh and helps tug your leg over his hips. You pull back to suck in air that's suddenly so difficult to inhale and Stars—he's a sight to see. Those lovely black curls are wild and untamed, his plush lips swollen and pouty because you won't give him another taste of your mouth. His chest heaves and your breath stutters as he plants his hands on the swell of your hips, thumb pressing lightly against the outcrop of bone there.

"Maker, you're gorgeous..." You murmur. You lean down and nestle your head in the crook of his neck, lips seeking out the soft skin above his collar. You trail your lips across the curve of his throat and as your teeth catch his earlobe then lick at the small divot behind his ear, a soft groan leaves his mouth.

"Are-aren't I the one—fuck," his hips twitch as you mouth beneath his stubbled jaw, "s'posed to say that?"

You grin and pull him into an opened mouth kiss. His tongue pulls yours into the wet heat of his mouth and sucks lightly. With a whine, your hips stutter forward as fiery heat trickles into your belly. You can feel the growing bulge in his pants, pressing against your inner thigh and shit—you need him.

Your hips rock forward on their own volition and Poe is quickly there to support as his hands grip you tighter and drag you down harder. He props his knees up and with a sharp moan and digs his clothed cock into the apex of your thighs. The fabric of your pants catches on your clit and it's good. Dry fucking Poe Dameron is a wish come fucking true, but it's not enough.

Poe's smirking as his fingers toy with the buckle of his belt. "You wanna take a ride, Sparky?"

You punch him in the arm.

"Ow!" he pouts. "What was that for?"

"Don't say that shit to me ever again."

His warm chuckle echoes through the room and sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. "What if I ask if you wanna ride my cock reeeal nice and slow? Feel how hot and tight your cunt is when you sink down onto me. You wan't me to say that?"

Paired with his voice, his strong hands grab your ass and roll his hips up into you and you're done for. You melt into his chest, whining out your affirmations and you don't care how he's already got you wrapped so tightly around his fucking finger.

"Take these off." He purrs, skimming his fingertips over the waistband of your trousers.

Somehow you manage to escape your boots and shuck your pants off through the haze of your arousal. When you return, he's got his pants halfway over his knees, pristine white shirt haphazardly torn open revealing the beautiful expanse of tan skin peppered with dark hair. You straddle his thighs, eyeing the tent in his boxers that leaves little to the imagination and the heat in the pit of your stomach swells.

Poe shoots you a coy grin and sweeps a hand down. He grips his cock, still hidden beneath the confines of his boxers, and gives it a teasing stroke. "You want me?"

"Poe," You whine. Stars, he's making this difficult.

He's smug as he slowly, to the point of teasing, tugs down his boxers with his other hand and eases out his cock. It's gorgeous like the rest of him, deliciously thick and curving towards his navel. Precum shines at the head that's flushed a deep maroon, darker than the rest of his sunkissed skin. You're mesmerized with the way he strokes himself; lazy and gentle, focusing on the head then dipping down to squeeze at the base.

His cock bounces as he lets go and snatches your hand that's lying limp over his hip. He guides it over the searing flesh and it feels like velvet covering reinforced durasteel. He swears as your thumb rubs over the head of his cock, wiping away the bead of liquid that pools there. You circle your fingers around his length and stroke down to cup his balls and he juts his hips into your hand.

Fuck. You want to suck him off. Feel him shake and twitch under your tongue and cum down your throat. Yet, as his fingers trail up your inner thigh and pass through the slick folds of your cunt, you are vividly reminded where else you want him.

"Shit," he breaths, circling your clit with the tip of his forefinger. "You're dripping."

Poe probes further, curling his fingers into your cunt, juuust pushing into your entrance until his fingers are shiny and slick with your arousal. He pulls back and you groan at the loss.

He sucks his fingers into his mouth and moans. Fuck, why is that so hot? It shouldn't be. "Can I eat you out, Sparky?"

He's digging his fingers into the flesh of your ass, tempting you closer and Maker it sounds good, but—"Later. Fuck me instead."

Poe's lips curl into a wicked smile. "Are you sure?"

His fingers return to your the soaking flesh between your legs and thumb at your swollen clit. You shudder, quickly catching his wrist. "Please."

"Fine," he grumbles. "Later."

Finally, you think as you hold his cock loosely and grind your slick folds against it. He makes a punched out sound when you raise your hips and move the blunt tip to your entrance. You slowly let him sink in, a long stuttered groan falling past his lips at the feel of your hot, tight walls stretching around his cock. Your own breath catches in your chest and you dig your nails into chest, leaving behind tiny crescent shaped dents.

—oh—shit—holy fucking shit.

His cock is catching every ridge and curve until the back of your thighs are seated on his. His eyes are squeezed shut and little gasps, as if he were in pain, are tumbling out every time you twitch around him. He's thick—deliciously so, and when you raise your hips and slide back down, his cock drags against your walls and presses in deep. You grind your hips down, catching your clit on his pubic bone and wildfire spreads throughout your whole frame.

"Ah, fuck," he moans. He gives your hips a squeeze and pulls you against him harder, guiding you into a slow, steady pace. "You fe-feel good. Knew-knew you would."

At this point you're hardly doing any work despite being on top; he has his knees propped up behind you and thrusts up into you then drags you back down by your hips. You're loosing your fucking mind like this. One of his hands drifts down and reaches for your clit, his middle finger stroking against the slick bundle of nerves and the fire in your belly quickly spreads down all the way to your toes. You're shaking, panting sharply, and Poe continues to toy with your clit paired with the even rolling of his hips.

"You gonna cum on my cock, Sparky?" Poe huffs out, grabbing a handful of your asscheek. "Yeah, just...just like that. Cum for me."

Your back arches and everything seizes up tighter than a fucking clamp, and with another pass along your aching clit, you burst hot and wet around his cock. With a hoarse cry, your core clenches and spasms through each one of his thrusts, stretching out your pleasure.

In one smooth, fluid move, Poe sits up and pushes you forward until your back hits the ground and he's towering over you. His hand is buried in your hair, cradling the sensitive area but you're still riding your high to notice the pain. With his free hand he hooks the back of your knee and folds it over his shoulder. Stars, you didn't even know your leg went up this far and when he roughly thrusts into you, the air in your lungs is sucked out and replaced with a strangled wheeze.

"You like that?"

You claw at his bicep as he kneels up and pounds down into you, hitting that heavenly spot within you. Your eyes roll back and Poe curls over you to nuzzle into your damp skin, teeth digging into the exposed skin above the collar of your shirt you never bothered taking off. His thrusts are slowly reaching the pace you need him to go and you bury your fingers in his hair and pull. His moan vibrates over your skin.

"Harder." You order. "P-Poe. I-I n-need—"

Poe digs his teeth in between the junction of your shoulder, slips his cock nearly all the way out of your cunt, then slams it back in deep. It's fast and brutal, and you can hear your flesh slap together, hear the obscene squelching noice your cunt makes from how wet you are. Your face burns in embarrassment, but he's hitting something so devastatingly wonderful that you don't really give a shit.

He's grunting in your ear, whispering praise—how wet you are and how perfect you whine and beg for him. He's plowing into you and you're close. So close to the edge again.

"Fuck," he growls, "m'gonna cum. Where—where do—"

"Anywhere," you gasp, arching into him. "In-in me. Cum inside."

Poe's hips stutter. The fist in your hair tightens and he rocks his hips into three—maybe four times before the muscles in your back stiffen and everything blurs and goes out of focus. White hot pleasure rips you apart, floods each cell with razor sharp heat as your body convulses in ecstasy.

He's hissing out swears between his clenched teeth, as his hips jolt and grinds himself balls deep inside you. Poe captures your lips and feel him pulse and throb, chest heaving, as his load, thick and hot, spurts into you and coats your walls.

Poe keeps you pinned there as his hips shallowly rock into you, savoring the last dregs of his orgasm as you catch your breath. He stills and you two lay there, filling the room with your gentle pants. Your knee slips off his shoulder and he moves to plant a lazy kiss on the corner of your mouth and pulls out. His cum trickles out after and drips down your slit but you're too spent to care right now.

He lifts his head that's resting on your sternum. "How's your head, Sparky?"

"Wha—oh." Truth is you hardly feel it now. The bacta truly does work wonders. "S'fine. Never better."

He shoots you a dashing smile, the gap in his teeth and his boyish air makes your head spin. "Wanna take me out for another spin, then?"

"Poe!"

And the droid never did get fixed...Oh well...

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #star wars #the rise of skywalker #fanfic #itsspacecowboys #this is disgusTANG beware #probably doesn't make sense cuz I'm sick af but eh #smut

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 3 years

Text

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[3zun fixit Extra #3 - I’ve been promising the smut I skipped over in part 6 since I wrote the main chapter and I’m finally delivering on (half of) my promise! If Nielan is your jam oh boy is this the extra for you, Meng Yao is only mentioned very briefly. Nothing but NSFW (with feelings) under the cut - Nie Mingjue’s POV]

[Masterpost for the entire AU]

“I love you.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart somehow manages to melt and break at the same time as Lan Xichen looks up at him with so much raw emotion in his eyes that he just has to lean in to kiss him with every ounce of simmering passion he can muster.

“My A-Huan,” he murmurs after long minutes of nothing but the quiet sounds of their mouths coming together and separating again, the brushing of cloth against cloth as they rub their hips together in a steady rhythm. He ducks his head to press slow, wet kisses down the column of his neck and Lan Xichen responds beautifully, all elegant long lines and delicately curved fingers where they slide into his hair as he arches his back underneath him.

“This is hardly fair, you know,” Lan Xichen teases, but he’s breathless and audibly smiling so Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother to stop where he’s nibbling at a spot on the other man’s neck that always makes him shiver into a relaxed puddle if he keeps at it long enough.

“Hm?” he hums to at least show he’s listening as he works.

“You already know exactly what I like. I’ll bet you can take me apart without a second thought, how can I do the same for you?”

Nie Mingjue sighs, the sound ending with a muffled groan, as he rolls his hips down against Lan Xichen’s a bit harder.

“You’re always at an advantage anyway,” he finally pulls off his neck long enough to say and despite how many times he’s seen Lan Xichen look at him with the lethal combination of that gentle smile and raised eyebrow, it still steals his breath every time.

“Am I? Interesting. Hm. Explain for this curious one, gege?” Nie Mingjue can’t help but laugh with a helpless shake of his head before he leans in to press their foreheads together, the silver plate in the center of Lan Xichen’s forehead ribbon pressing ever so slightly against his skin.

“Because you say things like that and you mean it,” Nie Mingjue laughs and Xichen presses his smile into his lips until Nie Mingjue is melting down into him for a handful of syrupy slow moments. “It’s because I’m always weak for you, A-Huan. Because you could do anything at all and I’ll enjoy it because it’s you.”

“I see. Hm..” Nie Mingjue pulls back to squint at the calculating look on Lan Xichen’s face.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“Mn, just thinking. Making decisions.”

“Oh?” Nie Mingjue is thoroughly unprepared to suddenly find himself on his back with Lan Xichen perched on top of him, legs spread and his hips grinding firmly down against his with his hands planted on the bed on either side of his shoulders. “Oh.”

“So eloquent, gege,” Lan Xichen teases and Nie Mingjue can’t resist reaching up to pinch a lock of his hair between two fingers to tug on it briefly in retaliation. “Do you like this better?” he asks next and Nie Mingjue looks up at him, at the ravenous curiosity in his gaze, and loves him so fiercely his chest feels on fire with it.

“Yes.” The admission is breathless and almost inaudible as he grips Lan Xichen’s hips tightly enough to bruise, thumbs digging right into the crests of his pelvis.

“Hm? I didn’t hear that gege. Tell me what you like.” Nie Mingjue attempts to catch his breath as Lan Xichen watches his eyes glass over, most of his attention centered on the way the man is rocking down against him hard and steady enough to get him off as long as he doesn’t stop.

“This. I like this,” he manages to grind out through clenched teeth and Lan Xichen’s smile is so sweet as he suddenly changes his rhythm to roll his hips in a circle with his ass pressed down hard against his erection and Nie Mingjue can’t help but groan and laugh at the same time at the teasing that’s somehow also anything but.

“I always suspected, you know, when I used to wonder what it would be like to be in bed with you. I would watch you command the attention and respect of a room without a second thought, I would watch you order your disciples around while they trained, and I would fantasize about getting you underneath me to take all that strength and power for myself. I always thought surely you would like that, for me to lay you down and take what I wanted because you would know I’ll always take care of you too, and you could just let go and give it to me.”

“A-Huan…” Nie Mingjue groans. Lan Xichen’s hips stutter to a stop and he can’t help the thoroughly undignified whine that escapes him as he trembles, legs shifting restlessly, while Lan Xichen watches him like he’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs as he raises one hand from the bed to slide it into Nie Mingjue’s hair to cup his hand against the side of his head as he starts moving again. “Can you finish just like this? We haven’t even taken our trousers off.”

For a long moment all Nie Mingjue can manage is a slow rocking up of his hips and an uncoordinated nod as he tries to find his breath though he already knows he’ll have to give it up as a lost cause.

“Show me,” Lan Xichen breathes and Nie Mingjue laughs again, a helpless thing that slides sideways into a groan as their hips meet just right. His eyes fall shut, head tipped back to bare his throat in a silent invitation that Lan Xichen wastes no time in accepting, leaning down to nip and suck and lick at the newly exposed swathe of sweat-shiny skin until Nie Mingjue is wearing a necklace of love bites. And then Lan Xichen is grinding down on him with exactly the right sort of pressure in just the right place, the roll of his hips timed perfectly to meet Nie Mingjue’s own in a crest of pleasure, and he can’t help but come.

There’s an amount of time he can’t be bothered to try to measure where he’s aware of Lan Xichen still rocking against him, of Lan Xichen’s mouth on his jaw, his ear, of the way Lan Xichen’s breathing is too fast and a bit unsteady where it puffs in little warm bursts against his skin.

“A-Huan,” Nie Mingjue starts when he’s feeling slightly more functional, hands once again hard and tight around Lan Xichen’s hips.

“So good, da-ge,” he immediately purrs back and good gods that voice right in his ear is good enough to be lethal. “Stay right here,” he adds and it’s not as if Nie Mingjue could argue with that even if he wanted to so he obeys as Lan Xichen slides away just long enough to locate one of the bottles of oil they keep stashed around the bed. He’s back in a few heartbeats, already breaking the light wax seal around the stopper with the corner of his nail as he slides on top of him again and grinds the firm curve of his ass almost lazily down against Nie Mingjue’s lap.

“I’ve made a miscalculation,” Nie Mingjue mutters as the sound of the bottle being unstoppered makes its way through the post-orgasmic buzz clouding his mind.

“Oh? And what was that?” Lan Xichen’s voice is teasing and Nie Mingjue cracks one eye open again (when did he close his eyes? He can’t remember) to shoot a fake and likely unimpressive glare up at his husband.

“I forgot how insatiable you were when we first started.”

Lan Xichen’s laugh is quiet but genuine, the sound low and intimate enough to be confined to the area directly around their bed as he slicks up his fingers with a bit of curiosity on his features. Nie Mingjue watches him run the viscous substance over three of his graceful fingers, smearing it around with his thumb as he turns his hand this way and that to study the sight of the digits shiny and wet with it in the slanting afternoon light.

“Am I easier to satisfy these days?” he asks with nothing but idle curiosity in his voice to match his expression and Nie Mingjue considers how best to answer that as he watches Lan Xichen set the bottle carefully aside again to be able to reach down to untie his own trousers with his clean hand and slip his slicked hand under the fabric (fabric that does nothing to hide the shape of his erection or those elegant fingers curled into a tight fist around it). “Tell me about our first time, gege.”

Nie Mingjue has to take a moment to breathe and just watch as Lan Xichen begins to stroke himself, the slight rocking of his hips into his fist rubbing his ass against Nie Mingjue’s half-hard cock sticky and slick with ejaculate under his trousers.

“I had been wanting to bed you for what felt like forever,” Nie Mingjue finally manages to breathe. Lan Xichen makes an encouraging noise in the back of his throat as he drags his hand more slowly up from base to tip and Nie Mingjue can just barely see him rubbing his hand around the head before he strokes downwards again. “You came to my rooms after supper to talk and kiss and I..you’re so beautiful, A-Huan, and when you kissed me you did it with your whole body. How was I supposed to resist you draping yourself in my lap to press up against me and kiss me like you were going to devour me?”

“I would never expect you to resist such advances,” he reassures and Nie Mingjue has to laugh, just a quiet chuckle, even as he holds Lan Xichen’s hips still for a moment to keep him steady in place as he rocks up against him.

“It took a while before you were comfortable enough to ask to fuck me, but you were confident enough at least to beg me to get inside you.” Nie Mingjue meets Lan Xichen’s pointed look with a raised eyebrow of his own. “What?”

“I don’t beg,” he sniffs and Nie Mingjue can’t help but bark out a laugh that jostles Lan Xichen in his lap ever so slightly.

“Oh yes you absolutely do, A-Huan. It’s alright, we both do.”

“We just go back and forth begging each other?” he asks and Nie Mingjue lets out another short laugh as he rubs his thumbs in hard circles against Lan Xichen’s hips.

“Are you forgetting our very intense husband who just loves to be in control?”

“Mmm...I see,” he replies and Nie Mingjue gives him a moment of glassy-eyed silence to contemplate on the wonder that is Meng Yao. He deserves it, after all, even if he’s not here to preen under their mutual appreciation like he likes.

“You may want to save some energy for him, by the way. He’ll be sad if he doesn’t get his turn with you.”

“I have plenty of energy for both of you, gege, you certainly don’t need to worry about that,” Lan Xichen teases and just like that his attention is back to the task at hand - specifically the hand on his cock as he returns to stroking himself almost lazily.

“Lans,” NieMingjue scoffs with a shake of his head that Lan Xichen stops easily with a kiss. It deepens quickly, Lan Xichen’s hand still moving between them, knuckles brushing along Nie Mingjue’s abs through the barrier of his trousers, as he pants around the press of his tongue.

“Keep telling me about our first time,” Lan Xichen gasps when they break enough to breathe as his hand stutters, hips grinding forward for a moment before he settles again.

“I went slow,” Nie Mingjue mumbles dutifully around Lan Xichen’s clumsy smears of kisses. “I spent hours opening you with my mouth, my fingers..You were so good for me, so patient, letting me take my time. I didn’t even know that I could be that patient and take so long, but it was worth every second to watch you shake apart in my bed.”

Nie Mingjue forces himself to break away from the half-kisses to fumble for the bottle of oil and slick up his own palm. He wraps his dry hand around the back of Lan Xichen’s thigh to nudge him up enough that he can reach around him and slide his hand inside his own trousers to slick himself up with a low hiss between his teeth for the relief provided by the hot pressure around his cock.

“Keep talking,” Lan Xichen pleads and Nie Mingjue can only grunt at first as he stalls for time by returning to kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, the only thing he could ever imagine doing for the rest of his life. His breaths shake in his chest as he lifts his hips enough to slip his trousers down until he’s comfortably bared, the fabric down around his thighs. The rhythm of his hand matches Lan Xichen’s, their strokes lengthening as things start to grow hazy, and he can’t help but moan when he finally opens his mouth with the intention of doing as Lan Xichen asked.

“Ah...I..Mm..I had my mouth on you and you finally started begging,” he manages after he’s caught his breath and gathered the unspooling threads of his thoughts. “You begged me to fuck you, I’d never heard you talk like that. Almost finished from it, actually. It took me a long time to get used to it enough that you could ask to get fucked and I wouldn’t immediately come in my trousers.”

“Did you do it, when I begged for you?” Nie Mingjue tips his chin enough to break the kiss again and look up at the other when Lan Xichen pulls back to look down at him curiously. He holds his husband’s gaze as he rolls his hips in a well-practiced move, his hand on Lan Xichen’s thigh going hard both to pull his loosened trousers down as well as to hold him in place as he slides his erection inside him in one smooth thrust. He has the pleasure of hearing Lan Xichen moan and watching his expression go completely cracked open and unguarded in the wake of his pleasure as he’s unexpectedly filled. He’s still stretched enough to take him, his body well-accustomed to it whether his mind remembers or not, and so Nie Mingjue doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated inside of him, Lan Xichen already listing forward to sag momentarily against his chest.

“Of course I did,” Nie Mingjue breathes around his own groan. He’s gotten better at controlling himself but he’s just never going to be immune to the pleasure of sinking inside the welcoming heat of Lan Xichen’s pliant body. “Do you think I could hear you begging to feel good and not do everything in my power to make that happen?”

“Da-ge,” Lan Xichen whimpers and Nie Mingjue turns his head to nip at his ear in distraction, offering him a sharp sensation to counter the blunt stretch of his cock.

“Breathe,” he instructs, voice ragged in his lover’s ear, and he feels the shudder in Lan Xichen’s entire body as he obeys. “I’ve got you, you’re alright. I know it’s a lot.”

“It feels so good,” he manages to choke and Nie Mingjue rewards him with a lingering kiss to his temple. “So fucking good.” The swear curls heavy and thick in the hot space between Lan Xichen’s parted lips and his collarbone and Nie Mingjue chuckles weakly, perfectly aware of how much Lan Xichen still savors saying such things when he was taught so staunchly never to debase himself with foul language.

Nie Mingjue privately thought that whoever had come up with that rule had never been pleasured so thoroughly as to know that no other word could perfectly communicate the feeling of it so succinctly, and that was a damn shame.

“So fucking good,” he agrees wholeheartedly with a twitch of his hips that has Lan Xichen crying out and biting him, so he does it again for good measure with the same result. He goes still then to actually let Lan Xichen grow accustomed to the feeling, content to lie there and stroke the exposed skin at the back of his thigh just above where his trousers have slipped down enough to accommodate Nie Mingjue’s cock between his legs, to rub his still-slick fingers around the base of his own cock where it’s pressed flush against Lan Xichen’s entrance, massaging the tight muscles with his fingertips to help him relax.

It’s a few long minutes of nothing but stroking and gasping and biting kisses until he feels Lan Xichen shiver and go looser against him, time and sunlight dripping around them like wildflower honey until Lan Xichen hauls himself up on long, shaking limbs, his hair obsidian ink spilling over one of his shoulders with a glint of pale ribbon tangled in it as he looks down at him with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Hello,” Nie Mingjue teases softly with a smile as Lan Xichen steadies himself with a hand on his sturdy chest, the other hand still shoved down the front of his trousers though it’s still for the moment.

“Hello,” Lan Xichen parrots with a pleased curve on his kiss-bitten lips that says so much more than a soft greeting. It’s a smile that says I know you, that says I adore you with every piece of myself that exists. That says you are not prepared for what I’m about to do to you to show you.

That smile is Nie Mingjue’s only warning before Lan Xichen resettles his weight properly on his knees and lifts his hips in languid roll only to drop down and grind his ass down into the dip of his pelvis so hard the breath punches out of Nie Mingjue’s chest and his back arches right up off the sheets.

“Ah fuck,” he gasps. Lan Xichen’s answering chuckle does fascinating things to the squeeze of his walls around Nie Mingjue’s cock and he can’t help but shift restlessly, his hands gripping Lan Xichen’s thighs hard enough to make his knuckles ache as he shifts his legs uselessly against the mattress. He can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do to get closer to that pleasure since thrusting up will just push Lan Xichen up off of him and all he wants is to be buried under him, to be consumed by him, so he stays stuck in confused limbo until Lan Xichen takes the choice from him with a repeat of the movement.

It doesn’t get any easier to decide what his part should be as Lan Xichen begins to experiment in all his loose-limbed patience, sliding up and lowering himself down agonizingly slowly in one moment and rutting his hips forward in sharp jerks in the next, clearly just trying to find things he likes. Or perhaps searching things that Nie Mingjue likes, though that category is as broad as anything Lan Xichen could devise to do with him. Not very helpful in narrowing down his choices to a guaranteed path to orgasm, but very good while Lan Xichen is seemingly content to use his considerable imagination to fuck himself on Nie Mingjue’s cock in every pattern and rhythm possible in their current position.

Already hazy from his first orgasm and perfectly content to exist solely to pleasure his husband, Nie Mingjue is absolutely floating by the time he feels Lan Xichen prying one of his hands away from the death grip he’s got on his thigh and he allows it when he realizes it’s a request for him to more actively participate. Lan Xichen’s hand immediately wraps around his own to guide it down between his legs and Nie Mingjue opens his eyes only to find Lan Xichen looking absolutely stunning all flushed and sweaty and looking down at him like he hung the moon in the sky as he gets the message and curls his fingers around his erection.

“Ready to come, A-Huan?” he finds the will to ask, his voice little more than a hoarse croak in his parched throat. Lan Xichen nods anyway, the movement uncoordinated (compared to Lan Xichen’s usual grace, anyway; he still looks like a god of course) as his hips stutter in the circles he’s currently grinding them in as Nie Mingjue strokes him.

“Please,” Lan Xichen manages to gasp and Nie Mingjue can do nothing but oblige him, touching him with all the benefit of years of learning his body to bring him expertly to the edge, hold him there for a timeless moment, and then give him just the right twist of his wrist, the perfect flex of his fingers until Lan Xichen is suddenly spilling over his abs and shuddering so hard he falls forward. Nie Mingjue lifts his free hand to curl around Lan Xichen’s tensed bicep when the man catches himself on his chest again and he keeps stroking him and thrusting his hips up to keep fucking into him only once Lan Xichen is too far gone to continue on his own, pleasuring him through his orgasm and his aftershocks until he collapses completely, utterly boneless against him.

There’s nothing but silence broken only by panting breaths and racing hearts that take so long to slow that Nie Mingjue idly tracks the movement of a beam of rich, golden sunlight across a couple of the beams of the ceiling, his husband tucked firmly against his side under his arm as they relax together. He knows Lan Xichen isn’t sleeping because he can feel the brush of his eyelashes against his overheated skin every time he blinks, but the air around them and the sheets underneath them are so warm, and time is so slippery between his sticky fingers, that he feels like he’s caught up in a dream.

Perhaps that’s why it takes him longer than it should to realize that Lan Xichen has shifted one of his hands enough to ghost calloused fingertips up and down the underside of his softened cock. He groans and throws his free arm over his eyes as soon as the realization hits him and he’s treated to Lan Xichen’s affectionate huff of laughter against his chest.

“A-Huan,” he protests without any heat. Lan Xichen doesn’t even pause in his teasing strokes as he hums a quiet, ‘Hm?’ in reply. “Give me time to recover!”

“You can take as long as you’d like to recover, gege,” he murmurs, low and syrupy. “I just want to touch you, and when you’re ready for me again I’ll take you in my mouth. You don’t even have to participate, just lie there and let me take care of you.”

“You’re going to be the ruin of me,” he mutters, voice still muffled in his arm, and Lan Xichen chuckles again as he shifts enough to kick his own trousers off first before pinching the fabric of Nie Mingjue’s trousers between his toes to finish tugging his off as well, leaving them both completely bare, finally.

“Don’t be dramatic, gege. Am I not allowed to make love to my husband? A lifetime of devotion, Mingjue. I have a lifetime of devotion to show to you, I’d best make use of every minute.”

Nie Mingjue finally moves his arm from his eyes to look down at Lan Xichen on his chest, his eyes searching his expression when the other man looks up from watching his own hand to meet his eyes instead.

“We have time,” he murmurs and Lan Xichen’s expression softens. “As many times as you want me, I’ll be right here. Take all the time with me you want, A-Huan. Anything you want.”

“Mm..mark your words,” he teases and Nie Mingjue can only smile into the kiss Lan Xichen gives him as his teasing strokes turn into fingers curling around him to start stroking him to hardness again and he settles in with a sigh to continue being whatever his husband needs him to be.

It’s certainly not a hardship.

#the untamed fanfic #nielan #background 3zun #Nie Mingjue #Lan Xichen #seriously just pure smut (with feelings)#so sorry it took me so long to get this out but I've gotta be in a certain mood to sit down and write 4k+ words of smut lol #also this is completely coincidentally getting posted in time for the Nie Mingjue birthday event which was totally accidental #happy birthday da-ge enjoy so much sex with an insatiable Lan Xichen #btw if anyone's reading the extras in chronological order this actually should be extra 2 #This happens right smack in the middle of part 6 after the scene in the garden #and of course prior to Meng Yao returning to the Hanshi from his afternoon talking to wwx which was Extra 1 #Anyhow - enjoy!

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