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itsdanii · 3 years

Note

Kyahhh your rejecting you and regretting series is just so freaking good . Uhmmm idk if you are taking requests right now but can I please request for Ushijima and Kita?Thank you so much!

Rejecting you and regretting it pt. 4

one | two | three | four

Hey, bub. I'm so glad to hear that you've been enjoying my works. Here's your request for the part 4 and final (as of now) part of the rejecting and regretting you series. Have a good day and stay hydrated! ♥️

genre: angst to fluff

warnings: semi-rude behavior (resolved), no cursing in this one because these men drink their respect women juice daily

ft. ushijima wakatoshi, kita shinsuke

title says it all

Kita Shinsuke

Kita is your childhood friend

The moment the two of you were introduced to each other by your grandmothers, you instantly clicked

Same as through with him, you loved spending your time being productive and following a certain routine so it's no question that as you both grew up, you started gaining romantic feelings towards him

You've been thinking of confessing but never really had the chance because he was always busy with volleyball practice

So when you finally managed to get some alone time, you didn't hesitate to voice out your feelings, not knowing that the answer you're hoping for isn't the answer you're going to get

"You're staring again."

You snapped out of your thoughts when Kita stopped infront of you, his eyebrows furrowing as he studied your face.

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, uh, yes! I'm sorry. I was just thinking," you answered sheepishly while scratching the back of your head.

You mentally cursed yourself for spacing out on him. This is the only chance you're getting and you can't afford to waste it.

"About what?" Shinsuke asked as you both continued your walk on the way home since you only live apart each other. Plus, his grandma had always told him to never let you walk home alone especially at night.

"Huh?"

"You said you were thinking. About what?" Shinsuke gently tugged at the sleeve of your jacket, changing your positions so that he was closer to the road than you are.

You felt yourself blushing at the small gesture and looked at his hand that was still holding your jacket.

You swallowed the lump forming inside your throat and stopped walking, the act stopping Kita as well due to him holding you.

Kita looked at you worriedly and placed both hands on your shoulders, his head dipping slightly to get a closer look at your face. "Are you oka-"

"You," you answered without focusing your gaze to him. "I've been thinking about you."

When you felt him taking his hands off your shoulders, you immediately looked up. "Sorry, did I make you uncomfortable?"

The look he had is something you can't decipher but if you were to analyze it based on what you can see, it's a look you never wanted to see again.

Silence reigned the two of you, eyes staring at each other as if you're both trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

"No," Kita said, breaking the silence. "But it's best if we don't discuss the issue any further."

At that, he faced forward and continued walking as if nothing happened but as you stared at his back, you realized that somehow, he knew what you were trying to imply.

And the sad part is that he chose to ignore it and act unbothered as if he didn't just indirectly broke your heart.

Once you reached your destination, you faced him with an anxious smile and Kita didn't fail to notice this, as well as your habit of shifting from foot to foot whenever you wanted to say something.

"I like you, Shin," you blurted out nervously, your heart beating erratically and your palms becoming sweaty. "I don't know when it started but suddenly, I just woke up and realized that what I'm feeling towards you is no longer within the range of friendship. It's something more and I just wanted to let you know."

"I am well aware of that but I'm sorry, y/n. I can't return your feelings."

You bit your lower lip to hold in your tears and as much as you wanted to shout at him to accept your confession, you can't just force someone to love you back because it doesn’t work that way.

"Geez, can't you even say it gently?" you said with a forced chuckle. "Don't worry, I won't hold any grudges."

You let out a sigh before looking up at him and Kita was surprised to see that there are no traces of anger. He expected you to lash out but it seemed like he was wrong.

"I'll see you tomorrow then. Don't overwork yourself, okay?" With that, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss on his cheek before turning around to cross the road.

Kita could only stare at you as he watched you enter your household, your figure vanishing from his sight as the door finally closed.

Kita is a practical man.

He knows how to separate what is right from what is wrong.

Because of this, people often see him as someone who's perfect, sometimes even being compared to a robot due to his nature. But Kita is far from perfect, and he knew that.

Because as he laid in his bed that night, he realized that he just made a big, wrong decision, and he had nobody but himself to blame.

Kita didn't know if he should be happy or not. Actually, he should be happy. After all, he just rejected you and still, here you are, walking beside him as you made your way to school.

He kept glancing at you, observing wether you were pretending or not but he knew that it isn't in your nature to be a pretentious person. You've always worn your emotions on your sleeve which made it too easy for people to read you.

"Ah, Shin. You don't have to walk me home later," you said with a sheepish smile. "My friend is actually going to walk me home so.."

"Alright. Be sure to send me a message when you're on the way home." Despite how 'normal' it sounded, Kita was actually feeling something unpleasant inside him. It was a feeling he was well aware of but had never experienced himself.

The day progressed fast. One moment, he was entering his first class and the next, he's already checking wether all the sports equipment were put back in their proper places.

As he walked out of the gym, Kita instinctively brought out his phone to check for any messages, yours to be specific.

"Ya alright, Kita-san?" came Atsumu.

Kita simply nodded and glanced at his phone again before keeping it, disappointment filling him as he realized that you're not planning to message him at all.

Without you to walk home with, Kita decided to join his team mates, yet despite the noise his team naturally carried, Kita's mind was still preoccupied.

He thought of how you must be doing or if you arrived home safely. He thought of how different the things would've turned out if he hadn't rejected you.

He thought of you.

"Isn't that y/n-san?"

Kita's attention immediately went back to Earth, his eyes following the direction Atsumu was pointing at and just like he said, you were indeed at the other side of the road, walking alone while hugging yourself as you shivered ever so slightly.

Without any words, Kita headed towards your direction and his team mates knew better than to interfere. After all, they knew their captain well. It wasn't that hard to notice how off he was today.

"I thought I told you to message me."

You gasped as Kita suddenly appeared beside you, draping his jacket over your shoulder which immediately surrounded you with his familiar scent.

"Sorry, I forgot," you said while tugging at the end of his jacket sleeves.

"Mhm, and you also said that your friend is going to walk you home yet I don't see anyone beside you." Kita said with a serious tone.

"About that..." You scratched the back of your head as you tried to think of any excuses but you knew that lying would be pointless.

"What if someone kidnapped you? Or worse, took advantage of you? You know I don't like you walking alone especially when the sun had already set yet you still did it. Why did you lie?"

You felt like a child being scolded by your mother but instead of taking it the wrong way, you knew that Kita was only looking out for you. It was just ironic that he broke your heart yet still showed his deep concern for your being.

"It's because I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," you finally admitted. "I just confessed to you yesterday and I thought thay maybe I might make you uncomfortable if I kept sticking beside you. I didn't want to be an inconvenience."

"What are you talking about?" Kita stopped walking and turned towards you. "You were never an inconvenience and will never be one."

"Sorry, Shin."

"No. I should be the one to apologize. I made a very rash decision yesterday and ended up rejecting you. I thought that having romantic feelings towards someone would just be a waste of time but I came to realize that it isn't a waste of time if its with you," Kita said with a gentle look on his face.

You didn't speak for a few seconds and just let his words sink in, a feeling of hope igniting inside you when you realized what he was trying to say. "Do you mean that?" you asked hopefully.

"Have I ever lied to you?" Seeing you shake your head no, Kita leaned in to press his forehead against yours. "I like you, y/n."

You felt your heart beat picking up with those simple words and without waiting for anything else, you pressed your lips against his.

Ushijima Wakatoshi

Being the cousin of Tendou Satori had its perks

And one of those perks is the opportunity to see Ushijima everyday

You are only a year younger than them yet despite that, you get along with the team very well

After all, it had been a part of your daily routine to always visit the school's gym

What you didn't expect, however, was to fall for a certain captain

And you, being one of the most open and honest person, confessed the moment you realized your feelings towards him

And despite being turned down several times already, you still persisted, claiming that you'll do everything to make him fall for you

But sometimes, no matter how hard you try, it just isn't enough

"Where's 'Toshi?" you asked Satori when you entered the gym, flashing a small smile to the others before sitting down on an empty bench.

"Talking to the coach." Satori looked at the plastic you were holding and grinned as he noticed what was inside. "Really, y/n-chan? You know that won't work on Ushiwaka, right?"

You just shrugged and placed the item beside you. "It's worth a try, 'Tori. Who knows? Maybe I'll finally be able to get a reaction out of him."

"Y/n."

You looked behind you upon hearing Wakatoshi. "Hi, Toshi. Did you miss me?" you said and flashed him a bubbly smile.

"You always come here everyday. I do not see any reason for me to miss you," he simply answered before taking a seat beside you, eyes glancing at the carrot stuffed toy before focusing on the court.

Satori, who witnessed the whole exchange, just laughed at you, his eyes squinting as he clutched his stomach in tears. "Well, there's your reaction," he said while still catching his breath.

"You don't have to be so mean, Toshi." You pouted and handed him the stuffed toy you brought.

"What's this for?" he asked in slight confusion while examining the carrot you gave him.

"That's a gift. Haven't you noticed? Its been 8 months since I started courting you." You grinned at him.

"Oh? Y/n's courting captain?" came Tsutomu who was wiping his sweat with a clean towel, eyes glancing at the carrot before he exclaimed, "I want one too!"

"Have it." Your eyes widened when Ushijima handed the carrot stuffed toy to Tsutomu. "I don't need it, and please stop giving me stuff from now on. They are irrelevant."

"I worked hard for that! You don't know how much token I spent just to get that from the claw machine!" You frowned at Wakatoshi and took the toy from Tsutomu who's now obviously confused with what's happening.

"Then I'll pay the amount you spent. Just stop giving me random stuff from now on. I don't need them and I don't have any feelings for you," Ushijima said with a passive voice.

You bowed your head and Satori immediately panicked, his arm reaching out to you but you only recoiled. "You're the worst, Toshi!" you yelled at Ushijima before dropping the toy on the floor and running out of the gym.

All three of them were in shock at your outburst, completely not expecting you to say such thing. You've always been bubbly around them so hearing those words from you was something they never expected coming.

"I think you made y/n mad, Captain," Tsutomu said while picking the carrot and dusting it off.

"But all I did was say the truth," Ushijima reasoned out, eyes focused on Tsutomu who was now hugging the toy that was supposed to be his.

Satori just sighed and turned around to go back practicing.

"Captain?" Tsutomu muttered with a confused look as Ushijima suddenly took the carrot from him.

"It's mine."

For the sixth time of the day, Ushijima glanced at the closed door of the gym.

It had been almost a week and he haven't caught a single glimpse of you. No visits, no 'coincidentally' bumping on each other despite having different floor levels, nor surprised bentos. Nothing. It basically felt as if you don't exist anymore.

He doesn't even know why he seemed bothered with it. Wasn't it him who pushed you away? He should feel relieved now that you were no longer bothering him, right?

Then why did it felt like he was missing you?

"Y/n's not coming," Tendou said beside Ushijima.

"I know. They haven't been visiting lately." Ushijima stared at Tendou seriously, making the red hair chuckle before raising his hands up in surrender.

"I don't have any idea where y/n-chan is. Even if I do, my lips are sealed," Tendou said before making a zipper motion.

Ushijima sighed and looked down at the ball resting between his feet. "I don't like it when they're avoiding me."

"Hm, I can't blame my cousin for doing that though. They've been pining over you for quite a while now and each time they confess, you end up rejecting them. I guess yesterday was their breaking point," Satori explained with a shrug, "Maybe you got used to the feeling of them coming back everytime you reject them that you don't know how to feel now that they stopped chasing you."

"I..like y/n."

Just as he said those words, the gym doors suddenly opened. You entered with your usual bubbly expression, a wrapped bento in hand as you made your way to them.

"I noticed that you weren't carrying your bento awhile ago so I brought it with me," you said as you handed the bento to Satori, not even bothering to spare a glance at Ushijima who was intensely looking at you.

"Y/n," Ushijima said making you turn to him.

"Yes Ushijima-san?"

Ushijima blinked at the mention of his surname. He knew that it was normal for people to call him Ushijima since it was his name but hearing you say it seemed bothering for some reason. He was used to you calling him either Toshi or Waka-kun.

"I like you, y/n," he said without hesitation.

Satori facepalmed at Ushijima's straightforwardness. Deciding to give you both some space, he stood up and walked away with his bento, leaving the two of you to talk.

You sat down and crossed your arms over chest, body facing Wakatoshi as you waited for him to explain and apologize properly.

"I'm sorry for how I acted a few days ago, I was merely being honest that time, but now I realized that I like you too... and I also did not mean to disregard your efforts just to get Mr. Carrot," Ushijima said while slightly scooting closer to you, his hand obviously trying to reach for yours.

"You named the stuff toy Mr. Carrot?" you asked with a raise of an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't need it.."

"That was a mistake. Mr. Carrot is actually sleeping in my bed as of this moment." The side of Ushijima's lips curled up when you giggled, the sound making his heart race.

"I appreciate you trying to be nice to me, Toshi, but you really hurt me back then, you know? I even had to stay away for a couple of days," you said before looking down at your lap to play with your fingers.

Panic started bubbling up inside Ushijima at your sudden silence. Swallowing the lump inside his throat, he asked you carefully, "Do you still like me? I'm really sorry, y/n. I missed your presence inside the gym. It's not the same without you. It's been too... quiet. Please give me another chance."

You lifted your head upon hearing that, clearly not expecting Ushijima to say those words in almost a pleading manner.

Ushijima took your surprised reaction as a cue to continue. He carefully took your hand in his, his hand completely engulfing yours as he intertwined your fingers. "I won't be aggressive towards you anymore. I know you said you hate me and I'm not the best at this kind of things but for you, I'll try."

You pulled your hand away from him, only to quickly wrap your arms around him, the action obviously catching Ushijima off guard. "I never hated you, 'Toshi," you mumbled with your face buried to his chest.

"Does that mean you still like me?" He said as soon as he composed himself, an unusual soft expression forming on his face when he felt you nodding.

You felt yourself melting even more to his touch when he secured an arm around your waist. "I like you so much, 'Toshi," you said as you looked up him.

"I like you too, y/n." With that, Ushijima leaned down to press a lingering kiss on your forehead.

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♥️

a/n: lately, my mind has been filled with wakatoshi ushijima

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Penny Dreadful

Summary: Sherlock is cold, troubled and upset, his mind is fixed on cracking an unsolved murder. It’s the worst time to disturb him. But his hot-blooded little succubus wants to drag him into sin.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (First-person POV)

Word count: 2.5K

Warning: 18+, smut, teasing, bratty behaviour, ass-smacking with a cane, slight cane play, primal play, unprotected rough sex, biting, slight size kink, MaleDom, drug use. Lots of curly hair descriptions.

A/N: Not canon to books Sherlock, obviously, but seeing the photos and teaser Henry as Sherlock just sets up the vibe. So I had to. Many thanks to my beta @agniavateira !! Sorry for the ugly cover art :D.

Title: Penny Dreadful

Sherlock’s study was a bleak, musky chamber deprived of heat, notwithstanding the many candles that burnt at every corner. Perhaps it was the pristine heaps of snow that piled on the ledge of the window, or maybe it was his sullen mood that gave the room a sense of icy wilderness.

Fumes rose from his mouth, vaping into the air. The tawny light kissed his thick mane of luscious, chocolate curls while he stood at the fore of his desk and leered at some parchments that troubled his brilliant mind for whatever reason.

Fist seizing the golden tip of his cane, his thumb stroked the engravings that embellished the metal. Cases that he couldn’t crack often left him frustrated to the point of madness. Those wicked, sly obsessions made him even more irresistible.

My nails bit into the wooden doorframe. Consumed by yearning, a blaze licked up my soul with its monstrous tongue. I often wondered how something so pure as love could be dangerous, to which Sherlock would reply,

“Love is the greatest villain of them all.”

Unlike him, I didn’t care for evil.

The detective unclipped the small chain he kept fastened to his vest and opened the silver locket, gathering a wisp of white powder on the tip of his pinky finger and pressed it to his nostrils. A small grunt escaped him, his eyes turning glassy. The “fairy dust” tended to sharpen his perception and elevate his stamina.

I dropped to my knees at his sight, crawling on the floor. The black silks of my dress made a brushing noise as it dragged on the Persian carpet; my breasts peeked as my corset shifted with every move. Sherlock often said we must imagine ourselves as animals once we let desire play our strings.

Accepting my inner wildness, tonight I was a cougar stalking her prey.

By nature, his senses were sharp as blades, though the substance that streamed through his veins made a more heightened grip of the reality that surrounded him. He noticed and yet ignored me, letting his hot-blooded harlot crave for his attention.

If I was to be the feline predator, Sherlock was the hunter who pursued me for sport. An unfair game, yet nevertheless my favourite.

Bathing in my own little fountain of mischief, I allowed my fingers to sneak toward his cane, brushing up and down the mahogany in slow, languid motion. My slender digits licked along the shaft and my bosom followed, pressing against the hardwood. I dragged myself up slightly to glimpse at my master from below: my Sherlock, always a sight for a famished girl; a colossus, intimidating, and breathtaking. Like a moth to a flame, I inched closer dazed by the light, wanting to bask in its radiance.

The muscle in his cheek tensed, thick brows furrowing. A little squared wrinkle appeared above the bridge of his nose as he brushed through his dark locks with agitation.

“What ills that glorious mind of yours?” I hummed, playful fingertips climbing further up at the length of his cane.

“Something I can’t grasp,” he spat, not giving me the time of day. But I knew he noticed every detail of my wanton behaviour, it was evident by the way his breath swiftly became heavier. Sherlock might have solved crimes by profession, but all women were natural detectives; evolution granted us with a definite survival instinct, learning to read men between the shadows.

“You can possess me,” I offered, fingers scraping over his thumb as it pressed onto the cane’s golden tip. My voice dropped to a whisper while my hand left the cane in favour of his thigh. The muscle flexed and twitched under my sinful touch, the fabric of his breeches stretched as his cock grew with its natural need to fulfil the wet, convulsing void in me.

“You’re distracting me,” he warned, voice low and stern. His lashes hardly even fluttered to my direction.

Every delicate little hair stood up at the sound of alarm yet instead, I inhaled the soot of peril, allowing my hand to travel further and meet his hungry girth. It rose to my touch with gratitude, flinching even harder at the clutch of my claws. The flavour of desire was honey and salt on the tip of my tongue.

The low animalistic vibration of his voice wavered through his solid form. I felt it shudder all the way down to his swelling cock. A cautious man, Sherlock was measured and forbearing to a point that made me wonder if he even liked women at all before we fell into the vicious pit of decadence and violent delights.

It was the contrary that was true: Sherlock loved women very much, his desires were simply… of a certain quality.

His groin was warm and firm against my cheek. The crystalline-blue glare finally graced me with a sight so brooding my bones clattered.

“Later, I need to work.” By the drop of his voice, I knew there won’t be a third warning.

“Later, Later…” I taunted, rolling my chin over his aching need. “All work and no play…”

The gasp that pushed out of my lungs nearly whisked the candles off as Sherlock hauled me up by his hand and bent me over the desk.

“Should I teach you how to respect my time?” He snarled, throwing the skirts of my dress over my head like a cape of the midnight sky. Stars collapsed under my skin at the sensation of his touch exploring the curve of my bare ass. Talons ruptured the tiny blood vessels, squeezing with the affirmation of his ownership.

“No undergarments?” Sherlock growled dangerously while his thumb brushed over my silken entrance, toying with the rich elixir and smearing it further down my anticipating petals. I answered with a deep moan, stretching on this desk with a succumbing plea.

“You came here aimed at disturbing me while I work.”

Settling onto the surface of the desk, I reached forth one arm lazily and chuckled. “You are a great detective, I… oh!”

Something cold and solid caressed my dripping lips, driving between them in slow, calculated strokes. Throwing my head over my shoulder, I noticed Sherlock holding his cane against my sacred cove, staring at it as if I was yet another piece of evidence to be explored. The golden arched-tip pushed-slightly between my petals and entered just enough to make me hiss. For a mere second I wondered if he was going to fuck me using nothing but his cane.

“Look away; this is going to hurt.”

I hardly had time to protest when the first smack hit the pillow of my cheek. A wheeze of disgrace shot from my throat, husky and embarrassing, but not as degrading as the sting the metal left at my burning backside.

“Bad girl,” Sherlock ticked his tongue and lifted the cane midway in the air, a flare of noxious desire bursting in his pale-blue orbs. This time I turned away and shut my eyes, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned dead-white. If only it did anything to dull the pain, the sting was even more prominent, shooting all the way up to my spine where it coiled and forced a strident yip from my clamped lips.

Yet the throb in my cunt was unmissable.

Sherlock knew very well that the hurt allied with pleasure, enhancing it even, like his powdery magic dust.

Another smack and my nails scratched at the wood. Like a sinner nun indulging her own beating, I rode the waves of pain as they broke onto shores abundant with pleasure. There were hidden cracks in our public figure, the place where I burnt and Sherlock ascended as we pried our claws into mortal deadly sins. My senses rose to conflict with every smack and Sherlock took joy in every involuntary squirm of my body.

Tongue pressed between his lips, he hummed as he admired his handiwork, painting my ass in obscene hues of violence. “Had enough? Or want to see which will break first, the rod or your arrogance?” Sherlock chided and pinched my sore cheek to further increase the pain.

Embers whispered beneath my flesh, my legs jolted from the intense beating and by god, the trickle of my juices rolling down the back of my thighs made even a sultry woman such as myself drown in white shame.

Sherlock’s breath was a heavy guttural waft. His cane dropped to the floor and I heard the sound of metal clicking as he fumbled with his belt. I would be damned if I let him fuck me from behind. To have those eyes look away as he entered me was a vice I wouldn’t stand.

“No!” I yelled, bracing on my wobbly elbows as much as I could and turned to face him.

Sherlock’s glare widened, a chill of ice blew through his eyes and his pupils dilated like a crazed feline. “You’re saying no to me?”

“Yes!” I heaved and reached my hands to cradle his skull, pushing myself against the hardness of his body and forcing my lips on his. My kiss was feral, bruising the plush skin on and around his mouth, nibbling and biting until we tasted iron on our tongues. It was not long before I was shoved against the wall, our mouths still united, sharing one breath.

Or rather stealing it from one another.

We were pleasingly unequal. Sherlock was all iron and stone; a bulky, tall man who could tear me apart with his bare hands. I was a little lush thing, so tender, so easily bruised. Despite his power, the desire to claim the tiny wet hole between my legs was unquenchable, reducing him to a savage thing that spoke in raw inarticulate sounds.

He tore his mouth from mine and swept me up from the ground, hiking the skirts of my dress urgently to expose what he coveted the most. I felt the supple velvety texture of his hardness grind against my thigh, smearing the pearly drops of his arousal onto my skin. We both moaned at the sensation and moved to the rhythm dictated by our most primal instincts.

“You want my cock?” He growled and gnawed his teeth at my neck, biting deep enough to break through the skin. I whined in pain, my voice rising a pitch as I writhed against him to ignite the smallest of frictions and serve the demon of desire in me.

“Fuck me!” I begged, sliding my fingers through the mass of soft curls and tugging them with need.

Answering my plea, Sherlock speared into my unruly cunt, brutally spreading me open like he would tear the petals from a flower. I yipped into his luscious hair, my nails tearing into his nape as his intrusion claimed everything my body had to offer. I always found it odd how my flesh would resist and beg for him at the same time, my succulent canal fighting to push him by instinct yet he only further rutted into me. He reached his hands to my sore ass to squeeze my cheeks apart.

“Such a tight little harlot,” he groaned, engulfed by my garden of mysteries. Moaning so loudly, our duet reverberated through the corridors of the house. His lashes fluttered with ecstasy as he pulled back only to force me down on his imposing cock, attempting to rip through my denial. Or it was to tame me as I clenched around his girth, accepting and resisting him at the same time. I was nothing but a vessel for him to fill, and he did so with a fiery passion, glaring straight to my eyes while thrusting deep and hard into me.

Books fell from the shelves nearby as we battled against the wall, my legs sliding up and down his waist, spreading helplessly in the air until my boots pressed into his arse. One of his hands reached for my corset, tugging on the ludicrous outfit to expose my breast. Ravenous, he licked his bloodstained lips, giving me a stare that made my cunt clutch him harder before he sank his fangs to pierce cavities in my tit.

“No!!!” I cried out and gasped as he thrust deeper to punish me for my protest. His heavy cock hit a spot so deep inside me that tears instantly emerged and fell down my cheeks, the pang bringing through a spasm of odd relief.

Blood and saliva smeared along my cleavage as he dragged his lips further, licking and then kissing every patch he bruised. I moaned breathlessly, throwing my head back against the wall as his nimble fingers surveyed my neck, laying small threats to show me how easy he could simply suspend my very basic need.

But my survival instincts already flew out the window the moment he penetrated me.

His lips hovered above mine as he fucked deep into my body, our cries creating an obscure symphony as he continuously slammed into my hilt, harder and more urgent with every plunge. The tears that fell down my cheeks were tainted with the conflicting aphrodisiac that pain brought through. In that instant I was whole, gratified by the friction created of the collision of our wet organs.

“Do it!” I gasped and nodded through glossy stares, swallowing hard to gesture what he already knew. With a swift snap of his hands, his fingers were bruising on my neck and he slammed into me at a furious pace, giving no care for my broken screams.

Euphoria tore through my soul, crashing like hot waves of eternal fire. I came apart around his thick rod crying for God and Satan at once. Sherlock never slowed down, not even as he felt the tightening of my ring around him. It only made him fuck me harder, burying his face at my collarbone, chasing his own rapture at a punishing speed, grunting like a beast. Finally, he shuddered and pumped me full of his thick, silky milk. The muscles of his behind flexed and he ground his hot load into my warm cavern, making sure I received every drop. My hands reached to squeeze his taut ass as my legs clutched him still, wanting to keep him inside me.

As if he had any intentions of leaving as he moaned and spasmed inside me.

Smoke filled the room as few of the candles died; the scent of ash and the musk of our sex seeped through our noses while we remained entwined, shaking in each other’s grasp. Breathless and damp with sweat, Sherlock lifted his face from my neck and glanced at me looking so vulnerable, almost appearing lost. I moved my trembling hands back to his face, my thumbs caressing his sharp cheeks.

“I know I am harsh…” he murmured, his eyes digging into my heart with nothing but a gaze of despair, “but please don’t ever leave me.”

My face fell at the sound of his words, my lips parting with awe. My detective could solve the most outrageous crimes, and yet he couldn’t realise I was shackled to him for all eternity.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock holmes x ofc #henry holmes #sherlock holmes

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rinstars · 3 years

Text

red wine

pairing: oikawa x reader

genre: smut

word count: 2.3k+

tags: cheating/infidelity, fingering, penetration, public sex, a little of size kink, degradation/humiliation, bathroom sex, wine play (lol not really they just drank from each other's mouth), one paragraph of oral sex, squirting, belly bulge, use of sir

note: thank u so much for 600 :( i'll do an event if i wasn't so preoccupied with other work but since i am here's an oikawa smut instead! enjoy ;)

Yellowish-gold lights give a soft glow and hue to the dancing bodies on the dance floor -- slow but sensual moving of the bodies, perfectly matching the atmosphere the place gives. Moving liquid coats the surface of the cut crystal, staining the glass counter as the rounded ice melts and condenses.

A well-ventilated place, cool air blowing a light breeze around you. The slit in your red dress didn’t help, though -- you thought you were right to hesitate when picking it out. But what choice do you have? Red dress compliments your lip, cherry blood thick-coated lips, enhancing the pearly shine of your teeth, reflecting the silky texture of your dress. Hair flowing around you, shining beneath the dancing bulbs and scent intoxicating anyone who walks by.

You were no fool. You knew every man in the place had eyes on you the moment you opened the doors, they all think it’s a pity that you came alone yet at the same time filled with delight to the brim at the thought of possibly being the one you came with next. The invisible line only grows every single time a man would enter, the rest of those existing already branding them as enemies -- as if you’re a prey to be caught. The owner of the bar thanks you every day, sends you gifts and jewels in appreciation, “You have blessed our business.” they once said. Glory to you who keeps the customers coming, cause they know you’ll always be here. Friday night as you drink away.

Not one of these lust-driven men has any idea -- you were a taken woman. Wife to one of the richest nobility in the country. A room in your house has been dedicated for your portraits for he is someone who adores getting your portrait painted. Every dress and lipstick, he buys for you. He wants everybody to know you’re his, make sure every single man in social gatherings crave for you. It sure did give him the satisfactions knowing a woman as beautiful and full of grace as you is within his hands.

Not one of the men in the bars has any idea.

After all, what’s a woman of your standing and class doing in a place littered with commoners -- the very same kind of people who serve you and your house? The ones who look at you in respect and inferiority. It’s amusing they think they have a chance.

The chance would never come, no matter what kinds of traps they’ve laid out to catch you. Your eyes are trained on one, only one. What pulled you to him, you wonder. Maybe the fact that he’s of the same status as you, a well-respected noble hiding amongst those below you? Maybe the black suit he always wears, a perfect combination with your fiery red? The smile he gives a few seats away?

Or maybe the thrill of both parties being married and lusting after each other like in a dirty little affair?

The chocolate of his eyes turn two different colors in a place like this -- glistening amber beneath the strobe lights or obsidian black when he stares at you in an animalistic glare, lips turning in a devilish glare. Perhaps that's part of the reason why none of your predators ever tried to go further with you. You give off the aura of a taken woman, both your body and heart, your name and title.

The gloss on your lips is coming off, a result of your fourth glass of whiskey for the night. Sliding down the smooth base of the stool, one of your legs exposed itself, the material bunching up above your thighs. Gliding your way to the dim bathroom nobody really uses much, you pull out a tube of gloss, gliding it all around your lips. The clicking sound of the door not going unnoticed.

"Is he not supposed to come home tonight?" A voice asks you, the owner striding closer to you until the bulge in his pants is rubbing against your hip.

With a turn of your head, you face the intruder by your left, pressing a flat palm on his chest. "Would I be here if he is?"

"I hate that color on you." He placed a hand on the small of your back, guiding you closer to him so your fronts are touching each other.

Your brows rise in question at the statement. Red has always been your color, everyone has always associated it with you. "It's your favorite."

"Not since that night," He whispered in your ear, breath tickling your neck as it blows away the stray hairs resting on your jaw. "A night of elegance and opulence, you showed up in the very same color, enveloped in his arms."

His free hand reached your shoulder, finger fiddling with the tied ribbon straps before pulling one of the ends. Lips latched on to the juncture between your shoulders and neck, open-mouthed wet kisses littering your heavily-scented skin. He always makes a comment about how bitter and sweet you tasted but tonight he doesn't.

"What do you suggest I wear?" You speak with a restrained throat, like the air was cut from your lungs as he reaches for the other strap of your dress.

He doesn't speak for a moment, continuing his silent torture on your neck, now with the inclusion of teeth as nibbles on the tender skin. With a pull on the thin straps holding the dress together, your breasts spill out in front of you, his calloused hands catching them in a perfect momentum as he chuckles on your skin, "Nothing."

Occupied by the application of your lip gloss a few moments ago, the fact that he went with a glass of wine went unnoticed by you. Not until he was pressing the cool glass on your protruding nipples, making goosebumps rise along the circle as you draw a soft gasp. Your weak hands reached to grip his wrist, trying to get him to slow down as your knees shake from pleasure.

He wasn't having any of your disobedience tonight.

By the time the next beat comes, his hands are on your throat, squeezing it as he pushes you over to the tile of the room. All you could do was whimper his name as pleasure spikes in your stomach, the arousal in your middle dripping down your inner thighs. "T-tooru."

"What kind of master taught you in your childhood?" He clicked his tongue in disapproval, hand on your throat gripping a little tighter than previously. "Did you not know you refer to your fellow nobility with formality? Take for example.. sir."

The glass lost contact with your nipples, the man before you dragging it slowly to your lips as the thumb from the hand on your neck reaches up to pull your mouth open. He tilts the glass to you, "Now, aren't you thirsty? I noticed you were much too preoccupied with the whiskeys, I believe you haven't gotten the luxury of tasting their wine yet."

"I am thirsty." You croak out, every single trace of composure leaving your body as you succumb to his humiliation. "Please let me taste it, good sir."

"Of course." He smiles at you, a devilish aura hidden behind as he lets the liquid touch your tongue, red liquid dripping down your chin as he purposely misses the target. "Don't swallow."

Mouth ajar and wetness dripping down your chin and hand-covered neck, he inches closer to you, connecting your lips to his as he forces you to share the bitter drink. Tongue dancing with yours as you create a mess, a pool of red.

Enchanted by the kiss, you don't notice the fingers bunching up your dress, nimble fingers slowly discarding your underwear as they part your folds open, air blowing through you dripping, little cunt. His thumb toys with your throbbing bud, two other fingers collecting wetness and spreading it around.

"Disgusting," He spits in your mouth, hand leaving your neck as he grasps your breast instead. "So wet. So slippery. So filthy."

In another place, another setting, another situation, you would have been offended being talked to in such a manner. How dare anybody at all humiliate one of the most powerful women in the country? But in the presence of Oikawa Tooru, whose power is next only to your husband, you would gladly get on your knees. Let him call you all kinds of names, treat you like a dirty whore.

"Sir," You whine out seductive, hands reaching the pants restraining his throbbing member inside and palming him, making him let out a hiss. "Please."

"Please, what, hmm?" He pushes a finger inside, pumping in and out of you with ferocity making you burn and scream. Your white, sticky cream clinging into his fingers and down to his wrist as you clench over and over around him.

"Fuck me like a filthy little slut, sir." You beg him as you claw on his shoulders, gripping it for support so your knees don't end up giving out. "Use me."

He didn't need to be told twice. With a growl, he yanks his fingers out of you, tears staining your eyes in both emptiness and pain as he forcefully turns you around, pressing you cheeks on the cold tile. He pushes the slippery material of dress up higher, exposing you to him as he licks a bold stripe from your clit to the opening, pushing his tongue in slightly and wiggling it inside. The wet muscle presses on the spongy spot inside of you, making you tremble in pleasure.

The assault of his tongue didn't last long. Not when his thick length rips you apart with every sinking inch, the stretch painful but welcomed.

He is just as you remember him to be, long, think, fat, hard and everything else you could possibly dream of. He rams his cock into yours, heavy balls slapping your clit over and over. The squelching sound every thrust is making, thanks to your slick and juices, is humiliating. The wetness echoing everywhere in the room.

"You're practically squeezing the release out of me, I can't even --- fuck, you're so tiny and wet and tight… can't even move properly." He groaned into your shoulder, palms reaching down your belly to press down slightly, making you gasp out at the new feeling. "Do you feel that? I'm going to fucking break you if I go harder than this."

"Y-yes.. Ah, yes, sir. You make me f-feel so, so full." You cry out, quivering with pleasure as you reach between where your bodies connected, flicking the bud quickly – adding on to the already overwhelming amount of unbelievable pleasure.

"Squirt." He orders out of nowhere, startling you before you shake your head slowly, trying to form coherent sentences in the midst of being fucked stupid.

"I can't. I have never done that."

"Oh, I'll make you, baby. Make sure this little cunt sprays all over me." With that, he angles a bit deeper, swollen fat tip kissing your cervix as he rubs your spot over and over.

Your vision whitens as you feel a different kind of climax build up inside you, your stomach tingling as you feel yourself get closer and closer. Unable to quiet down your moans and whimpers, you scream out his name, walls clamping down on him as he pounds into you for the last time.

Liquid shoots out of your hole, spraying all over his already opened dress shirt and onto his firm abs and down your thighs. He continues moving against you, the juices coming out of you, creating an even wider mess.

"What a good girl." He coos as he pulls you back up, his own thick strings of cum dripping out of you in a sticky pool. He softly presses his lip into yours, fingers combing your hair back before hugging you to him.

"I love you." You whisper against his neck, tightening your hold around him.

"I love you too, pretty girl." He pulls out of the embrace, dragging you to the sink to clean you up.

"You got my dress all wet and dirty." He only chuckles at that.

As you strut outside the bathroom, having the chance to fix your hair and make up inside, the only thing unusual about your appearance is the wet patches on your silk red dress. You didn't care about the stare of other men or what they have to say in their heads.

But you definitely did care about what the uninvited man in front of you will.

Your husband.

"I got home earlier than expected." He jogs over to you, hair gelled and styled to perfection. The elegance spilling all around him. "The guards said you'd be here."

"Honey," You manage to choke out, hands reaching up to cup his face lovingly. "I missed you."

You didn't miss the twinkle in his eyes, neither the questioning look as he takes in your appearance. "Why is your dress so wet? How improper."

Eyes glancing backwards to where Oikawa stood, you compose yourself for a response.

"I had the pleasure of being in the presence of the great Lord of the West, Oikawa Tooru. However due to clumsiness and lack of etiquette, circumstances led to a messy spill of drinks. No worries, my husband.. We took care of everything in the washroom."

#oikawa smut #oikawa x you #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru smut #oikawa tooru x you #oikawa tooru x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader

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samingtonwilson · 4 years

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Mac and Cheese

Summary: Bucky takes the last box of frozen mac and cheese, takes your phone, and makes you fall in love with him. The audacity of that man.

Prompt: “This has been a very bad week and you just grabbed the last box of my favorite comfort food at the supermarket”

Pairing: bucky x reader

a/n: i wrote this and was fully done formatting it and everything, like, 6 months ago. i didn’t post it because it’s approx. 82% nonsense but i figured why not post it now when it’s still 82% nonsense but im struggling to finish everything else. so taal, long time vegan, writes a story about mac and cheese and, listen, idk what this fic is either. can i write a fic without adding sam to it? no.

Mac and cheese. That’s all you want. Disgusting, frozen, usually-quite-mushy-if-not-microwaved-correctly mac and fucking cheese.

The kind with the layer of cheese on top. The kind with that real elbow pasta, not rotini or penne or seashell pasta— real macaroni. The kind you try to only eat one serving size of before you eat everything in the package. The kind you always gravitate to when your eyes are stained red, swollen, and too proud to be anything other than dry.

You take the subway. You switch lines. You endure the smell of the F train during rush hour when you aren’t sure where your thigh ends and the thigh of the woman sitting beside you begins. All for that one Trader Joe’s, out of many, in Brooklyn the hipsters abandon before six because the coffee shop next door closes at five.

Your feet ache in your boots and you’re pretty sure a rock has somehow lodged itself between your toes, it’s starting to rain and you have no umbrella, you don’t think your throat has ever felt so parched.

But you tuck your phone into your back pocket and march into that store with the hideous overhead lighting that makes your skin look like it hasn’t seen a bottle of toner in days like you’re Hades, the box of mac and cheese is Persephone, and Trader Joe’s is Mount Olympus.

You aren’t planning on smiling at anyone in greeting. You aren’t planning on making eye contact with anyone. You aren’t even planning on waiting politely behind whoever is inevitably idly standing in front of the pasta section of the frozen aisle— you’re going to say, “Excuse me.” Like the badass, New Yorker, on-the-verge-of-tears bitch you are and you’re going to toss that mac and cheese into your basket like you’re Steph Curry at the NBA Finals.

Lines are long when you walk in, cashiers bored-looking and tired. The produce section is a jungle of stay at home fathers and people who make their own pressed juice, the salad display a mess of college students trying to eat healthy.

Your eyes accidentally meet those of a toddler who is slyly plucking a grape from a bag he had no intention of spending his allowance on and you smile.

You hold your basket like a designer handbag and dilly-dally only for a moment to pick up some yogurt for breakfast tomorrow.

And some inauthentic babka because there’s no way in hell you’re going to endure Zabar’s after this.

And a package of olive oil popcorn, a bottle of three dollar chardonnay, and string cheese.

But that’s it. Self-control.

You feel the chill of the frozen aisle before you step into it. You feel the magnetic pull of that box with only one step in its direction. You stop for just a second to grab the mini mango and cream pops.

You almost roll your eyes to yourself when you see that someone is indeed standing right in front of the frozen selection of pasta. He’s staring at two boxes— a red one in his gloved left hand and the one in his right hand green.

As you grow closer you notice behind his curtain of dark hair that his eyebrows are knit together and he’s frowning at a decision he must be forcing himself to make.

Sophie’s Choice, but involving mediocre excuses for Italian food and no Nazis— hopefully. Because who really knows these days?

He wears a forest green hoodie under a black leather jacket, black jeans tight around thick thighs. Boots, too. You think you might swoon.

And you wait behind him. You tap your foot, shift your weight, and chew on your bottom lip. You don’t say anything.

He looks over his shoulder when you curse under your breath and set the heavy basket at your feet. He’s apologetic— and handsome— by the looks of it, blue eyes slightly widened and lips downturned. “Shit,” he says as he takes a few steps to the right. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. You kick your basket with the toe of your boot until it lightly smacks against the bottom of the freezer. “No problem. It’s a big decision.”

His eyes lift from the boxes and he smiles. “Biggest one I’ve gotten to make in a while.”

Setting your hands atop the cold metal railing, you stare down into the freezer. You see farfalle with roasted tomatoes, rigatoni with pesto, ricotta and spinach ravioli, roasted vegetable lasagna, cauliflower gnocchi, chicken parm, and… an empty space.

You tilt your head.

You lean away and crouch to read the description cards, looking for the bubble letters to tell you where on Earth your saving grace is. When you spot the card, you stand again. The indicated space is empty, your heart is empty, your will to live is—

A box of organic pesto tortellini is tossed back into the freezer and you look up. Your eyes might lose their prideful dryness at any moment, even in public next to that handsome stranger with the nice jacket and,

the box of mac and cheese.

You gasp audibly and leap backwards. You point at the box in his left hand.

With an expression of panic, he holds his hands— and the box— up in innocence. “It’s okay. I’m not—”

“What the fuck is that?” you shout to gain the attention of customers you don’t even perceive, waggling your finger at the box. Your wide-eyed stare, and bared teeth, and messy hair must be terrifying. You hope they are.

He looks down at his hand. An eyebrow lifts. And, confusedly, he asks, “The box?”

“Yes, the fucking box!”

“It’s mac and—” he meets your gaze again. You’re wearing your anger like armor. But you aren’t scared. Bucky thinks he might never have felt such relief at a woman’s anger. “It’s mac and cheese.”

You shake your head. Wildly. Your neck hurts. “It’s the last box of mac and cheese!”

He glances at the box, then back at you. He jabs his thumb over his shoulder. “They might have some in the back—”

You shake your head again. A hint of devastation cracks your voice as you say, “It’s Monday night. Trader Joe’s restocks Tuesday night. This is usually all they have left.”

“I—” He pauses. “Is this shit really that good—”

“No, it’s not but that’s not the point!” you’re shouting again. And crying. Oh, God, you’re crying. In public. “The point is my building is going co-op!”

He tilts his head. “Your building is—”

“And I have to buy my apartment if I want to keep it! And they don’t give raises at my job to women unless they’re willing to suck something I won’t say in front of that kid right there,” you nod toward a little girl in a pink raincoat with her pin straight black hair in pigtails who stares at you in bewilderment. You sniffle. “So I quit. And I’m proud of myself for it. Because I have integrity, and I have self-respect, and I have no gag reflex, so the rejection should kill my boss dead.”

He cracks a small smile when you let out a short, watery, pathetic laugh. Easily, he holds the box out to you. “I hope your boss is dead, too.”

You laugh again and don’t hesitate before taking the box. You wipe your cheeks with your sleeve. “Thank you. You’re nice.”

“Not a popular opinion, but one I’ll certainly take.” He’s smiling and it’s warm. “Sorry— about all that.”

“You’re apologizing to me? I just screamed at you in the Trader Joe’s freezer aisle over mac and cheese.”

He shakes his head and picks up his own basket when you grab yours. “Your building’s going co-op and your boss deserves to burn in hell. You should get all the mac and cheese you want.”

You reach into the freezer for that green box of tortellini he’d thrown in, tossing it into his basket with a smile. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “Still. I’m sorry for yelling and I hope the tortellini doesn’t suck too bad.”

“It’s frozen pasta. My expectations are low.”

You hum a laugh and walk past him to the crowded lines at the registers. “As they should be.”

It’s when you’re lost in the sea of customers and Bucky is deciding between frozen palak paneer and frozen lamb vindaloo with basmati rice that he feels a tug at the hem of his jacket.

He looks away from the green and orange boxes, lowering his gaze to meet curious almond-shaped eyes beneath blunt black bangs. He smiles and she returns it. “Yes?”

She reveals her right hand, which she had hidden behind her pink raincoat, and holds a phone up to Bucky as far as her arm will let her.

“Is that your phone?”

She shakes her head and giggles. Loud, happy, and squeaky. “Yelling lady dropped her phone.”

Bucky’s eyebrows knit together until a woman, much closer to his height, steps behind the little girl. She takes the phone the girl holds out and offers it to Bucky when he straightens his posture. Her smile looks like the little girl’s. “We figured you would have a good chance at getting it back to her.”

He takes the phone and nods his thanks. Pressing the power button reveals a picture of you and a dog, a large, fluffy dog with its pink tongue hanging low. You’re smiling brightly and, oddly, it seems like the dog is, too.

—

“So you just took her phone? Didn’t even ask an employee to keep it there in case she came back for it?”

Bucky, watching the tray of pasta rotate in the microwave, scowls. “I would’ve if I’d known that was an option. And stop eating my fuckin’ chips.”

Sam tosses back another handful of kettle-cooked barbecue potato chips in defiance so the obnoxious crunching echoes through the kitchen. He smiles sarcastically when Bucky snatches the bag and rolls it up. Half is already gone. “You come up with how you’re gonna get it back to her?”

“Thinkin’ about asking Pepper to post a picture of it like it’s a missing child to that ‘Tweeter’ nonsense,” Bucky replies dryly. He’s glaring at Sam as he leans his hip against the counter. “You and I both know I haven’t come up with shit.”

Sam snorts and is smiling in amusement, deep brown eyes alight. Bucky hates the sight. “Tweeter. You’re so fuckin’ old.”

It’s been hours since Bucky took the phone from who he learned is little Vivienne and her mother, and he is no closer to getting it back to you.

He’d tried looking for you at the store but there were too many people for a Trader Joe’s that Yelp claimed was the least busy in New York for that to yield results. So he returned to the Tower. He thought about asking Tony to look into the doohickey but figured an invasion of privacy should be the last resort.

He pulls the tray from the microwave with nimble vibranium fingers and sniffs the pasta before setting it down on the counter. He removes a bowl from one of the cabinets and dumps the steaming pasta in it, a sprinkle of freshly grated parmesan from a tub he’d bought— also at Trader Joe’s— a finishing touch.

“She’s cute,” Sam says when the screen lights up with an incoming text notification.

Bucky spins his fork between his fingers as he walks around the counter to sit on the barstool beside Sam’s. He glances at the phone as well. “Very cute,” he agrees. “She had a shitty day. Something about her apartment goin’ co-op. Whatever the hell that means.”

Sam frowns. “Means she’s gotta buy the place. And with New York real estate prices right now,” he shakes his head with a sigh. “She better have a well-paying job.”

“Quit that today, too.” Bucky takes a bite of the pasta and hisses as it burns his tongue. “Boss is a creep that asked for some action in exchange for a raise.”

“Jesus. Poor girl.”

The tortellini isn’t great. It’s a little bland, a bit too dry, and there isn’t enough filling— but it’s better than Bucky had expected. He takes another bite. “Yeah. And I took the last box of mac and cheese. Which is what she went to the store for.”

“I’m surprised your head wasn’t chopped off.”

Bucky smiles. “She yelled— a lot. Was crying, too, ‘til she said something and made herself laugh.”

Sam then begins teasing Bucky juvenilely for having a crush until both men are laughing and shoving one another to see who falls off their stool first, Sam only relenting when Bucky hands the potato chips to him again as a peace offering.

The bowl is in the sink and the chips are down to just crumbs when a loud ringtone— an instrumental version of an R&B song Bucky recognizes from Sam’s many plays of the original— shocks the two of them.

It’s from an unknown number and Bucky is unsure if he should pick up until Sam swipes answer and puts the call on speakerphone. “Hello?”

A sigh. Bucky doesn’t know if it’s one of relief or frustration. “I’m hoping whoever this is found my phone and didn’t steal it.”

Sam shoves Bucky’s shoulder with a toothy grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “The little girl you almost traumatized in the freezer aisle found it and gave it to me.”

Another sigh— the relief in this one is obvious— and you’re laughing. “It’s you— tortellini dude. Must’ve fallen when I crouched down.”

“Seems like it, yeah.”

“So are you gonna ask for my address or do I have to schlep over to Avengers Tower?”

Bucky and Sam exchange a look. “Avengers Tower?”

“You weren’t exactly in disguise— I realized who you are the minute I left the store. Would’ve recognized you right away but I was in my own head and you aren’t my favorite Avenger.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah? And who is?”

“Falcon.”

Immediately, the phone is taken from Bucky’s hand. “Hi, baby, you’ve got Falcon.”

A gasp, a pause, then you laugh. Audibly stunned laughter. “You guys actually hang out with each other? That’s cute.”

Before Sam can reply, Bucky flicks his forehead— in reply to which Sam elbows Bucky’s ribs— and takes the phone back. “I can bring your phone to you whenever you’re free.”

“Awesome. I’m unemployed now so any time tomorrow is fine.”

You tell him your address before hanging up and he wishes you a good night. Your laughter is the last thing he hears before three beeps signify the end of the call.

—

Bucky takes the subway. He switches lines to the F train. He tries not to mind the overpowering smell of stale B.O. and deli meat leftover from rush hour, the skittering steps of a rat across the floor in the adjacent empty car. He ignores those who stare at him intensely enough to burn the fabric right off his skin. All for that one apartment in SoHo.

He thinks the gash below his ribs might still be leaking as the warm, moist subway station air blows past him. He can feel that cluster of bruises above his knee— the one from the pipe the hostile operative had ripped off the rickety walls of a nearly destroyed Hydra base— every time he takes a step, more so as he climbs the stairs.

He knows he must be quite a sight with combat boots and tac pants worn and dusty, a simple bomber jacket thrown over a ripped, sliced, stained compression tank. His mind is blank, his eyes shadowy, the ghost of something terrible lurking behind blue and grey.

Posture stiff and muscles cold, steps crisp despite the ache, he follows the familiar path and manages to form the thought of turning around. Not bringing this all to a threshold— or, more accurately, a windowsill— he’s only crossed three or four times. He’s too weak, though.

It takes one rap of his knuckles against the third-story window for a lamp to flicker on, gauzy drapes pushed aside. You smile as he lifts the window open, stepping aside as he enters the apartment with careful grace. He feels less guilty when he sees that your bed is still made and your hair isn’t the tangled mess it usually is when he bursts in at a late hour.

“I have a door.”

“Okay, show-off.”

It’s when he steps into the light of the standing lamp in the room’s corner that your quiet laughter gives way to a soft gasp.

He doesn’t like the widening of your eyes or the way you gently lift the right side of his jacket, fingers light against the torn fabric. But you laugh again, and it shakes in nervousness. “You know I’m not a doctor, right? Or a nurse? Or even a pharmacist with high self-efficacy?”

He nods and, despite himself, there’s a smile pulling at a corner of his lips. His eyes brighten a little. “It’ll heal itself.”

“Confidence. I like that in a burglar.”

Before he can take a step further into your bedroom, you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth and point at his feet. “Boots.”

He kicks them off with a sigh and a groan when the shifting of his knee sends a tremor up his leg. His jacket is tossed aside as well, and he catches the black t-shirt you throw to him. You’d washed it, folded it, and put it in your closet.

Just a little more brightness. “You owe me mac and cheese.”

“Oh, I owe you mac and cheese? We’re really holding onto shit from four months ago?”

He nods again and pulls his tank off, withholding a wince.

Eyebrow raised, you cross your arms over your chest. You’re giving him a narrow look but, because you’re clearly struggling against a smile, it’s one of his favorites of the expressions you’ve ever offered him.

You give him a towel next— pastel blue. “Shower and then we’ll see about me owing you something.”

He wants to say thank you, do more than smile.

But he knows if he so much as opens his mouth while you’re looking at him the way you are, he’ll tell you he’s fallen in love with you over the last four months, that maybe he’s been in love since you screamed at him in the freezer section of Trade Joe’s.

He’ll go to say thank you, but the words of a Byron poem he’d learned to impress a girl in his English class more than eighty years ago will come pouring out or he’ll simply kiss you like he wishes he could on the nights he can’t sleep or during the missions he can just barely endure.

He’ll go to say thank you, and then tell you with no clarity whatsoever that you’re what he finds comfort in when he’s had a hard day. That the disgusting, mushy, nothing-compared-to-fresh mac and cheese is just an excuse.

But he just smiles. And nods. And takes a shower.

His hair is still wet as he stands across from you at the kitchen counter. There’s a bowl of steaming pasta between you, a spoon in his hand and a fork in yours. “You’re dripping onto the counter.”

With a cocking of his eyebrow, he shakes his head and you sputter a laugh, shoving his shoulder. “Bucky!”

He laughs then, fully and happily, as he reaches over to wipe the drops from your cheeks and forehead. You only smile back, the gleaming of your eyes making him feel warm all over.

“This shit’s terrible, by the way,” he says after a minute of staring.

You shrug a shoulder. “Told you.”

“And you fought me for it. Publicly.”

You shrug again and laugh. You lean your elbows atop the counter to match his relaxed posture, dragging a noodle through a particularly large puddle of melted cheese.

Looking up, your nose nearly bumps Bucky’s and you hope he doesn’t hear your breath stall. You try to smile. “Makes me feel better when I need to fill that hole in my heart.”

“With cholesterol?” he jokes.

“Yes. It’s excellent. It’s like spackle.” As he laughs and you roll your eyes, you push off the counter to stand straight. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Yeah?”

You hum. “I’m seeing an apartment I want tomorrow and need the rent lowered. And you’re the Winter Soldier.”

He considers that for a moment and you burst into laughter just as his eyes narrow into a fond glare. “You want me to scare them into lowering the rent?”

“Don’t think of it as you scaring them,” you begin, rounding the counter to stand next to him, hip leant against the marble, “think of it as you being an amazing friend and helping me.” A moment later you add, “By scaring them.”

He chuckles and shakes his head. He glances at the bowl to avoid the risk of staring at you for too long. “Fine.”

You grin. “You really take no convincing.”

A snort and he meets your gaze. “Only when it comes to you. I’m afraid you’ll start crying again.”

“So I could ask you for anything and you’d probably say yes?”

He shrugs a bit, then nods. Who is he kidding? You could ask for his right arm and he’d give it to you.

“Okay. Go on a date with me then.”

There’s a pause— in the conversation, in his chest. “A what?”

“A date. It’s like dinner, or coffee, or a movie, or something.” You grin when he takes half a step in your direction and his hands grip onto the counter at either side of you. “It’s this thing people do when they like each other.”

Something much more than like is in the sparkling of your eyes and the tilt of your head. Something that might match exactly what’s in his eyes whenever he’s around you. His insides burn at the thought.

“I know what a date is.”

“They had those back in your day?”

He nods and leans forward. “Not from the Stone Ages.”

Your lips brush lightly against his, hand set on his chest to feel the rapid beating beneath. You smile and he thinks he might melt. “Could’ve fooled me with that hair.”

Laughing, he presses his lips to yours a little harder.

—

Apartment littered with unpacked boxes, misplaced books, and askew furniture, you sit on top of the counter where Bucky works. He’s twirling a knife through his metal fingers, arranging sprigs of chives on the cutting board with the flesh ones.

He smiles when he catches you staring at the pan cooling on the stove. “S’not done yet.”

You sigh. Loudly, heavily. “You took it out of the oven. That means it’s done.”

“It needs to cool for a few minutes or you’ll burn off your taste buds. You want to burn off your taste buds?”

“You want to burn off your taste buds?” you repeat in a high-pitched, taunting voice. You’re scowling and, somehow, look to be on the verge of snatching the knife from him to stab it through his chest. “Maybe I do.”

Less than a minute later, you groan and add, “I don’t care how good you are in bed. I’m about ten seconds from dumping you.”

Swiftly, he chops the chives and turns around to sprinkle a bit into the baking dish. “You know, most people would say thank you.”

“Most people don’t have to wait an hour while their boyfriend attempts to make mac and cheese when there’s a perfectly good box in the freezer that would take four minutes.”

“It’s worth it.”

In all honesty, he doesn’t know if it’s worth it.

He’d asked Sam for a recipe and did his best to follow it despite the autocorrect which had changed “gruyere” to “grape year.” But he trusts it since Sam generally knows what he’s doing in the kitchen. Unlike Steve who had continuously attempted to chime in with useless suggestions such as, “Maybe don’t add the paprika.”

“Just trust me,” he urges as if replying to the growling of your stomach which has interrupted his search for the plates he could’ve sworn he’d unpacked. He’s crouched and searching the lower cabinets as he adds, “You’ll fall in love with me after you try it.”

“Who says I haven’t already?”

He stops searching.

He peeks his head above the edge of the counter and, his eyes wide, he sees you pulling two plates from a box placed on the small nook table. Your smile is small and a bit sheepish— the latter something he’d never seen from you.

“You never took them out,” you tell him, the clatter of ceramic on the wooden surface loud when you set the plates down. As you approach and he stands to his full height, you sigh and roll your eyes at the look he gives you. “Yes, I love you. It can’t be that shocking.”

“It isn’t.”

“Someone should tell your face that.”

Chuckling over the heavy thumps in his chest, he leans forward to kiss you but pauses just to say, “I love you, too, by the way.”

When an empty dish sits between the two of you, Bucky’s stomach warm and full of over three-quarters of it, you stand from the table and walk to the freezer.

Shooting a smile over your shoulder, you grab the familiar red box and toss it into the stainless steel trash can. Steph Curry at the NBA Finals. “I’m never eating that shit again.”

#this reader is a human disaster #dkjfgdkjgj #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff

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some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

Kinktober #11: A Little Restraint: Eijirou Kirishima

Kirishima buys you a new toy. Then he asks you to use it on him.

Characters: Eijirou Kirishima x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), bondage, aged up characters, oral sex (m and f-receiving), vaginal sex, dom!reader and soft sub!Kirishima, aftercare

Notes: I’m running out of title ideas. Did I say that yesterday? Doubly so today. But I haven’t posted anything with Kirishima since day one!! This dude is one of my favourite comfort characters, honestly. We stan a hero who drinks his respect-women-juice 💖

Today’s prompt was “restraints,” and I honestly thought about Kirishima tying you up, but... this way sounded so much more fun.

Kinktober Masterlist

Sex with Kirishima never gets boring.

When you first started dating, you couldn’t keep your hands off one another. You were fucking at least twice a day; desperate to make up for all the time you hadn’t known one another. Now, six months later, you’re starting to think that desire might never fade.

Granted, real life has gotten in the way of your twice-daily boning sessions, but the want is still there. Proven every time you stumble in the door in a tangle of limbs. Every time you creep through the quiet morning, picking up the trail of clothes you left behind the night before.

Tonight, he’s handsier than usual. It’s giving you ideas.

“Got somethin’ for ya, babe,” he’d said to you one night, appearing in the living room with a shipping box in his hands. You’d made it pretty clear in the past that you didn’t need him to earn your favour with gifts, but he’d looked so excited to show this one to you- you couldn’t help your curiosity.

You’d flipped open the cardboard flaps, only to be faced with a pair of thick leather handcuffs in the bottom of the box.

“You planning on arresting me anytime soon?” You’d teased, though you remember the way your cheeks instantly heated, too. You weren’t stupid. Those were no standard-issue cuffs.

“Naw, I thought…” His cheeks were red, too, as he waved you off. But he’s brave and he trusts you, so he kept going. “I thought we could use ‘em in the bedroom.”

“On me? Sure, I-I’ve never really done that before, but…”

“No.” When you looked up at him again you caught a swell of intent in his gaze. “On me.”

Oh. Oh.

Kiri’s usually the one to take control when the two of you get into bed. He likes setting the pace of things, worshipping you from head to toe. Taking his time. But, as it turned out, he’d been thinking about this for a while. He loves it when you get on top. And he has to exercise such control in his day-to-day life… he wants to give it up every once in a while, to somebody he trusts.

When he’d first put it like that, there was no way you could refuse. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t have some switch tendencies, anyway.

That’s why tonight, as he’s laying you down on the bed, you grab his wrists. Hard. He stops, looking down at you in a moment of flustered confusion.

“Why don’t we keep your hands off tonight?” You growl. You see the realization take over his expression, and he swoops down and catches your lips with a fleeting but very loving kiss.

“I love you,” he growls, tucking his face into your neck and kissing you there.

“Love you, too,” you mumble back, curling your fingers in the front of his shirt. You give his chest a little push, forcing him back. “Now undress.”

The blush is creeping decadently down the back of his neck as he steps away from the edge of the bed, tugging off his shirt and letting it flutter to the ground. Before it even touches the floorboards, he’s fumbling with his belt, tugging it open and shoving his pants to the ground. When he comes back to you in just a pair of crimson boxer-briefs, it’s with the promising swell of his growing erection tucked against one thigh.

He climbs onto the bed, falling onto his back. He looks up at you with the light of adoration in his gaze. Christ, you’re so lucky to have him.

You climb off the bed, stripping down as you cross to the dresser. The cuffs are tucked into the bottom drawer, and by the time you turn back with them stretched between your fingers, you’re clad only in your bra and thong.

From across the room you can hear the growl ripping from his chest. He props himself up on one elbow, watching you take your time as you come back to him.

“Damn,” he chuckles, reaching for you. You slap his hands away and take a step back.

“Are we gonna have a problem?” You hold the cuffs out in front of you. He swallows hard and lays back against the pillows.

“Wait… no,” you sigh. “Roll over. On your belly.”

You can tell he’s losing sight of where you’re taking this, but he rolls over anyway. He trusts you so fully it’s almost heartbreaking. You promise yourself not to misuse that.

As you kneel beside him, he turns to rest his cheek on the pillow. He continues to stare- you can feel his eyes flicking over your body, even as you reach over and carefully buckle one of his wrists into the cuff.

“Tight enough?” You ask, and he gives a low hum. A quick nod.

“Too tight?” He shakes his head, eyes falling shut. You smile. You love it when he gets soft like this. If only you’d known that he was trying to bring out that side of himself again.

You slowly draw his hand into the small of his back and swing a leg over his thighs, straddling them. He lets out a little grunt, his hips pushing into the mattress. You let him stay that way, figuring he’s only going to get himself more excited. You wrap your fingers around his other wrist and tug it to meet the other one.

“This okay?” You press.

“God, yes,” he grunts. The sound comes right from the barrel of his chest- you can feel it vibrate along his spine. This is going to be good.

You buckle his other wrist into the cuffs, running a finger between the padded leather and his skin. You prompt him with the same gentle questions as before, keeping him talking. Making sure he’s still with you.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you climb off of him. “Get up to your knees, now.”

He struggles a little to get his knees underneath his torso, but he’s all hard muscle and raw power and gets upright with little effort. The powerful muscles of his core work visibly as he sits up and you’re practically drooling by the time he comes to rest in front of you- legs spread, erection jutting down one leg of his undershorts, chest heaving ever so slightly.

“Fuck,” you catch yourself gasping as you watch his shoulders work to acknowledge the restraints. Biting your lip, you indulge, reaching in and palming the swell of his erection. He lets out a little grunt and shoots you a crooked grin.

“Somethin’ tells me I’m gonna regret this,” he purrs. You crawl between his thighs and kiss his lips, long and slow and sweet.

“Baby,” you growl, “you’re not gonna regret a thing.”

You make him eat you out first, spreading out on the pillows while he wiggles himself back onto his belly between your thighs. Normally his hands would be roaming all over your body while he tongues your pussy- he’d slide his fingers across your thighs, pinch your nipples, palm your breasts. You can see the disappointment lining his gaze as his arms strain, but he licks you diligently, and it’s not long before your thighs are clamping down around his face as you cum.

You wipe his mouth for him, making him sit up again. In the meantime, you rid him of his shorts, and as he settles onto the sheets his erection bobs between his legs, drooling a thin stream of fluid and framed by a trimmed patch of dark hair.

You lick your lips. You can’t help it. He’s delectable like this. A blank canvas, ready for you to play.

You stroke him first, painstakingly slow. Your fingers are curled loose around him, but every time he tries to thrust his hips into your grip, you squeeze tightly and stop dead. He’s whimpering your name by now, chewing hard on his lower lip as he peers up at you.

“Please,” he mumbles. “More.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” you coo. You slide onto your stomach between his thighs and don’t waste any time. You swallow him down.

He howls, throwing his head back as his thighs draw tight. His hips are trembling, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to thrust right to the back of your throat. Good, you think. He’s already learning.

You plant your hands on his thighs and start to suck. You keep the same painstakingly slow pace as before, planning to draw his pleasure out as slowly as possible, before letting him expel it all at once.

You can feel the tightness catch in his body when he finds a wave of pleasure. You let him ride it for a few more strokes but pull away sloppy and harsh before he can get too far. And he looks up at you with such betrayal in his eyes you seriously think about stopping.

“You with me?” You breathe, sliding your hands up and down his thighs. He’s flushed and broken for you, but he nods with a tightness squaring his jaw.

“Keep going,” he insists.

He’s been holding on long enough.

“Time for your reward,” you mumble. You lean in and pepper kisses down his collarbone. He rises his shoulder into your touch, but he doesn’t perk up just yet.

“C’mere,” you hum, sliding a hand to his shoulder blades. “On your knees again. Nice and tall. Just like that.”

You crawl around in front of him, dropping onto all fours. As soon as you spread your legs he’s gasping and pushing forward, wanting the wet, maddening heat you’re offering to him. You slide a hand between your legs and wrap it around his thick shaft, lining him up with your entrance.

“Slowly,” you urge, and he’s trembling but he complies, easing himself forward into you. You’re soaking and sloppy from before, still sensitive and tight as ha fist around his cock. He bottoms out diligently, slowly, and holds himself there.

“Please,” he gasps, voice breaking. You make him stay there for another few heartbeats. Then you smirk.

“Fuck me.”

He complies with renewed vigor, rearing back and slamming his hips into yours. His thrusts are erratic and sharp, but you meet him beat-for-beat, sliding your hips back as he pushes forward. Your ass slaps tantalizingly against his hips and you know he wants to touch it. Fuck, you should have done this sooner. You can picture him already, straining against those cuffs and aching to palm you.

The sharp cry of your name rouses you. His thrusts are getting shaky, and you realize he’s already getting ready to cum.

“Not… gonna last,” he whimpers. “Please, lemme…”

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “Cum for me, Kiri. I wanna feel all of you.”

His peak hits as if on command, and he lets out a feral shout as it rips through him. He fucks himself madly into your body, humping you through his desperate desire. He keeps pumping into you through the spurts of his orgasm, covering his cock and pulling drips of fluid from your body.

When it’s over you slump forward, panting and breathless, but he’s still drawn tight behind you.

“Kiri?” You hum, pushing yourself upright and sliding off his softening cock. He’s still got the desperate flush of desire covering his cheeks, and for a second, you’re worried.

“Let me…” he pleads, “let me touch you.”

“Jesus- here.” You race forward, reaching behind him and freeing him from the cuffs as fast as you can. You don’t even get the chance to drop them off the side of the bed before he flattens you to the bed. His hands glide all over your body, sliding down to your hips and over your breasts. He cards his fingers through your hair and pulls softly, making up for all the contact he couldn’t have before.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, but he’s already slipping a hand between your legs. He pushes one finger into your messy slit, drawing handfuls of cum out as he adds a second and curls his fingers.

He pulls a third orgasm from you before he’s finally satisfied, collapsing beside you and letting you wrap him up in your arms. You stay there for a long while, rubbing his back, letting him continue to slide his hands over all your bare skin.

“I’m sorry, baby,” you mumble after a long moment of silence. He frowns, lifting his head to meet your eyes.

“For what?”

“That was too much. I should’ve…” You don’t get to finish your sentence, because he’s silencing you with a kiss.

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had,” he chuckles against your lips. “Hands down. If you don’t do that to me again soon, I’m gonna be the one punishing you.”

He pulls a smile from you, and you pull him in a little tighter.

“I wouldn’t mind that so much.”

#kirishima x reader #eijirou kirishima x reader #kirishima/reader #my hero academia #mha fanfic #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #eijirou kirishima #red riot #gnomewrites

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blackmissfrizzle · 4 years

Text

No One Has To Know- Part 2

Part 1

Pairing: Angel Reyes x black!reader

Summary: The reader gets a real graduation party.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I finally got my Girls in the Hood inspired fic out! I hope yall enjoy!

Now this was a party. Your best friend, Bryce surprised you with a graduation party the pool party edition. The only thing missing was your boyfriend and his friends. They had club business to attend to that had them running late.

Aisha, a fellow graduate was complaining about how she didn’t know how to ride dick, so you gladly volunteered to show her. On que, Shake That Monkey came on and you laid Aisha on the lounge chair. Getting on top of her you began twerking on her.

Bounce that ass up and down to the floor

Shake that shit till you can't no more

Twerk that monkey, lemme see you get low

Freak that nigga till your shit get sore

Too busy twerking on your friend, you didn’t notice that Angel and his friends arrived. Angel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Your ass on display, eating up your bikini bottoms, moving up and down to the beat. You were definitely riding him later on tonight.

“FUCK IT UP!” You heard Letty’s voice cheer you on.

Turning around you saw the young girl, surprised at how she got there. Her dad beat you to the punch to questioning her. “Leticia, what the fuck are you doing here?!”

You couldn’t pay too much attention to the argument because suddenly you were picked up from Aisha.

“Where’s the clothes at, mi dulce?” Angel asked, biting your ear. There were too many eyes on his girl. He’ll pull his gun if he had to, he just had to do it secretly to keep the mood right.

“This is a pool party, Angelito. Clothes are unnecessary. In fact, you got too many clothes on.” You turned to tug at the ends of his kutte.

“It’s because I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.” Angel joked, sliding his hand to grab your ass.

Bryce walked past the two of you and forced drinks into both of y’alls hands. Apparently, you were too sober for her. Just as you were about to comment about how good the drinks were your song came on. You and Bryce ran towards each other, hyping the other up as you screamed the lyrics together.

Fuck bein' good, I'm a bad bitch (Ah)

I'm sick of motherfuckers tryna tell me how to live (Fuck y'all))

Angel stood behind and just watched. He loved just watching you be carefree. The pressure of being the perfect daughter not weighing on you.

Jumping in Angel’s face you began singing the lyrics towards him, dancing along to the song.

In the mall with him, I'ma have a ball with him (Yeah, yeah, woah)

Somebody call Rihanna, I'ma buy some drawers with him

He fuckin' with Thee Stallion 'cause he into wild women (He love wild women)

Put them legs on his head, now he love tall women (Yeah, yeah, ah)

You'll never catch me callin' these niggas daddy (Nope)

Angel smacked your ass as a warning to tell you to quit your shit. On multiple occasions you’ve called him daddy and he wasn’t about to let you act like you didn’t just because you were singing some lyrics.

The little smack you got, prompted you to twerk on Angel. You never really had this opportunity before and now that you can you’re loving it. You wanted to show off Angel as your man.

I'm a hot girl, I do hot shit (I do hot shit)

Spend his income on my outfit (On my outfit)

I don't text quick 'cause I ain't thirsty (I ain't thirsty)

These bitches mad, mad, they wanna hurt me (Ah, ah)

While sipping on your drink, you looked over your shoulder all innocently like you weren’t just making your ass clap against Angel’s erection.

Yeah, he call me Patty Cake 'cause the way that ass shake (Yeah, yeah, ass shake)

I'ma make him eat me out while I'm watchin' anime (Wow, wow, anime)

Pussy like a Wild Fox, lookin' for a Sasuke (Yeah, yeah, ayy, yeah)

The friction of his clothes and you twerking on him made Angel’s hard on unbearable for him. He had to get a little taste to hold him over for the rest of the party. Picking you up he led you into the house.

“Angel! Where are we going?” You wrapped your arms around his neck to secure yourself.

“Somewhere I can watch that ass shake on my dick.” Angel found the nearest bathroom and set you down on the counter.

Kneeling before you he ran his nose against your core, making you wetter than you already were.

Tugging on his hair, you tilted his head so he could look at you. “I thought you wanted to see my ass shake?”

Untying your bottoms, Angel stuck two ring adorned fingers inside of you. “Yeah, I do but first I wanna feel your legs wrapped around my head. Is that okay with you, baby?”

“Fuck yes,” you moaned, enjoying the feel of Angel’s fingers stretching you out.

There was no teasing. Angel dived in, eating your pussy like it was his last meal. He knew how to get you to a quick orgasm, and he was pulling out all the stops to get you there.

And sure, you love the head he was giving you, but right now you wanted to cum all on his dick. “Baby please I need you inside of me.” You tried to push away from him, but instead he wrapped his arm around your waist tightly and pulled you closer to him.

Angel’s tongue was expertly switching between flicking and sucking on your clit while fucking you with his fingers. Once he applied more pressure to your clit and angling his fingers, you reached your peak, beating on his back from how explosive the orgasm was.

Standing up to his full height, his beard and lips glistened from your juices. Crooking your finger, you beckoned Angel to bend down so you could get a tiny taste. The taste of your essence mix with Angel was heavenly like none other.

While kissing him, you unbuckled his jeans and pulled them down with his boxer briefs just far enough for his cock to spring out. You only got a couple of strokes in before Angel stopped you.

“Who am I?” He asked, his hand around your throat, lips ghosting over yours, and dick a half an inch away from sheathing itself inside of you.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, trying to scoot closer to his dick.

Angel lightly slapped your face. “Don’t forget it and don’t you say something stupid like that again. I don’t give a fuck even if it’s in a song.” Angel referenced to your sing along to Megan.

“Yes Daddy.” Normally you would be a bratty little shit, but Angel fucking you was the only thing you could focus on.

After slipping on a condom and turning you to face the mirror, Angel rammed into, making you cum on the spot. He rested his head on your shoulder and kissed it right before he bit it. “Make a fucking doctor’s appointment and get on that birth control, because after today you’re only gonna be coming on my cock with nothing between us. Understand?”

You nodded your head in agreement. Angel didn’t care that you didn’t give him a verbal answer, he was too caught up in how tight you felt around him.

“Shit, I don’t care if you don’t get on birth control. I could fill you up and you can have my babies. Do you wanna have my babies, mi alma?” Angel whispered against your ear, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

“Fuck yes, Daddy.” You looked back at him and he saw the fire in your eyes. He knew right now you would let him rip the condom off and shoot all up inside of you. The selfish bastard in him wanted to, but he remembered that you’re still young and that y’all had plenty of time to make babies later, so he kept the condom on.

Angel grabbed you around the neck and flushed your back against his chest. “Congratulations, graduate. I fuckin’ love you, you know that, right?” He asked, his lips peppering down your cheek.

Reaching behind you palmed his face. “I do, Angel. I love you too.” The sounds of your sex contradicted the softness of your proclamation of love, but soon the softness was replaced with roughness as Angel ordered you to cum with him.

Bishop was pissed and nervous. Him along with Taza and Hank came to the party to drop off a present for you. He didn’t expect to hear you and Angel having sex and now he wanted to rip Angel’s head from his shoulders.

“Calmese,” Hank advised his friend and president.

“I know in my head that she’s grown, and I can’t tell her anything, but hearing Angel fucking defiling my little girl is driving me crazy.” Bishop had to be careful holding the gift. He was so agitated he almost wrinkled the bag.

Taza slapped him on the back. “It’s ok. You’re going through 24 years worth of parenting in less than a month.”

“What if she doesn’t like it?” Bishop asked, now worried about the present instead of you and Angel. Both Hank and Taza assured to their friend that you would love your gift. It would no doubt become useful and it had a secret personal touch to it.

Seeing the older Mayans at the party, you drugged Angel along to say hi. “Hey, guys! Thank you for coming.” You hugged each man.

“We’re just dropping by. This is a little too young for us.” Bishop joked, fiddling with the bag in his hand. “Anyway, this is for you.”

Eagerly, you took the bag from him. You weren’t expecting a gift from him. Removing the tissue paper, you discovered your own helmet. Even though you were scared to ride Angel’s bike, you knew one day you would, and you would need a helmet of your own.

Jumping into Bishop’s arms you thanked him profusely.

To have his daughter in his arms warmed his heart even if she didn’t know the truth. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Angel couldn’t hold back the tinge of jealousy. Of all the girlfriends the Mayans ever had, none of them ever gotten a gift from Bishop, especially a gift that’s meant to be given from a boyfriend.

“Angel, can I talk to you for a bit?” Bishop asked, not even waiting for Angel to agree before walking off.

Once they were ducked off in a corner away from everyone else Angel spoke up. “What’s up, prez?”

In full and president authoritarian mode, Bishop warned Angel. “Respect her, you understand me? Keep your dirty shit in private.”

What the fuck was this, Angel thought. The only time Bishop gave any of them shit about screwing around was when they were in the clubhouse bathroom and someone needed to use it. Other than that it was jokes all around. Did this have something to do with you being the mayor’s daughter?

Angel’s rebuttal died on his tongue when he saw Bishop’s face. There was no arguing with him about this at all. “Got it, prez.” Angel nodded his head in agreement and then left in search of you, secretly wondering if his president had a thing for his girl.

Tags: @angrythingstarlight @briannab1234 @starrynite7114 @marvelmaree @thickemadame @chaneajoyyy @woahitslucyylu

#black!reader #angel reyes #angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x black!reader #mayans mc #mayans mc fandom #mayans mc fanfic #angel reyes fanfic #bishop losa #frizzlefic #frizzlesfic #frizzlewrites

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sirsharp-a · 3 years

Text

Tell Me a Story. ❜

Summary: He could see her in a way that she wasn't comfortable with-- could undress her soul like he could his women.

Trigger warnings: Implied physical abuse/assault, power abuse.

Drabble 1 / 10.

“Tell me a story.”

The hand that was wiping down a table paused, ocean eyes swivelling until they could rest on her superior. He was busy dusting behind the counter, meticulous as always, his focus anywhere but on her.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s been a long day. I’m bored. Talk to me,” he said, voice light, distracted. Somehow, it filled the space, made her realise that they were alone. Was it intentional? She didn’t know. Before she could ask: “Don’t pretend you care about wiping down tables, Miss.Adler. I know this job bores you to tears. You could use the conversation too.”

Consideration creased her brow for a moment. "What kind of story?"

"I don't mind."

Suddenly, she felt as if there was a lot of pressure on her. Edgar, by all accounts, was a sophisticated man with plenty of stories of his own. Though she felt little need to impress him, his spotlight burned. What exactly does one say to a man who’s heard it all?

"Um… Well…" The scout racked her brain quickly, eyes locked onto his back as he worked. She would have done unspeakable things to feel even an ounce of his confidence. Stress never seemed to touch him like it did her. "I suppose… when I was in my old-old creed…"

His ears suddenly stood up straight, and what alertness had been missing before was definitely present then. After a moment's pause, Edgar turned to face her, rag forgotten as his hands curled around the lip of the bar. He leaned against it a little, a brow raised inquisitively.

"You never speak about where you're from. I've been trying to pry it out of you for years."

"Shut up and listen," she scolded, hopping up onto the table she’d previously been cleaning. His eyes subtly followed the curve of her legs as she draped one over the other, arms crossing over her chest. “Back in my old-old creed--”

“Just one question before you continue!”

Grace groaned dramatically. “What?! You’re making me not want to continue!”

“Hehe,” he trilled. “By ‘old-old’, you mean that you’ve been in two separate creeds before mine?”

“... yes,” she replied after some amount of thought. There was no way to take back the tidbit that she’d unwittingly bestowed him with at this point. Somewhat sourly: “May I speak now?”

“You may,” he retorted, offering her the floor with a wide, theatrical sweep of one arm. After a brief roll of her eyes, she continued.

“My Alpha was a reckless fool. He was strong, like no other Alpha I’ve seen, but he was selfish and careless. Mean, too. The kind of person who enjoyed throwing his weight around. You know the type?”

“Yes, I know Arthur.”

“Hm.” She tilted her head for a moment, seemingly torn between saying something and remaining quiet. “... yes, I suppose that’s a fair comparison. But he was even more of a brute, if you can believe that.”

“I find it difficult, but you don’t seem the type to needlessly embellish stories.”

"He used to make his own fight each other. He'd make us pick sticks; the two with the shortest draws would be forced to brawl in the centre of the circle until he was satisfied. We lost a couple of members because of that, but it didn't faze him that much. He tried to make it out like it was a sporting event; some sort of morale boost or something. We knew better though. He was just always itching for a punch-out."

She shifted, feeling the ice in his gaze spreading through her. He could see her in a way that she wasn't comfortable with-- could undress her soul like he could his women.

I don't like feeling naked in front of you. It's disgusting.

"... one time, it was me that drew one of the short ones. I wasn't worried about it, but I didn't want to fight my comrades."

"You disagreed with him openly," Edgar said with a nod, listening to her scoff as if he'd predicted that too.

"Of course I did," she muttered ruefully. "I knew it was stupid. This brazen display of in-fighting was such a huge waste of time. It proved nothing. It created rifts between members. We lost people for it. We could have been hunting, or seizing new turf, or growing as a group. Instead, we were killing ourselves. I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I turned around and told him that I wouldn't fight-- that he couldn't make me strike my own."

"So you've always been like this…"

"Yes. And I will stay like this. I don't elect somebody into power just to have them behave like a spoiled idiot," she replied spitefully, internally urging his eyes away from her. Whatever he thought he had on her, he didn't. She wasn't willing to let him see what resided in her heart-- not unless he earned it, which she wasn't convinced he could do.

I don't need an Alpha. I don't need anyone. Least of all you.

"So let me guess," Edgar spoke up, retrieving a shot glass from behind the bar. A bottle of whiskey followed, posture straightening as he crossed the distance to her table. He noticed her gaze lock onto his hands as he poured a shot. For a short while, it hovered between them, before he offered it to her. "You rose up above the ranks. He met his match. Hence why you don't put too much stock into what Alphas say."

Her eyes blazed as she accepted the glass, downing the contents all at once without so much as a flinch. Then, she laughed. It was a terse little sound, more bile than sunshine.

"Did he hell," she murmured gravely, a bitter smile shaping her lips. "He punched me. He punched me so hard that I fell over and didn't get back up. Like an idiot."

"Oh." Given what little he knew about Grace, he hadn't expected her to tell him something so… revealing. She prided herself on appearing tough, untouchable even, and though he knew that she wasn't, she sold the image well. He grimaced slightly, head canting slightly in an expression of pity. "... this story is somewhat depressing, Miss. Adler."

"You said you didn't mind what kind of story it was."

"That I did," he conceded, the neck of the whiskey bottle spun in his fingers. "... is there at least a moral there?"

"Of course there is," replied the scout, reaching out and plucking the whiskey out of his hands. After taking a sip of it, she fed it between her knees, her hand idly stroking along its neck as she searched his face. He seemed taken by the movement of her fingers while she remained silent. "I learned that sometimes, you can be right and still lose. You can stand up for what you believe in, you can put everything on the line for your integrity because you're certain that you'll come out on top, and then you just don't. You can do everything correctly and still wind up the fool. But that doesn't mean that you shouldn't defend your principles. If anything, it should make you fight harder."

"You got all that from being punched in the face…?" Edgar asked, vaguely impressed. "The way your mind works is most admirable, but it eludes me still."

"I'm not a Rubik’s Cube, Mr.Strahv. You don't need to solve me."

"And yet, I feel you've shown me one of your faces."

A silence hung between them, one oddly charged and passionate in spite of her disdain for his status. She didn't want him to look at her as if he didn't think similarly to that foolish man.

You're an Alpha. That's what Alphas do.

"Either way," she quipped, a smug quality creasing her lips; just barely a smirk, as if she was trying oh-so hard to hold it back. "He got what he deserved in the end."

"Oh?"

"Mhm. His bullshit eventually wound him up dead. He bit off more than he could chew, finally, and paid the ultimate price for it." She would have been even more smug had she not possessed the knowledge that they had all paid for it too.

Don't think about Nyx. Do not speak about Nyx. It didn't happen. It didn't happen, it didn't happen, it didn't happen--

"Well, good riddance!" Edgar exclaimed, a hearty guffaw offered in return for her divulgence. "I suppose, in the end, you did win. It just took a while."

"Maybe…" But now she was distracted. Her mind was wandering, upturning stones that were best left stationary. The way her Alpha had perished was embarrassing to say the least; one might have expected it to be some epic battle, two powerful creatures locked in a hateful tango until one of them finally emerged victorious. Instead, he'd charged into the proverbial ring like a bull and been subsequently knocked off of his feet, the jaws around his neck squeezing tight until his throat had exploded like a juice box that had been stamped on. Near instant, akin to a threatening wildfire being put out with one solitary bucket of water-- a fitting death for such a lacklustre leader

"He was wrong, you know."

Slowly, Grace tilted her head upwards, her eyes finding his in the low light. An ear flicked, her hesitation plain.

"Huh?"

"The way he was acting, it belonged to that of a burden, not a supposed leader. You were right to be angry with him. Even if you didn't come out on top that time, I respect your principles. You have a good head on your shoulders." He watched her keenly, noted the slight changes in her expression. The twitch of her lips; the slight crease that had formed in her brow.

In a voice like oncoming thunder: "You respect it until it's you."

A soft laugh left her leader, his head shaking. "No. I would hope that you would speak up if I was acting that stupidly. It is unbecoming of a man to speak with his fists." He thought about it for a moment, then tilted his head slightly: "… unbecoming of anyone, actually. I would express the same disappointment in a woman, too."

"...I didn't expect such sound logic," Grace admitted. The woman popped the cap off of the whiskey once more, the lip of the bottle pressed tenderly against her lips. The smell entered her long before the taste did, thoughtful eyes only sparking to life when alcohol finally touched her tongue. After a single swallow, she put it aside. “Well. That’s my story.”

“You have quite a way with words,” Edgar replied. “And you can hold your drink. You’re a woman after my own heart.”

“I’m after nothing from you,” she uttered, an impossible mix of defiance and playfulness burning in her eyes as she stared up at him. Her lips curled into a smirk. “Besides. I can’t go after what you don’t have.”

#🞮 — 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐔𝐒. ❜ ( EDGAR. )#🞮 — 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑. ❜ ( GRACE. )#🞮 — 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌. ❜ ( IC. )#drabble *

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tonksie-writes · 3 years

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A Mark and A Soul||CH 3

Summary: The next morning Cara tries to figure out how to avoid any sort of incriminating conversations when things get more complicated.

A/N: Hi! So Here there is mentioned a background WLW Ship. It’s not going to be a huge part but it’s there and IDK if anyone but me in this world ships it but ya know.... it’s small. Also look more chapters. Let’s keep going right?

Prologue, Ch 1 , Ch2, AO3

It wasn’t much of a surprise to Cara when she woke up alone. She hadn’t expected to have him there wrapped around her when she woke up, though a small traitorous voice in her mind said she’d have liked that. Other than the bottles on the floor and a foggy dream of Din kissing her, there was no hint of the Mandalorian in the room. Her body, however, had a keen reminder of everything that had happened the night before. She sat up clutching a thin sheet over her chest -- a sheet she knew she hadn’t pulled up herself.

Images of the night before played in her head. She wasn’t some school girl still fumbling with boys behind trees on Alderaan. She’d had plenty of one night stands before and even a few instances of more drawn out but equally casual interactions. It was rare on Alderaan for people to ‘betray’ their soulmates by being with someone else; it happened here and there. None of those interactions had her replaying scenes from the night before quite like what she’d had with Din. She still felt his lips on hers in a bruising passion, still felt his hands roaming over her seeking places that would make the most impact on her. She could still hear his voice in her ear as his hot breath tickled her skin. Those memories alone would have her hitting the fresher if she wasn’t careful.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the thick metal door. “Yeah?” she called out in a rasping voice. Somehow it was no surprise when the door opened, and he was standing there in his full armor.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment at the sight of her, but walked in and closed the door behind him. “I brought you some caf and breakfast,” he said, holding out a plate of indiscernible food matter and a steaming cup. She knew it was impossible but somehow she could have sworn she could feel his eyes roaming over her form under the thin sheet. Call her crazy, but she was pretty sure he was blushing too.

“Thanks.”

She reached out, taking the cup with one hand still holding the sheet over her chest. He set the plate aside and looked like he was about to sit on the bed for a second before he changed his mind.

“About--” he started, but she instantly cut him off. No way he was finishing that sentence.

“So what’s the plan?” she asked instead. That wasn’t a conversation she was willing to have right now. There were too many ways it could go, and she wasn’t ready for any of them.

“That--I?” His confusion was clear in his voice. Somewhere under that helmet was a wrinkled brow and a slight frown, along with an agape jawline surrounded by a scruff she still felt the marks of on some of the more sensitive places on her body. His dark eyes were probably searching her face for a clue of what she meant.

She tried not to laugh at the images she now had in her mind to match a face with the expressions she always read in his voice. “Bib Fortuna,” she supplied, and he seemed to register as she took a slow sip of her caf praying for the magical substance to work its marvels with her sleep deprived mind.

“Right. Fortuna. Fett and Shand wanted to go in the front door. Fett wanted to use the ship to give coverfire while you and Shand go in and take out the guards inside.”

Cara let out a scoff as she arched her brow. “Seriously? He wants to take out one of the worst crime lords in the galaxy with a loud frontal assault? Like he doesn’t have escape tunnels?”

Din let out a chuckle under his helmet and shrugged, “That’s what I said.”

She smiled a bit at him, holding back a laugh. He moved to sit on the foot of the rack giving them plenty of space between them, but still closer.

“Really?” she asked, not really believing him.

“I was a little less blunt, but the meaning was there.” he admitted, and she laughed.

“Sure,” she said, leaning back, allowing the sheet to slip down her chest a little as she placed both hands around her caf mug, “but it could still work with a smaller distraction. If it’s quiet or if we can scout how many guards he has, then you and I can go in first and Shand can snipe from farther back?”

As she took a long sip of her caf, she waited for his response. Din’s helmet didn’t move in the least, but she could somehow tell his eyes flicked from her face to the place where the sheet was barely keeping her modest. Was he even listening?

“We can talk about that upstairs.” he offered, but he sounded distracted. She knew she was attractive, and after last night, he was clearly attracted to her. Soulmate facts aside, he had made it very clear that he was physically attracted to her. Feeling his eyes and hearing his voice was still a boost to the ego, though. She casually picked up a piece of fruit from the breakfast plate and popped it into her mouth, licking her fingers and lips, but continued on like she wasn’t trying to all but torture him with her current movements. She’d always been a big fan of playing with fire.

“You’ve already been up there, right? What’s going on? Still fighting?” she asked, sucking the last of the fruit’s juice off her fingers. It was very good if a little sweet but she wasn’t in this for the fruit. She could nearly see the gears turning in his head. Was it mean to do this to the poor armored man in front of her? Absolutely yes. Was she also enjoying that cruelty immensely? Also very much yes.

After a pause, he finally cleared his throat and spoke, rasping, “They haven’t come out yet. It’s still early.”

“Did I steal your caf?” she asked, pointing to the now half-empty mug that had joined the plate on the rackside table.

He shook his head just slightly “No I umm… I locked them out of the kitchenette.” He admitted a bit sheepishly.

She tilted her head and arched an eyebrow at him. “You barricaded the door instead of just coming in here to eat?” she asked, a bit pointedly. If he was going to feel awkward about everything or if he was going to put himself or others into uncomfortable situations, then she’d have to talk to him. She’d still avoid the feelings thing, she didn’t do those, but other parts.

“They didn’t mind,” he assured her awkwardly, “I mentioned you were still sleeping.”

“And they just gave you free reign?” she asked, not believing him for a second. There had to be more to it.

“Well, Shand was going through fighting forms, and I think Fett is afraid of you,” he explained, making her laugh. “He said I could take my time.”

“You punch one wall,” she said, rolling her eyes jokingly at the memory of when she’d gotten a little too pissed off at how long everything was taking and needed to let out some steam.

“You dented his ship,” Din pointed out, and she could hear the laugh in his voice.

“Barely! It wasn’t even that hard of a punch,” she scoffed, but the smile on her face was unmistakable. They laughed and sat in silence for a moment as she ate more of her meal a little less sexually this time. She could sense him fighting with himself about what to say next, what to do. She knew she wouldn’t be able to face that conversation quite yet, so she diverted it. “You might wanna get upstairs. If I don’t get dressed, they might think I killed you and get a whole damn show.”

“Right,” he said, nodding “I’ll see you upstairs then.” As he turned, he paused at the door as though he wanted to say something, but stopped himself and walked out. She sighed into her knees and realized this was going to be so much harder now.

Cara managed her way upstairs leaving the plate to deal with later but taking the cup of caf with her. She walked into the main hull and took up her post, leaning comfortably on a wall watching Fett and Din chart a course. It didn’t take long before Bo-Katan and Koska walked in as well. “After talking it over, we’ve elected to stay and assist you with your mission.” Kryze announced to the room.

It certainly pulled everyone’s attention. Fett looked ready to start another fight, and Cara stood up straighter as Din walked closer to the two women. “What brought on the change of heart?” he asked, sounding more curious than anything. Something in Cara’s mind said he was suspicious though, and so was she if she was being honest.

“You have the dark saber. It’s our duty to protect you.” Koska said bluntly. Cara arched a brow at the woman and tried not to laugh as she walked up behind Din.

“He doesn’t need protecting. And even if he did, he has back-up,” she challenged, staring her down.

Koska looked ready to speak up, but Bo-Katan was the one who actually got the words out first. “The position of the Mand’alor is important to reclaiming our planet and people. As you’ve decided to work with Fett and his goals, it is in the best interest for our people to ensure that you have the best support in that endeavor.” Cara hated politicians. She found the people in charge of governments to be generally despicable people, and while she had no issues with Bo-Katan and actually respected the woman as a fighter, sometimes, when she opened her mouth, Cara wanted to punch her. It didn’t help that Kryze still looked like she was tempted to challenge Din for the saber, and Cara wasn’t entirely convinced the woman wouldn’t try and take it by force at an inopportune time.

“So you’re going to help without throwing a fit?” Fett shot back in a mocking tone, and Cara could see the anger flash in the two women’s eyes in front of her and had no doubt that it was matched in the eyes of the clone behind her.

“They would be helpful,” Din suggested, deflecting the rising tension in the room, “It couldn’t hurt to have more hands. They’ve already proved they can work well with Cara and Shand. The four of us could easily take out any forces on the ground, and you and Shand could use the distraction to get Fortuna.” Cara did not have enough caf for this. She just stood over his shoulder, letting the others make the decision. She was here for Din. She’d never pretended she had an ulterior motive. Sure, getting Gideon was great, she loved that little bit of revenge, but Din and the kid had been her first priorities, and now that the kid was gone, Din remained her reason for staying.

“We did make a good team and six heads are better than four.” Fennec spoke up for the first time from her corner of the room. “They’re talented fighters,” she added, sounding more like she was reminding Boba than anything else.

“It never hurts to have a few more Mandalorians around,” Boba relented, eventually nodding at them, though something in the tone felt sarcastic. “It’ll be quite the asset to have you both.”

“Great, we have a whole team. I’m getting more caf.” Cara deadpanned, walking past Din as he made eye contact with her. She could feel the question in his eyes, but she smirked and held up the mug as her only answer. No amount of military training could stop the fact that she was not a morning person.

Cara walked down towards the kitchen area and was nearly to the door when she heard the armor behind her. She turned expecting to see Din and was instead met with Koska and Bo-Katan. “Marshal Dune.” Bo-Katan greeted with that appeasing look that reminded her of one too many political missions.

“Yes?” she asked, glancing between the two. It was strange being face-to-face and alone with them. That wasn’t something she’d experienced yet and somewhere in her gut, she braced for a fight.

“What are your intentions with the Mandalorian?” Bo asked, to Cara’s annoyance.

“Which one?” she asked, trying to evade the question because that was a whole can of worms she didn’t want to deal with.

“Funny.” Koska scoffed sarcastically, but both kept a calm facade.

“Look, I don’t see why it’s any of your business, but he and I are friends, and I’ve got his back,” she said flatly, staring the two of them down, threatening them to say something about it.

Bo Katan nodded, “Very admirable to be certain, but he is the Mand’alor now whether he likes it or not. That Saber comes with power and responsibility. As such we, as Mandalorians, serve at the pleasure of the Mand’alor.”

Cara scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Right. Ok. I’m sure he’ll love hearing that,” she said as she bit back a laugh.

“It's our job to keep him safe. That includes keeping him away from enemies in friends' clothing,” Bo explained smoothly, leading Cara to straighten at the implications. She felt the overwhelming urge to punch the woman in front of her for even thinking that she would ever hurt Din. Even so, she refused to acknowledge the small voice whispering, ‘Aren’t you hurting him by not saying you’re his soulmate?’

“And you came to talk to me?” she challenged.

“You are the one closest to him, are you not?” Koska pointed out. Cara raised her jaw and lifted her eyebrows looking for the reason that would matter. She supposed it would be a threat, someone close to Din could be the one to hurt him. She wasn’t going to do that, and she wasn’t going to let someone else do it either.

“Interesting you have such strong loyalty to him.” Bo probed lightly.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a man in armor,” she quipped, trying to steer them away from digging deeper. Without thinking, she swept some of her hair out of her face, tucking it to the side, before realizing her slip. Koska was close enough to get a flash of her mark, which wouldn’t have been a problem before last night.

“You’re his soulmate.” Koska said simply, making Bo Katan’s eyes light up.

Cara approached Bo with just this side of threatening, even as Koska stood between them. She couldn’t help but notice the two seemed to have black marks just poking out over their armor in the same place. “Does he know?” Bo asked, pulling Cara's attention, “Surely even a Child of the Watch would find it impossible to hold their vows fighting beside their soulmate.”

“No, he doesn’t. What vows?”

Bo Katan sighed, looking at her with a mix of pity and sympathy that made Cara want to lash out.

“He is a member of a … specific group of Mandalorians. They call themselves the Children of the Watch. They are a group of religious zealots who broke off from Mandalore just after the Purge. They believe in an ancient Way and wish to bring it back to all Mandalorians. They believe a warrior is the tribe and the tribe the warrior. As such they renounce their face, their names, and their soulmates.”

Cara wasn’t entirely sure why she felt like she’d just been punched in the gut.

Had Din renounced her? Had he sworn her away the same way he had his name or face? Was what they did last night the same as taking off his helmet? Why had he let her then? Did he know?

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Bo insisted, aiming for gentleness and missing horribly.

“No, it doesn’t!” she hotly reiterated, as her insides raged against the news of Din’s vows to reject his soulmate.

“You’re a liability to him,” Koska observed. Cara was about ready to fight her when she saw the look in both Koska and Bo’s eyes.

“Whether he knows or not, he is connected to you. The bond that connects soulmates starts far before skin-to-skin contact. He is already connected to you even if neither of you knows it, and the possibility of losing you is a vulnerability in him. He is a leader and a warrior, you know this. As such you have a responsibility to him and to everyone he leads to protect him.”

This time, it wasn’t the flowery language of a politician Cara had thought earlier of Bo. It was from the heart. Once again, Cara’s eyes flicked between the women as Bo seemed to forget herself and put a hand on Koska’s arm.

In that moment, Cara felt a connection to Koska, recognizing a kinship built on two people in the same position. She nodded shortly. “You two?” Koska nodded, pulling down her shirt enough to see the small black marks entangling in a way only Bo and Koska would understand, nearly reminiscent of the owl painted on Bo’s helmet.

“What are you suggesting?”

“We want to help you keep him safe and ensure he makes the best decisions for himself and Mandalore,” Bo explained, “His connection with Boba Fett is fine for now, but finding other Mandalorians and reclaiming our home needs to be a priority.”

Cara had to fight the urge to roll her eyes.

“And you think I’m going to help him go along with whatever you want? If you want the saber so badly, you can take it. He offered it. You can go reclaim your planet on your own.”

“It’s a fight to the death,” Koska grit out, “to regain the honor of the saber after losing it to an enemy would mean proving beyond a doubt that the other is unworthy of the might of Mand’alore. It would either end in banishment or death.”

If the missive had come from Bo-Katan, Cara would have heard it as a threat. Coming from Koska, she understood what it really was. This was a warning for her and a sign of respect that Cara deserved the whole story of what she was getting into. If Din and Bo were to fight, Koska and Cara would be in the same position where having a dead soulmate was the best case scenario.

Cara nodded her understanding. “I’m not going to push him to do anything he doesn’t want to do. He’s his own person; he can make his own decisions.”

“Of course!” Bo Katan said in an airy tone that made Cara want to hit her again. “We would never suggest you push him into anything. He clearly already has a heart for people and Mandalore. Marshal Dune, I am certain you only wish to protect him, but part of protecting him is making sure he does what’s right. Keeping him from doing what he’ll regret. I just hope your Republic ties don’t end up causing friction between the two of you. You clearly care for him very much.”

Cara scoffed. “Great. Can I get my caf now?”

“Of course. Please, enjoy.” Bo said airily, but Cara could tell she'd gotten just a bit under the woman's skin. She felt a small rush of pride as Bo started towards the ladder.

Koska took an extra second, just looking at the woman. The two met eyes in a solid look that felt oddly even. If Koska’s soulmate weren’t so tough to handle, Cara was pretty sure she and Koska would have a blast together.

“You should tell him,” Koska said, “before it’s too late. It’s better to have a little bit in the hard times than to stand there waiting to have everything in the easy ones.”

Cara didn’t respond as the woman walked away and up the stairs. She swallowed, turning away, suddenly wanting something a hell of a lot stronger than caf. Not even a few seconds passed as she heard the sound of lightly grazing armor behind her before a tingling sensation hit her back. She felt more than heard him settle as he waited.

“How much did you hear?” she asked.

#Caradin #Cara Dune #Din Djarin #The Mandalorian #bo katan x koska

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som3thingcr3ative · 4 years

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And I am Wanting

So, here it is...a slow burn, angsty, poly-amorous Geraskier fic. This beast is gonna be multiple parts, feature our boys Geralt the sass master and Jaskier the smol bean as well as an OC.

It’s got canon-typical violence, respect women juice (tm) and everything else that goes with the beauty of the Witcher.

Our story begins two months before Geralt meets Yennefer in a small town south of Rinde.

part one part two part three part four

Summary: Geralt seeks a bounty and finds something unusual waiting for him in the monster’s lair: Jaskier composes a song in honor of an unsung hero.

Warnings: If you’ve watched the Witcher, you’re prepared. This gets a little more into Geralt’s feelings, but that’s about it.

pairings: so far, mild Jaskier x OC, eventual Geraskier x OC.

also, this is loooong. You’ve been warned.

Word of a beast with a price on its head had come from a local town: the Lord of the town promised a room for any who dared attempt to slay the beast, food for three nights and a great ransom upon return of the creature’s severed head. Geralt was intrigued. The disgruntled highwayman who’d told him spoke also of the town’s vigilante, a man who ‘cleaned up the streets’. It’s a town without rapists or child-molesters, the man had said. The only murderer is the vigilante, and people are calling his work just. They honor him. Whores have professed their undying gratitude.

Geralt sips his ale and wonders what the vigilante would think of him. Across the tavern, Jaskier has started his third run-through of ‘fishmonger’s daughter’. The Witcher feels his eyes twitch. He downs the ale and motions for another from the hesitant bartender; it’s his sixth- or so, he’s not really counting. When the barkeep fills his mug once more, he slams it back and lets his stools’ legs scrape loudly against the slatted floor as he stands, making his exit. He spares only the briefest glances for Jaskier, who is surrounded by drunkards singing along with him. The bard’s cheeks are rosy from drink, his eyes sparkling in the low light with the attention of so many on him.

The Witcher waits outside the tavern, leaning against the hitching post Roach is tied to. He strokes a hand over her ear and murmurs lowly to her as he looks around; the town is quite large by rural standards, boasting three taverns and two brothels, a church with a monopoly on the religious sheep of the place, and a rather palatial estate overlooking the main street. This estate is where he needs to go- he takes the whole thing in, from the neatly trimmed rose bushes out front to the large barn to its left. There is a circular cobblestone path for horses and coaches, tall columns guarding the entrance.

Jaskier stumbles out of the tavern, a little tipsy and with a wide grin on his face. Geralt grunts, sending the bard a short glare before he turns his back, throwing the reins over Roach’s head and mounting up. Together, Jaskier telling Geralt in great detail how amazing having everyone singing his songs was, they make a steady pace for the estate.

The first thing Geralt notices as a servant leads him into the dining room is the beautiful woman sitting to the right of who he assumes is the Lord of the town. She’s stunning, her features refined as he’d come to expect of nobility, her long hair let loose in ringlets that spill over her shoulders in waves of auburn. Her posture is perfect, hands clasped in her lap over a flowing dress. Every inch of her screams wealth.

Geralt doesn’t have to force himself to look away. While she looks like she can afford the price on the beasts’ head, she doesn’t look like the type to get her hands dirty- in fact, even at dinner her hands and forearms are covered by black silk gloves. She’s far too prissy for his taste.

“Geralt of Rivia!” The Lord of the town booms, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin as he stands up. He spreads his long arms wide. “I’d heard you were in town. Have you come for the monster? Who am I kidding, of course you have! Welcome, welcome!”

The Witcher steps into the dining room, Jaskier just behind and to his left. He knows he’s out of place with his dual swords, his black leather armor, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. Money is money, and this man has plenty.

“Please, sit!” The Lord continues. “I’d like you to meet my daughter, Lani.” He motions to the auburn-haired woman beside him. She inclines her head with a small smile, properly polite. Geralt nearly scoffs. Instead, he takes a seat at the foot of the table, Jaskier placing himself beside the woman. He kisses the back of her hand, turning on the charm. Geralt watches them for a second, seeing her polite dismissal of the bard. Jaskier doesn’t seem deterred- he keeps talking to her despite her lack of interest.

“I head you have a pest.” Geralt says, ignoring the way the woman’s green eyes lock on him.

“Yes, a werewolf. There’s a mage who has gone rogue around here, and the werewolf seems to be her pet. It’s a creature born, if the pattern of attacks mean anything, and it’s killing our businesses. My businesses, really, since everything in this town is mine.” He laughs, self-confident to the point of cockiness. “I’ll pay you handsomely if you slay it.”

“When.” Geralt corrects, but the man doesn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t have it threatening my daughter, you see. No suitor will want her if the land she is to inherit is plagued with a monster.”

The daughter’s eyes narrow, but she quickly composes her face into an emotionless mask. Geralt notices the slip, though. It seems she’s not content to be married off.

“We have rooms prepared for you, Witcher. Your…friend can stay in the adjoining room. Please, help yourself to whatever food and drink you fancy while here. I can’t offer an advance payment, you see, or too many fakes would come through those doors, but I promise payment in full as soon as the task is complete and the wolf’s head- human or otherwise- crosses my threshold. And only the head, mind you.” He clears his throat. “Apologies, Lani sweet, for such coarse language.”

Lani tips her head to him, but her eyes are still focused on Geralt. He shifts an inch, starting to feel uncomfortable. Her stare isn’t obvious, but it is disconcerting, and with her careful mask, he can’t tell what she’s thinking or why she’s staring.

“Where?” Geralt questions.

“It’s sheltered in the mountain just south of here, at the base. There’s a cave system there, it’s hard to miss. Just follow the creek upstream.”

Geralt nods and stands, turning to leave the room without another word.

“Did you see how beautiful Lani is?” Jaskier babbles as he follows Roach up a sloping hill. “She looks like a princess, or a queen. Oh, I could write a song about her beauty! Should I? Do you think that would woo her to me?”

Geralt huffs, rolling his eyes. Roach is sure-footed on the rocks, but he can hear Jaskier slipping every so often behind him. Nevertheless, the bard keeps up his steady stream of talking. They’re an hour into the woods, following the creek as Lord Corro (He’d gleaned the name from a passing servant in the hall) had said. There are fresh hoofprints in the bits of sandy ground between rocks, and only in one direction. Whoever had gone hadn’t come back.

The Witcher holds up a hand. Jaskier stops with a huff. “Are we there yet?”

Geralt glares at him, but his attention is diverted; just over the crest of the hill he can see the very top of a cave mouth. Inside, echoing just loud enough for his highly tuned senses to pick up is the sound of a fight. He hears a shout, a roar, a scream- and then a thud as something- or someone- is thrown.

He nudges Roach into a canter over the path, finding that the ground levels out and becomes less rocky the closer they get to the cave. Outside the mouth of the cave, a large black horse grazes amongst bones strewn haphazardly on the ground. It lifts its head and whickers, puffing itself up to full height as it watches Roach canter in. Inside, the sounds of the fight have resumed. Geralt catches the scent of blood, of sweat and something else- wood smoke? He turns his mare and jumps off, rushing into the cave.

The inside of the cave is littered with full skeletons, half-eaten corpses and fresh blood. There are several human bodies among the dead, but sheep and goats far out number the people. He even spots a few cows, their skulls resting in odd positions. Closer now, he can hear each grunt the human fighter makes, each glance of their weapon over the werewolf’s hide. The monster screams, then roars. For a second there’s nothing.

Geralt skids to a stop at the entrance to the main lair. The werewolf lays dead, skewered through the neck by a silver-plated sword. Standing over the corpse with a leg over either shoulder is a black-clad figure whose face is obscured by a mask and a hood- but Geralt can see that the blood dripping from their hands to the sword’s hilt isn’t werewolf blood. It’s their own.

The figure collapses, falling just to the side of the werewolf’s massive body, curled in on itself. Is it the vigilante? Geralt thinks, blinking at the well-made sword, the man’s black doublet and thick leather pants. He sure did come prepared.

As he stalks toward the too-brave human, he takes stock of the fight scene. It had been brutal, this much he can tell; there is human blood smeared across the ceiling and directly below, too fresh to belong to anyone other than the vigilante.

“You shouldn’t have taken on a monster by yourself.” Geralt admonishes the panting, nearly-broken figure on the floor. “That’s what I’m here for.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, instead pushing himself up with both hands firmly planted on the ground. As soon as he gets his feet under him, he’s scrambling backwards, away from Geralt.

The Witcher holds his hands up, seeing the vigilante reach for a dagger belted to his waist. “No need.” He says. “I only hunt monsters, not humans.” Still, no response other than ragged breathing. The man presses a hand to his ribs, hunched over. Clearly injured. “You need help.” Geralt comments. “I can help you.”

He’s aware of Jaskier finally catching up; the bard stands in awe of the scene before him, jaw dropped. Then he sees the vigilante, and notices that both of Geralt’s swords are still strapped to his back- though there is a sword stuck in the werewolf.

“Geralt?” Jaskier questions, confused. “Did he kill the monster?”

The vigilante drops like dead weight. Geralt rushes over, taking the dagger from a limp hand. His fingers come away slick with blood. Up close, the man is smaller than most men he’d seen. He pushes back the hood, noting that the man wears a tight black knit cap that lines up perfectly with the mask. Blood seeps from below the mask, so Geralt takes it off carefully.

“Oh.” He murmurs, shocked. The man, the vigilante, slayer of the werewolf, isn’t a man at all.

Lying unconscious on the ground before him, her body battered, is Lani, Lord Corro’s daughter. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, but her face is unmarred. Up close, Geralt notices a small scar over her right eyebrow, a tiny imperfection on her otherwise unmarked face. She groans, face scrunching, then gags, rolling over to spit up blood. For a second she seems to gather herself, then her eyes land on his.

She reaches up, feeling for the mask, but when her fingers touch only skin her eyes widen. “Don’t tell my father-“ She says, voice hoarse with the blood coating her throat. Geralt pats her back as she falls into a coughing fit, spitting up more blood. When she flops onto her back, she gives him a side-eye. “Don’t tell anyone.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re injured.”

Her hand lifts to her ribs and she winces. “I’ll be fine. Just…don’t tell.”

Geralt looks to Jaskier over his shoulder. The bard has a comical look of surprise on his face, so shocked that he can do nothing but blink. Huffing, he nods. “I won’t.”

Lani closes her eyes, nose scrunching in pain. She pants through bared teeth as she tries to lift herself onto an elbow, but Geralt is quick to push her back down. “Stay.” he says.

“M’lady?” A girl’s voice calls out from behind them. “Oh! Lani!” Geralt turns to see a woman the same size as Lani rushing towards her. She wears the outfit of a handmaiden in Lord Corro’s house, her mouse-brown hair done up in a braid. Without even bothering to glance at the witcher, she kneels beside Lani and cups her face in one hand. “This is going to leave a mark.” She says.

“You knew about this?” Jaskier’s incredulous voice questions from just over Geralt’s shoulder. His face is bewildered, and Geralt thinks- not for the first time- that the bard lets too much of what he’s feeling show on his face. “You knew that she’s the vigilante?”

The handmaiden cuts Jaskier a look so cold that Geralt’s eyebrows raise. “Of course I did.” She growls, already feeling down Lani’s side for broken bones. “I knew I couldn’t stop her, so I decided to join her. I’m the only one who knows.”

“Not anymore.” Lani coughs, wiping at her mouth. She glances only briefly to the blood on her hand before she warily eyes Jaskier. “Don’t. Tell.”

“Her father would disown her.” The maid explains. “Some of the men she’s, ehem, stopped are men who work for Lord Corro. He’d kill me if he found out I helped her.” She cuts herself off, looking to Lani. They share a glance that clearly means something to the other.

“You can say it.” Lani says, gritting her teeth past a fresh wave of pain.

“Lani’s been playing a long game. Lord Corro is the most corrupt person in town, and she’s been taking out his pawns one by one until she can bring him down, but it’s dangerous. If she were to be found out…”

Geralt’s mind reels. This is not the woman who he’d seen sit so demurely at her father’s side. This woman is cunning. She’s an incredible actress, and far more than he’d given her credit for. “He’s your father.” The Witcher comments. “Not many people would dare take on their own family.”

She bares her teeth, her smile bloodied. “He doesn’t deserve what he has. No one should be that rich while others suffer.”

Behind him, Geralt swears he hears Jaskier whimper. The scent that always clings to the bard intensifies. He looks over his shoulder to find Jaskier making heart-eyes at the woman lying bleeding on the floor, broken but victorious.

“We have to get you back.” The maid murmurs to Lani. “Can you move?”

“She shouldn’t walk on her own.” Geralt says, wondering at the sudden protective urge he has over the woman. “I’ll carry her.”

Lani scoffs, but he knows her pride won’t get her upright. She sets her jaw, eyeing him distrustfully, but when he only holds out a hand for her she seems to deflate. He waits until she nods before he scoops her up with an arm behind her back and one under her legs. She groans in pain, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling. “You’re not like the others, Witcher.” Lani grudgingly admits from behind clenched teeth. “Most men wouldn’t wait for permission.”

Geralt hums low in his chest, knowing she can hear it. He doesn’t bother to answer as he turns around, noting that Jaskier is still reeling from the surprises of the day. “Are you coming, bard?” He burrs, amused. Jaskier nods, glancing back to see the maid following them.

The Witcher places Lani as gently as he can on the black horses’ back, frowning when she still grimaces in pain despite his best efforts. She’s a tough woman, but those are serious injuries, he thinks to himself. “You take the bounty.” She says to him, not meeting his eyes. “As payment for keeping my secret.”

He nearly shakes his head. She’d almost been killed in the fight, the bounty was hers by rights- but the part of himself that remained from his lessons says that coin is coin, no matter how it is gotten. “You killed it.” He says instead. “It’s your bounty.”

“She won’t take it.” the maid replies when Lani clutches her ribs, her face scrunching up in pain. “She’s stubborn like that. Either you take the money or no one will.”

“He’ll take it.” Jaskier jumps in. “Or I will.” When Geralt gives him a short glare, he shrugs. “Living on the road is expensive. We need to pay for food somehow.” Geralt’s lips twitch in annoyance but he realizes the bard is right. It’s a waste of Lani’s blood if no one takes the bounty.

“Where will you go?” He asks instead.

“Home.” Lani breathes, pushing herself upright in the saddle. She takes a few shallow breaths past her bruised ribs. “I’ve gotten good at hiding my injuries.” Geralt sees the sadness in her maid’s expression and knows it’s all too true. “Ready, Loretta?”

The maid nods, swinging up unassisted into the saddle behind her Lady. Lani turns the horse toward the town, giving Geralt a lingering look. “I’ll see you there, Witcher.” She says, gritting her teeth as she urges the horse into a rolling canter.

Geralt huffs, muttering a low ‘fuck’ under his breath. He turns toward the cave where the werewolf’s dead body waits. Jaskier, behind him, is staring after the two riders with longing in his eyes.

“I want to marry that woman.” Jaskier murmurs, his cheeks pink. “She’s so… perfect.”

The Witcher grunts. “She’s her own woman, Jask. Can’t be tied down.” He stomps into the cave, finding the monster exactly the way it had been left. The blood on his leather is Lani’s, but no one in town would know that, so he decides to leave it as a sign of the battle. With a savage yank, he pulls the sword from the werewolf’s spine and uses it to sever the head in two blows. When the head rolls alone on the stone floor of the cave, Geralt takes a closer look at the sword, humming in appreciation of the wonderful craftsmanship. If Lani left it, then she left it for a reason, so he decides to keep it though it is smaller than he likes.

The sun is nearing its crest when Geralt walks out of the cave with a new sword in one hand and a werewolf’s head in the other. Jaskier waits, already strumming his lute to a new tune; one of the witcher, victorious in battle against yet another monster.

Lani sits stiff as a board in her seat beside her father. Her ribs throb with every shallow breath, her entire right side is an amalgamation of black and blue bruises, but the sleeves of her dress and her black silk gloves cover everything. Behind her, Loretta frets. She can feel the handmaiden’s eyes boring into the back of her skull, watching and waiting for a sign that she’s had enough.

She’s about to give up when the double doors to the dining room crash open and in strides Geralt, bloodied and carrying the head of the monster she herself slew.

A good excuse, she thinks, feeling rather pale. She puts the back of one hand daintily to her forehead, sighing just enough that her father hears. “Oh my,” she murmurs. “Father, I feel quite faint. You must excuse me.”

And with that, she rises on unsteady feet, using the back of the chair as balance to leave. As soon as she’s out of eyesight of anyone, Loretta slips an arm around her waist and takes half of her weight, guiding them both to her room.

Lani doesn’t see Geralt unceremoniously dump the head to the floor, or her father hand over a large bag of gold coins. She lays in bed, aching all over and so tired as Jaskier serenades the Lord with a song of Geralt’s triumph over the beast. She hears the revel thrown in Geralt’s honor, the revel that goes on for hours until there’s a shallow knock on her door.

“My Lady Lani?” Jaskier’s voice calls, muffled through the door.

Lani motions Loretta to open the door, too weak to do much more. Jaskier is quickly by her side, gingerly taking her hand in both of his. “How are you feeling?” The bard asks, and Lani can see genuine worry in his eyes.

“Everything hurts.” she confesses, in too much pain to put on an act. “Did Geralt collect the bounty?”

“He did. I made a song about his victory over the beast, but I wanted you to hear the real one, the one I’ll only sing to him or you. Would you like that?”

She doesn’t know why there are tears suddenly at the back of her eyes, or why seeing his soft gaze breaks down the walls she’s built for so long. “Loretta,” She calls, and instantly her handmaiden is there, helping her sit up. Jaskier helps too, his hands warm on her shoulder and careful not to hurt her any more than she already is. The bard fluffs her pillows behind her without being asked. “Thank you, Jaskier. I’d love to hear your song.”

And so, with Loretta sitting comfortably on her bed beside her, she watches as Jaskier kneels and swings his lute over his chest, strumming a few careful notes.

“This tale begins with a proper Lady whose beauty knows no bounds, whose courage is unmatched, whose honor is worth more than gold.

Defender of her land, protector of her realm, she is unknown to all but one.

She fought minor beasts, men whose deeds made them wicked, defeated their demons and emerged victorious.

So when true evil came to her land

When a monster stalked her people,

She did as heroes do and she hunted the creature.

When no man would stand up and fight, when cowardice was proven, she asked no recompense, no quarter, for there could be no mercy either.

When no man would fight, she said ‘I am no man’ and she proved her worth.

She fought the creature with every breath, she slew the beast with the last of her strength

And though battered by the monster, she didn’t cry for help. This valiant, beautiful woman had proven herself worth more than fifty men and yet she asked to remain hidden.

And so it is that no one will know her name, the glory of battle goes to another, the spoils of victory hers to give but not taken.

But let not her tale end here.

Let it not end here, but let there be many more victories in her future.’

Loretta is crying when Lani glances over at her. Jaskier’s eyes are soft, but there’s something glimmering in them from his song, and Lani feels the effects of it long after the last note fades away, like some sort of spell. “That was beautiful.” She whispers to the bard. “Thank you.”

Jaskier smiles, a smile that lights up his whole face. Geralt never compliments his singing, and more often than not he’s boo-ed out of taverns. “No, thank you, M’lady. Today you proved that it doesn’t take a Witcher for all monsters. There may be hope for us yet.”

Lani laughs, but it quickly dissolves into a coughing fit. Jaskier is quick to help, rubbing her back soothingly as she coughs. She leans into him for a minute, weakened by the fit, and his heart threatens to burst. He’d always been one to trust too quickly, but even he knew that from the moment he first saw her that she was unlike the others. He sets her back against her pillows gently, pushing a lock of hair out of her face. Her eyes are as green as he remembers them being from first glance, though they are pain-dulled and tired. “Get some rest.” he says, kissing the back of her hand once more. He can feel her callouses from weaponry and realizes why she always wears gloves. “You deserve it.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.” She says as he stands, moving his lute onto his back. “And please tell Geralt thank you too.”

“I will.” He replies. “But you are the one we should both be thanking.”

TAG LIST (OPEN)

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher netflix #the witcher #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #dandelion #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfic #geraskier x oc #original character #slow burn #angst #the witcher angst #slightly canon deviant #mostly canon reliant #And I am Wanting

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yojeongin · 5 years

Text

small written portion below images ☆彡

compass

masterlist in bio

[pt. 27: he stank]

pairings: art teacher!taehyung x mom!reader x producer!jungkook

genre: bts parenting au, sm au, crack humor, fluff, angst

a/n: owo oWo,, haha lowkey coming to an end :D

—❁—

Taehyung had no expected to had been woken up by the horrid sound of their doorbell. Despite being in that same apartment many times, the bell was never rung given that a harsh knock was enough to alarm everyone that someone was at the door.

He had given it at least a few seconds until he noticed y/n wasn’t opening the door, so as he sighed softly and put on a shirt he often had laying around in your room, the boy walked towards the door, slippers shuffling against the wooden floor of the living room.

“Please give me a few seconds,” he’d whine, voice groggy and deeper than usual. His pout was prominent as he rubbed his eyes and with a silent huff he opened the door, not expecting sunlight to hit his face so early (despite it being noon.)

“Taehyungie!” The childish voice that wrapped itself around his torso caused his silent curse to stop as he felt yani’s tight embrace. “Hey, bubs!” He spoke bubbly ignoring his earlier annoyance of being woken up. “Hello,” He’d speak to the women staring at him with much disapproval. “Would you like to speak with, y/n?” Giving them another smile, it soon faded seeing how they just nodded. “Very much so.”

Nodding he picked up Yani, beginning to speak on his way to the restroom. “Baby, yani is here. Umm-“ stopping at the fact he didn’t know their names, Taehyung turned to them, his eyes speaking for him. “Jungkook’s mother.” The taller woman spoke sternly, causing for Yani to furrow his eyebrows before he went back to playing with the hole in Taehyung’s shirt. “Alright. Baby, jungkook’s mom wants to talk with you.”

He didn’t have to tell you, you could hear everything from the cold restroom where you hoped to hide out until she got tired of waiting but also feared they would say something to Taehyung. Nodding to yourself as you exit the restroom, you give a smile to Taehyung in reassurance. “Yani, why don’t you show Taehyungie the drawing uncle Yoongi helped you draw, yeah?” Nodding, the boy kissed your cheek before Taehyung carried him to the bedroom.

To say Jungkook’s family weren’t looking at the interaction, would be a lie. Their eyes looking at every detail and action any of you did. Even the action of seeing you walk towards the lone chair in front of the women with the shirt Taehyung wore last night and a pair of sleeping shorts.

The air was hostile, the stares they gave you were judgmental and longing. Clearing your throat, a small smile resided on your lips. “Pomegranate juice? Jin made it yesterday.” The women only nodded as they watched you walk towards the kitchen, only to come back rapidly with a tray of three glasses and the pitcher.

“Hun, I’m sure you know why we’re here.” His mother begun, watching as you poured the juice into their glasses, Kook’s aunt taking a sip she would finish rapidly. “I-I’m well aware, Mrs. Jeon, but my answer remains the same.” As respectual as you were trying to be, their words had already gotten to you.

Jungkook’s aunt turned to look at you, shifting to give a sign she was about to talk. “Give him a chance love. He loves you and I’m sure you love him.” Shaking your head, you looked at your lap, leg shaking already. “I love him as a friend and nothing else, a greatful love for being the father of my son and nothing else.” Placing the glass down on the coffee table, you crossed your arms against your chest.

“Yes, the father of your son. Don’t you think it’d be best for Yani if you two were together?” A scoff left your lips hearing her words. Not even they believed it but for sakes of stopping the talking tongues, they tried to force a marriage that wasn’t needed. “In what possible way is it better?” Your question with eyebrows furrowed. “It’d be healthier for Yani and you both. You wouldn’t have to struggle with knowing what times to spend time with him.” Continuing to shake your head, a frustrated huff left your lips. “How is an unwanted marriage healthy? How would it be healthy for Yani? A marriage without love isn’t a happy marriage and personally I don’t want to be with Jungkook. You both already know who I want to be with.”

“Clearly,” his aunt spoke taking the last sip of juice once again. “But is he the right choice?” Mrs. Jeon questioned, squinting her eyes softly as she looked at you. “Mrs. Jeon of course he is. I love him, he loves me. For sakes Yani loves him and Taehyung adores Yani, not only that but your own son likes Taehyung and doesn’t mind what we have. Even so Jungkook has no say in my relationship with Taehyung just like Taehyung has no say in my parenting with Jungkook.” Though speechless and knowing well you were right, Jungkook’s mother asked to bring Taehyung out.

“What? No. This doesn’t have to involve him.” You spoke following behind the woman who had already reached your room. Opening the door, you couldn’t hesitate as both inside turned to the open door. Yani stood in front of Taehyung who sat on the floor with his legs crossed pretending to be his student as Yani spoke about his drawings. “Would you mind coming?” She asked Taehyung softly, seeing your defeated lowered head, Taehyung only nodded.

The three smiled at the boy who only looked at them blankly. “Watch TV, bubs.” You’d softly tell Yani who only turned around to turn on the television. Grabbing Taehyung’s hand into yours, the three walked towards the living room.

Sitting on the couch to the left of the women, Taehyung pulled you to his chest whilst his arms wrapped around your hip and shoulder. Creating a sense of reassurance and safety.

“Do you see this going anywhere?” Jungkook’s aunt asked, Taehyung looking at them both before at you. “It’s going somewhere and I hope it remains that way.” It was soft and innocent sounding. His eyesight directed at you as his grip became tighter. “Are you sure? Are you sure you can handle juggling your relationship with taking care of a child? This isn’t a typical relationship and one only goes into one knowing what they’ve gotten themselves in.” It was so cold, cold to where the hair the back of his neck rose.

It was true, this wasn’t a usual relationship and he knew it, but he also knew that he wanted to be part of it and would fight through it against all obstacles. “I wouldn’t have gotten in it if I didn’t know what was ahead,” looking at the and shifting slightly. “With all do respect, I adore y/n and Yani and wouldn’t want to give them up for anything. At all. I knew what it meant to be in a relationship like this and I’m up for whatever obstacle.” Your hand found his, squeezing it softly.

With a sigh, Jungkook’s mother took her purse onto her lap. “Think about it y/n. Give Jungkook a thought and ignore whatever happened, if that is what’s holding you back.” Ready to stand up, you beat her to it. Both facing each other. “What happened was purely his choice and only his choice. He decided to leave and abonded whatever we had. If you think it’s a bitter payback I’m trying to do, then you’re wrong because out of the consequences I’ve found peace and love just like he is.” Walking towards the door a soft smile rested on your face.

“I adore you both, but for once you need to know when to not dig your nose into something that has nothing to do with you. Jungkook and I have worked out a deal on how to care and love our child to where he is happy. Respect our way of parenting, the happiness that Seoyan contains, and respect Taehyung who deserves none of your blatant bitterness.” The heat in your neck turned into coolness, eyes jumpy from the anger they held. With heartbreak, the two women walked out trying to ignore their changed thoughts on the situation.

Closing the door behind you with all the locks, Taehyung walked your way wrapping his arms tightly around you. “Are you okay?” He’d question kissing your cheek with multiple kisses. “I’m just so tired…” a well needed gasp left your lips as you hurried your face in his chest, smell of cologne and his musk remaining on him and his shirt. “If it’s not them it’s my mother, school moms, or the media. God why can’t they mind their own business.” Taehyung never considered these problems to happen to you, so seeing how there was actual criticism towards your relationship, his heart shattered holding you tighter.

“I’d understand if you want to end this…” his voice was a mere whisper, closing his eyes tight to avoid any spillage. Pushing him away out of anger you shook your head. “It’s too early for dumb shit, Taehyung.” Scoffing you went back to his arms kissing his lips softly. “Don’t even say nonesense like that, I want you and only you. Fuck, I love you.”

With those word, his head resting on top of yours and his eyes closed once again, a smile formed on his plump lips.

“And I love you.”

taglist: @aureumjeon @bebbitta @bangtan-serendipity @thefooolonthehill @yoonjinbabe @mauvekookie @oodlespadoodle @cutaejaemin @princesskimnamjoon @mygscafe @rjsmochii @pastelbleuet @taegukgis @twomilkmen-gocomedy @parkjiminstan16 @jiminieschilliepeper @acc3ssdenied @lustremyg @sg2802 @sugamonster22 @slytherinholland @pocketfullofsuga @sippinpeachtea @btstxtstanninprogress @common-oreo @bts-reveries @magicalchan @babybluebisexual @beanstalkyoongi @hajimaoppaa @y-eehaw @darlingyoongs @kiara-rose-blackthorn @janieooo

[let me know if you want to be added to the taglist]

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quiche-pocket · 5 years

Text

Not Prince Charming

A/N: Here is the Hvitserk fic that nobody asked for. This is Hvitserk at his most primal and most violent and most disrespectful and... you get the idea. I’m not going to pretend that this is pretty because it is not. There is violence. There is rape. There is degradation of women and scheming and blood. Please please please take caution in reading this. I wrote it as a challenge for myself to create something that is more realistic and cannon and less AU. I do not have any plans to continue this at this time, I think of it more as a character study of sorts even though the ending is the way that it is. The tag list has remained the same, but as always please let me know if you would like to be added or removed.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I make nothing off of the recognizable characters and places in this story. The female character is my own creation, however.

Warnings: I say it again: PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION this is rape no matter the intentions of the woman involved. This is violent and rough. I do not condone violence or any of the things discussed in this piece this is a work of fiction dealing with themes that may have been prevalent during the time period. Please heed the warnings, lovelies.

He could smell the blood everywhere. It could be from the Englishmen that littered the ground covering the clearing with mutilated and beaten bodies, nearly unrecognizable as people at all. It could be his, coming from the cut on his forehead and dripping down between his eyes. Splatters covered his face and his armor. His leather bracings a rust color now more than the soft camel they were before. He looked again at all the carnage and Hvitserk threw his head back and let out a booming laugh.

His brothers and the rest of the army were storming the fortress walls and Hvitserk unsheathed his sword to follow when something caught his eye beyond the trees. Ivar had chosen this location for tactical reasons but there was something back there that didn’t belong. Peeling off from the rest of the army, he crept back into the woods looking for the flash of white he had seen in the shadows through the trees. He hoped it was not a deer, but, then again, his stomach had been empty since this fighting started at dawn that day. He heard a rustling to his left and snuck closer.

“If you have come to kill me please do it now. I do not have anything to offer you for trade and I will not be a slave so please just kill me.” A cracking feminine voice sounded from behind an outcropping of rocks just ahead. It sounded like she may have been crying and she sounded young, but not like a child. Hvitserk drew his sword and prepared for an ambush just in case because he did not want to get stuck in a trap.

“I do not know who you are so I will not kill you yet. Come out and let me see you, you may not even be worth taking back to serve in the great hall.” He heard rustling again and after another sweep with his eyes he confirmed the girl must have been alone. Hvitserk kept his sword drawn as he came around the edge of the large rocks.

The sight that greeted him made him pause. She was older than he imagined and she was beautiful. Her skin was ruddy, her hair curled around her face and wild. She stood behind the rocks facing Hvitserk’s approach and did not cower or shrink away even when his sword and blood covered face came into view. He drew himself up to full height and stepped close to illicit a response. She still stood steady but did not try to attack.

“You are not afraid of me?” He asked in disbelief. She shook her head, her eyes shifting to his sword but coming back to his eyes again. Hvitserk began to circle her, taking in her shapely frame barely disguised beneath the flimsy white dressing gown she wore.

“Do you know who I am, girl?” His voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned in close to her ear. An involuntary shiver ran through her but the pretty girl shook her head.

“You are with the army that destroyed my home and my people. Who you are, though, I know not.” Her voice still cracked betraying the strong face she was hiding behind. Hvitserk took a curled lock of hair between his fingers and brought it close to his face. Sniffing loudly and rubbing it against his cheek before continuing his circle of the girl.

“My name is Hvitserk Ragnarsson. I’m sure you know of my father?” Her eyes widened and she nodded. “So you know I am a prince of Kattegat, do you not?” Again a nod. “So you know of me, but do not recognize me. How can that be?” Stopping in front of her he bent to be eye level. “You do not look like a princess or a slave. You are too clean to be a farmer. What are you doing out in these woods in the middle of a battle, girl?”

“My house was burned to the ground when you entered our village. My father and brothers were fighting, I am sure they have been killed. My mother is dead three harvests now and I have no other siblings. I ran, prince of Kattegat.” The way she said his name caused a smirk to appear on Hvitserk’s face.

“You ran. But then you stopped when you heard me. You begged me to kill you. I will not kill one so sweet and pure whose name I do not know. So tell me, who is it that is begging for the mercy of death by the sword of Hvitserk Ragnarsson?”

“My father named me Annis.” Hvitserk hummed, repeating the name under his breath. “What do you plan to do to me if it is not to kill me?”

“I had planned to take you back to Kattegat with me. Keep you for my own pleasure. I have, unfortunately, had trouble lately with keeping my brothers from being interested in the same pretty things I am. I have decided that I will have you here. I will take my pleasure and then decide your fate.” His eyes flashed and she realized now her mistake. He had seemed kinder and more gentle than the stories she heard of his brothers, but he was still a son of Ragnar. A Viking above all else.

So she ran again, hoping her familiarity of the woods would give her an advantage but it was pointless. Hvitserk caught her before she reached the line of trees. He pushed her against one, pinned her hips with his and pulled the top of her gown open. She screamed and all he did was laugh. The smile on his face boyish and giddy at the sight of her full, heaving breasts. He held her wrists in one of his against the rough tree trunk.

“Please, I beg you, kill me and let me join my brothers and father. I do not wish to be soiled and ruined like this by the likes of you.” She struck out with a foot and Hvitserk jumped back, loosening his grip and causing her to be able to escape again.

“Oh yes, pretty thing, run. You will not get far.”

He allowed her to run but kept her in sight until she began to tire. She stumbled over a fallen tree and Hvitserk lunged, grabbing her ankles and pulling her back toward him. When he flipped her to her back, her face and bare chest were covered in small scratches and her wild hair had a collection of leaves and twigs. She tried to continue to fight but he straddled her legs and pinned her wrists in his hand again. Grabbing her chin with one hand he held her face still and leaned in to bite at her lips in a violent mockery of a kiss.

“Now. I have let you have your fun and I love it when you fight, but it is time to hold still.” He pulled her skirt up and when her sex and hide were exposed he lifted her hips with an arm banded around her waist. She tried to straighten her legs and make it harder for him to get leverage. Hvitserk struck her hard across her flank and let out an animalistic growl by her ear.

“Tell me, Annis, has a man ever had you?” He gripped her hair and yanked her head to the side to look him in the eye. She dropped her gaze and where her healthy looking skin had gone pale with fear, a slight blush was creeping up from her neck. Hvitserk chuckled, knowing that meant it was true.

“Oh, not innocent and pure as I thought at the start, hmm?” She tried to look away again and he held her firm, a hand around her throat. “I do not think that will be a problem, though, I will find pleasure in you no matter what.”

He removed his hand from her throat and stroked over her sex with his long fingers, pulling them away to find them dry. Hvitserk clicked his tongue in disappointment and flipped his prize onto her back. He raised her legs and bent her knees so they were at her shoulders. With a hand around her ankles he kept her upper body pinned by her legs and he began to stroke over her with more purpose. The prince gave special attention to the bundle of nerves exposed by her spread sex and before long her body began to react even as she thrashed and struggled under him. Hvitserk collected some on his finger and held it out to her.

“Do you see this?” She closed her eyes in shame and turned her head away. He reached out and slapped her across the cheek, leaving a shining trail with the juices on his finger. Then he spread it over her lips and forced his finger inside. On instinct she bit him and he snarled, yanking his hand back and slapping her again.

“I was going to give you time to prepare your body, but you do not respect me and the position I am in so all grace I may have shown you is gone. You will feel what it is to fight a prince of Kattegat.”

For Annis the rest was a blur of sharp pain, loud grunts and growls and the faint coppery smell of blood mixed with the musty earth below her. Her back side ached from where he repeatedly struck her when her legs collapsed. Her forearms and face were covered in tiny scratches from the branches and rocks she scrambled against. Her face was burning and the tears made the cuts sting. None was a distraction from the aching burning inside of her as he repeatedly thrust in and out of her. She had a fleeting thought of thanks that her body lubricated itself so nothing tore, but it did not help the pressure and ache inside. She drifted in and out of focus in order to keep from losing consciousness, afraid of what he would do if she was completely helpless.

With a bellowing cry, Hvitserk released inside of her and in his ecstasy he released his hold on her hips allowing her to scrambled away. She was so broken and tired that she did not get far, but huddled by a fallen tree knees pulled to her chest and sobs wracking her body. Hvitserk wiped himself clean on his discarded tunic and then got to his feet to fasten his breaches. When he had straightened and dressed he walked to Annis who cowered and hid her face. Hvitserk knelt before her and spread her legs almost gently. She whimpered but did not have the strength to stop him. He used his filthy tunic to wipe her thighs and sex before closing her gown back up and getting to his feet.

“I will not kill you, sweet Annis,” Hvitserk said softly, looking down at her as he donned the tunic and his armor again. “I will not take you back to Kattegat either. I do not need another thrall and you are not worth the effort to kill. Go. I am through with you.” He turned his back, and Annis sat on the ground in shock. The roughness of his mating followed by the care with which he cleaned her and then the coldness of his voice, she was at a loss to what the prince was thinking. She did not hesitate long, though, and was soon on her feet and stumbling away, back to the village and searching for any who may have survived.

*************************************************

“Were you discovered?” A croaking voice called out from the darkened room of her burnt shell of a home.

“Yes mother. It was the prince.” She sat on the floor at the frail woman’s feet, wincing as her sore back side touched the rough wood.

“The cripple?” Her mother’s dark eyes flashed.

“No, mother. The other. It was as we had hoped.” Her hand slipped down and gently stroked the now flat plane of her stomach. “By next harvest I will have a child conceived of a prince of Kattegat and our power will be great.” She stood and kissed her mother softly before going to the back of the house and washing the blood and other mess from her body. A small smile flitted across her face.

@x-valhalla @athroatfullofglass @ainatirb-j @lol-haha-joke @westcoastselkie @hissouthernprincess

#hvitserk #vikings #marco ilsø #tw: rape #tw: violence #tw: death

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

Summary: You’ve been a naughty girl, Private, thirsty for the Captain’s attention while he’s busy leading the base. Time for you to learn some freakin’ respect and patience.

Pairing: Captain BDE Syverson x You

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: SMUT! Masturbation, really dirty language, abuse of power, pleasure denial.

A/N: This was a request made by @hcfavoritegal I’ve been a good devil and happily obliged! Thanks once more to my amazing @agniavateira for being my editor! Happy FuckDay! Title: Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

“Your bratty attitude has been on my last nerve,” his deep southern accent thundered behind you as the both of you walked into the stuffy little room. There was a small shove at the arch of your back, forcing you further inside before the captain shut his office door. You turned to look at him, crooking up one eyebrow, focusing on how his long fingers tinkered with the lock.

Huffing like an angry bull, he walked right past you, his large body bumping into yours with obvious intent. He moved to claim his spot on the worn-out leather sofa, body slumping down so heavily a loud thud filled your ears.

You glanced quietly at the hulking man: legs spread out widely in his seat with his groin bumped forward for display, the outlines of his large cock were prominent, undoubtedly presented like some sinful temptation.

“You’re just thirsty for some attention, aren't ya, Private?” he asked with menace on his smooth baritone and in his piercing blue gaze. That look couldn’t be mistaken for anything but hot, angry desire. It made a chill run up and down your spine, spreading throughout every nerve.

“I…”

You tried to speak, yet only one word came out, quivering on your tongue like a thin thread snapping with force. You always saw yourself as strong-willed, but this man had some power over you, and it wasn’t just the impressive size of his body against your smaller frame and his higher rank. He gave away an enigmatic force that left you burning for him. If he told you to come, you’d come on your knees.

Syverson smoothed his hands over his thighs, drawing more attention to the forbidden delight between his legs. The worst part is that you knew the undisclosed desire that hid behind those camouflage trousers, and how satisfying it was. “You think I’m okay with you touchin’ me and flingin’ that hot ass of yours, while we’re both on duty?” he paused, sucking his pouty lips in and fleshing his tongue over them briefly. “Have no one ever educated you about patience, kitten?”

You frowned at him, clenching your fists tightly until your knuckles turned white. You’ve always been a hot-blooded woman and the fact that Syverson was the gods’ gift to women didn’t help either. It was as if your body constantly yearned for his touch, making you frustrated whenever he refused to provide it.

For him, it was all about the army. He was patient, immune to your spells during those long hours of hard work. But when the sun came down and he’d finally have his break, he’d come and claim, plunging all his pent-up frustration inside you until you’re searing inside.

You wanted to either slap that smug smirk off of his face or spread your legs and sit on top of it, knowing very well how strong these arms are around your inner thighs.

“You don’t pay me any attention at all lately!” You snapped, raising your voice at him which only granted you a dangerous grimace. For a moment, you wondered if you should apologize to your captain. But before you even managed to muster a second thought, Syverson lifted his hand, fingers curling inside to gesture you to come hither.

Not saying a word, you made your way toward him, feeling numb in your legs as if the blood began to drain from them. With just a gaze and a gesture you were already following his rules and it had nothing to do with him being the captain anymore. It’s just how Syverson was. Dripping of confidence and power, he made men and women cower at his striking presence.

His hand went over his jaw, stroking his beard and looking up to meet your face while you stood waiting between his legs.

“It’s called duty, Private.The job comes first.” He spoke dangerously low, letting his eyes trail up and down the pleasing shape of your body. “You wanna keep this bratty attitude up?” he tested and shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the growing hardness in his groin.

“Yeah, at least until you’d pay me some attention. I’m not some toy you can pick up whenever you’re bored.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you spoke, knowing very well you’re only making things worse for yourself. But once that onslaught of complaints spilled from your mouth. it was hard to stop. “You’re not the only one with needs here!”

Syverson sat listening to your whines while a wide, scornful smirk spread across his face. “Sit down over there,” he commanded, tapping the empty spot next to him. The glare he gave left you no place to even think of protesting. Submissive as you’ve never been before, you did as you were told. With trembling legs you went to sit next to Sy while looking at him with fear and anticipation.

His hands still rested on his thighs, nails slightly digging onto the fabric of his trousers. His eyes scanned you with dark lust, looking you up as if you’re a tasty treat.

“I think it’s time to teach this brat a lesson about patience.”

Not saying anything else, Syverson began undoing his belt. The sound of metal clinking sharply as the buckle unclasped did nothing but make your pussy clench with excitement. When the zipper slid down and freed his bulge, you wanted to straddle his waist immediately and take him inside of you.

A delicate wanton moan left your lips instead, showering his beautiful cock with admiration as it stood vast and solid between his coarse fingers.

“You’re gonna sit there and watch like a good girl, without moving a muscle.” he threatened, allowing his long digits to run up and down the thick shaft while emitting a small groan that made your chest sink.

“And you’re going to say exactly what I want you to say. If you break the rules, I’m going to deny your pleasure for weeks. Is that understood, kitten?”

The sight of his cock made your mouth water and your cunt throb, wallowing in your own sticky juices with harrowing desperation. Your eyes flicked along the ridges and veins that decorated his huge erection. Syverson beamed at your response, his callous thumb caressing the bulbous head, circling and smearing the pre-cum drops at the tip.

“Tell me how much you want this cock inside you Private, and be specific.”

You gaped, smitten at his demand and cruel set of rules. Sy had a nasty mouth and he would say the most profane things while fucking you. Secretly you loved it, but you were never able to bring yourself to speak back, you simply moaned or said yes to whatever it was that he said he was going to do to your body.

His hand began to make its way up and down his girth with achingly slow tugs. This entire time he was looking straight into your eyes. His defined lips parted while he feasted on the sight of you, not missing how your nipples hardened through the fabric of your shirt as your entire body prepared for a joining which was brutally denied.

“Fuck, Sy…”

The desire to touch yourself never felt this excruciating, even just to stroke and squeeze your breast or your fucking knee.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting, Private?” He teased you, a vicious smirk lighting his face.

“I want you to bury your gigantic cock deep inside my pussy,” you fulfilled his wish, nearly mewling these words came tumbling out of your mouth. In an instant, you realized they did nothing but increase your painful need to be stuffed by him.

Syverson groaned with a grin, shutting his eyes for a moment while squeezing himself. He imagined your sweet warmth tightening around his cock while he pressures himself into you.

“Yeah, you want me defiling your tight little pussy, babygirl?” he asked in his low velvety voice, now accompanied by small husky grunts while his breaths became heavier.

“Tell me, tell me how big my cock feels inside you.”

You bit your lip so painfully it hurt, your core pulsated as if furious for not being granted what it needed.

“You’re so big, Captain.” You paused, having to swallow the dryness in your throat as he continues to squirm and groan “I want you to throw me on your desk and fuck me like a slut, you’d make me sore for days.”

A pleased guttural groan escaped his mouth, you finally began following his rules and hearing how much you wanted him made his cock red and aching for release. His hand locked tightly around his cock, squeezing in a pace that grew more and more urgent.

Although he never broke eye contact, his eyes fucked you a dozen times harder than he ever did. His glare made you feel as if you were being defiled. You felt naked, wanting to be exploited by him in ways you never imagined possible.

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat, intoxicated by the sight of this beautiful man. His scarred face was covered with a sheer layer of sweat, his blue eyes were now hazy and the very vocal groans that came out his throat had you soaked beyond imagination.

“Fuck Sy, please, I need you to fuck me so bad.” You begged, pouting desperately and clenching your thighs together to fight that lonely feeling inside you.

His free hand reached for your knee in an instant, forcing your legs apart while he shook his head with a disapproving glare. “Nah ah. Patience, babygirl, you touch yourself now I’ll make sure you won’t come for a whole month.”

The touch of his hand on your knee made you shiver and moan, increasing the raging flutter inside your core. You wanted to cry with how needy you felt. This beautiful beast had you locked in his twisted little game while he enjoyed every inch you were prohibited from having.

As if you were locked out of heaven.

“Say,” he rasped breathlessly, his control beginning to slip. “Say you want me to come inside that pussy.”

His hand stroked faster and faster, the sounds of his skin slapping reminded you of the sounds your bodies made together. And his breath, fuck, even the sound of his breath made your chest sink as if there were weights atop of it.

“Please,” you begged again out of frustration. You were just as breathless as he was, and your lungs felt empty. “Punish my pussy, Sy, bottom me out and fill me with your cum.”

You watched as his testicles became stretched and clenched upward, his cock throbbed, swelling larger while he tugged himself with fury and growled like an animal. You moaned to urge him, biting your lower lip and shifting on the sofa helplessly.

“Yes, Sy! Give it to me! I want it so bad!”

His hand landed on your knee with might, making you jump as he squeezed you hard. A loud grunt erupted from his chest and then a deep sigh of release as he breathed out with bliss. You gasped with him, watching as his thick liquids glazed over his hand.

He felt no shame, nor disgust, breathlessly staring as if what he did was liberating for both of you. Well, it wasn’t. You were flushed, breathing in fumes as you watched him climb down from ecstasy. His pupils were expended, his lips were slightly red and he licked them while smiling at you with mischief.

“Next lesson, I’ll teach you how to clean that potty mouth of yours.”

__________________________________________________________

#Henry Cavill #Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanficition #Captain Syverson x You #Captain Syverson x Reader #Henry Cavill x Reader

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verai-marcel · 5 years

Text

Inescapable Rapture (RDR2 Fanfic, Ch. 3 of 5, 18+ ONLY)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Find it on AO3 here.

Chapter 3: Bound Tighter

Notes: You fall deeper.

WC: 2217

A week had passed since you started living here, and it was also your day off. In the past few days since Arthur had taken you in your office, his aura had eased, becoming more like a guard dog rather than a ferocious wolf.

But anytime he came to get you, or if he was passing by, and he saw a male patient taking more than just a polite look at you? He would saunter up to you and ask how you were doing, see if you needed anything, and gruffly remind you, for the other man's benefit, that if anyone gave you trouble, he'd break their face.

Your male patients have been a little skittish around you ever since. And your female patients have been a bit jealous. Some of them come in hoping for a glimpse of him. So yesterday, partially out of spite, you slowly did your chores, so you'd have to stay just a little longer, making Arthur wait uncomfortably outside as the other women flirted with him. You could tell he just wanted to get away, but he had to stay nice.

That night, Arthur had punished you hard for making him wait, making you beg for your pleasure. You decided not to mess with him after that, and planned on doing your work as quickly as possible so you could go home on time.

You woke up this morning, sore but refreshed. You had slept in, and the sun was shining brightly through the window. Getting dressed and leaving the bedroom, you saw a plate of bread and cheese on the table, next to a note with Arthur's surprisingly beautiful handwriting.

Make sure you eat. See you tonight.

You scoffed; after the first few days when he noticed how hungry you got after work, he had asked if you had eaten lunch. You had shaken your head, and almost everyday after that, he had brought you a snack around noon, and made sure you ate it instead of putting it aside like you did the first couple of times. He was strangely considerate, in a very domineering way.

As you ate some of the cheese (it was tasty and fresh), you thought maybe this would be a good day to try to escape. Then you quickly shook your head. It was just one more week. And you hated to admit to yourself that living with Arthur had more pros than cons. You nibbled on some of the bread and you looked back on the week. True, he had ravished you every night. And sometimes quickly in the morning too. But he had also taken care of you, massaged your sore muscles, and cooked for you whenever you looked tired. It was definitely not how you imagined this experience would go, but it was not unpleasant.

You went outside to see his garden, overgrown with weeds, but still healthy and filled with flowers and herbs. You decided to do some work so you didn't have to think about why you stayed.

***

You barely noticed the day passing. You had taken breaks, snacked on all the cheese and bread, and taken a tomato straight from the vine. It was relaxing, just to be tending a garden, picking at the weeds while you enjoyed the outdoors. The birds were chirping, a light breeze was flowing by, and it was an all around peaceful day.

So engrossed in your gardening, you didn't notice Arthur coming up to see you. His horse was already hitched; he must have come from the other side. He called your name softly a couple of times before you thought to look up.

He walked up and kneeled beside you. Reaching up to wipe a bit of dirt from your face, he smiled.

“Kitten,” he crooned.

You immediately leaned closer to him, your lips parting. He reached for the back of your head, fisting your hair and pulling you in for a hot kiss. You wrapped your arms around him and let him push you down onto the ground, covering you with his large body. His back muscles felt so good under your hands. He started to unbutton your dress, working his way down your body until your dress was completely open, and he flung the fabric aside to expose your body to the air. You hadn't bothered with undergarments today, and seeing the bulge in his pants, you knew that Arthur approved.

“You surprise me,” he said with a lusty grin. “Couldn't wait for me to come back, huh?”

Grabbing your breasts and giving them a nice squeeze, he started to stroke and tease your body, tracing a sensuous line down your body with his fingers. You gasped as Arthur sucked on your neck, licked a hot trail from your collarbone, down your nipples, your belly, and then scraped your inner thigh with his stubble before licking your clit. He sucked on your sensitive nub, making you cry out and thrash your body, your hands digging into his hair.

He pulled back and laughed darkly, wiping your juices from his mouth and chin. Kneeling in front of you with his legs spread a bit, he began slowly unbuttoning his fly, and he gave you a sultry grin as your eyes went straight to his cock.

“You want this?”

“Yes, sir.”

He laughed again. “Oh kitten, you say such nice things,” he praised as he got you up on your hands and knees, your face level with his shaft. You opened your mouth and he shoved in, not waiting for you to move. As he began to fuck your mouth, he leaned over you to slip his fingers into your wet slit, pumping them in and out of you deeply.

You gagged around him, looking up at him with tears forming in your eyes when he pushed a little too deep. He backed off and caressed your face, shifting his angle so he could keep thrusting into your mouth without choking you.

“I want to be rougher with you. Think you can handle it?” he asked casually as he slowed his movements and took his fingers out of you. You whined a little, and he pet your head to soothe you like one would a cat.

You were lapping at his cock, not really thinking about what he was asking, so you just nodded mindlessly.

Then he suddenly grabbed the back of your head and shoved himself deeper into your throat, making you choke. After a few moments, he pulled out of your mouth completely, letting you cough and catch your breath while he moved to kneel behind you. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you up, his other hand on your lower back, keeping you arched, the tip of him nudging your opening.

“So wet for me, kitten. You like it rough?” he asked you in a low, gravelly tone.

“Maybe,” you mumbled.

He pulled your hair tighter. “Shouldn't you show me the proper respect as your keeper?”

“Then keep me properly,” you challenged, turning your head to stare at him defiantly.

You saw the look in his eyes shift, from playfully rough to a darker, dominating glare. He pushed you onto the ground and shoved his cock into you in one swift move. Feeling his full weight on top of you, forcing the air out of your lungs, he violently thrust into you.

“Learn your place, little thief,” he growled into your ear as he held down your arms, lifting himself up so he could angle himself deeper into you.

You moaned loudly; he was hitting a spot so deep in you that you were pretty sure you'd be sore for days. But it felt so good, just giving in, letting him take you like this. You didn’t have to think, only feel, and it was strangely freeing.

“Don’t forget, I caught you,” he rasped, his breath tickling your earlobe. “That means I get to punish you. However. I. Like.” The last few words were each punctuated by a hard thrust, crushing you and making you cry out with each shove. Then he wrapped his arm around your neck and pulled upwards as he started rutting you so hard and so fast that you didn’t have the air to scream. You started to see stars, and your vision tunneled.

Arthur let go of you just as you were starting to get light headed. He pulled out of you and flipped you over with hardly any effort at all, and fell upon you again, forcing his way back inside of you while you let out high pitched moans. That animalistic ferocity returned, with him burying his face into your neck, biting your collarbone as he rammed into you, making your hips bounce off the ground. You wrapped your arms and legs around him and clawed at his back, but he quickly grabbed your wrists and held you down, making you completely helpless under him. He looked down at you, a feral gleam in his eyes.

“Mine,” he grunted while bending down to kiss you, devouring you as he bit your lower lip. You kissed him back viciously, your own savagery coming to the forefront as you sucked on his tongue. You felt yourself transform under his relentless pounding, like he was bringing out something primal within you. Throwing your head back, you were caught by your climax, a flood of pleasure pouring through your body as an untamed sound came from your raw throat. Your hips rolled up towards his as you rode your pleasure out, squeezing around his cock and gasping heavily as you came down from your frenzied high.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, pulling out of you barely in time and coming on your thighs. He groaned as he stroked every last drop out of him, breathing deeply. He gave a shuddering groan when he looked down at you, naked except for his spend all over your thighs, painted around your slit.

“You went wild there,” he observed with a small grin after a few minutes of both of you catching your breaths.

You just laughed. You weren’t sure what came over you in those last few moments. It was wild, for sure. But you did learn one thing about yourself: you came harder when he was rough with you. Feeling embarrassed by the thought of being one of those deviant women, you peered up at Arthur. He just gazed at you with an affectionate smile.

“You were real good. Really, really good.”

He gathered you and your dress up in his arms. “I’ll clean you up, sweetheart. My fault you’re such a mess now,” he said, kissing your cheek. You let out an uncharacteristic giggle, you were so giddy from the afterglow.

He actually carried you a bit farther past the house towards the stream that ran from the mountains. The water was cold, but clean and fresh, and you drank some as he wet his bandana and wiped you down. He kissed your bruises and nuzzled your neck once you were all clean. He took you back home, making sure you were okay to cook before heading back out to clean himself off and to collect more water for the basin.

You hummed softly as you cooked, and you realized something: you wouldn’t mind staying here for a little while longer.

***

After dinner, Arthur cleaned up the dishes with your help, and took you to bed. You crawled under the covers and got cozy as he took his day clothes off.

You sat up to watch him, and when he looked back at you, he froze, staring at you. You blinked, curious. Your hair was probably a mess, your chemise was hanging off one shoulder, your body tired and there were probably love bites and bruises all over you.

“What is it?” you finally asked, in a soft voice.

He reached out and held your face tenderly in his hands. “I’ve always wanted to draw you. Your gentle curves, your soft skin, your shining smile.” He pulled you into a warm embrace, grazing his lips against your skin. Then he pulled back, took the journal out of his satchel, and sat at the foot of the bed, looking at you.

“Stay still for a bit.”

You did.

A little while later, you weren’t sure how long, he stopped sketching and lifted up his journal to look critically at his drawing. Then he closed the journal without showing you.

“Can I see?” you asked.

“It ain’t good enough,” he said.

“Please?”

He paused. You leaned closer to him.

“Please, Arthur.”

He relented, and opened the page to show you.

You held your breath. The man had a talent, for there you were, rendered lovingly in pencil, much more beautiful than you ever saw yourself in a mirror.

“Is this how you see me?”

“Doesn’t do you justice,” he mumbled, closing the journal again and putting it away.

“It’s beautiful,” you said earnestly.

“That’s because you are,” he replied before getting into bed next to you and blowing out the lantern. He pulled you close and nuzzled your face again.

Your felt a warmth in your heart, and you heard him mumble something unintelligible as you both fell asleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

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

Part 4 is here.

#writing #fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur x reader #nsft #lemon #deputy arthur #low honor arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #dubcon #deputy AU

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nickiplague · 6 years

Text

Truth Inconceivable - Bad Omens ch. 3

Hello there! Kindly author here to let you know that I love you! Please let me know what you think of my story!

After being dragged through admission into the dull grey-blue of the psych ward, I was rushed to dinner. I wasn't even given the opportunity to say bye to mom and dad… or plead for them to not admit me… or at the very least for them to not let Mabel be put into a place like this.

Thankfully I met Mabel on my way into dinner, we were both wearing the plain blue and grey sweatpants, grey shirts, and blue slip-on shoes that passed as a uniform in here. Mabel looked miserable in the clothes, “Hey Mabel. I guess they wouldn't let you keep your sweater? They wouldn't let me keep Wendy’s hat. Don't worry we won't be here too long, I’m sure mom and dad will get us out as soon as they can!” I knew it sounded fake, but I wanted to cheer her up. I needed to.

She grabbed my hand and shook her head, “I don't think so Bro-bro,” why did she sound so… broken? “That awful Cecilia woman said I wouldn't be getting out anytime soon if she had anything to do with it… she doesn't like me at all…” She let go and hugged herself looking at the floor. “Let’s go in there and eat something, I’m hungry.” Turning away without looking at me Mabel pushed open the door to the teen’s dining hall.

The room was as grey and blue as the hall. The floors a matte grey tile and walls a non-committal bluish tone. There were at least thirty patients in the loud dining hall talking and laughing while eating or well, some were eating. A few of them were throwing food at a wall, two younger boys were stealing food from an overweight older boy, a boy and girl were making out in a corner, and there was one girl who was standing on a table stomping on the food on her tray. In a separate room with floor to ceiling windows were five grown men and women eating.

We froze for a second gawking at what was going on unchecked until one of the men looked up and saw us. He left the windowed room, walked over to where we stood, and got down to ‘our level’ to talk, “Hey there kids! Are you new?” His green eyes focused on Mabel’s face, “I know I haven't seen a cutie like you here before! Let me show you how it works in here all right?” He stood up, turned around, and screamed into the low roar, “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!?!? SIT DOWN! SHUT UP! AND EAT YOUR DINNER! You have fifteen minutes before you are returned to your rooms and then it is lights out!”

Mabel grabbed me in fear at this sudden explosion of sound, she was more jumpy than usual. We saw everyone except the stomping girl begin eating in silence. The girl just laid down on the table and pretended to sleep. I soothed my sister as well as I was able and held onto her hand after she calmed a bit.

The man spoke at a normal volume again and began walking towards a shuttered window with a counter along the back wall, “I am Doctor Hart, you can call me Dr. Hart or Mr. Hart if you like. I am the head of this ward and I would like you to think of me as a father figure here. I am the firm but nurturing hand making sure things don’t fall apart.” He stopped by the fake sleeping girl to grab her and roughly yanked her off the table and forced her into a seated position on the bench.

I stared in fear and pulled Mabel closer to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. He continued on at a leisurely pace, “Back here is where you will get your breakfast at 6am, lunch at 11am, and dinner at 7pm.” He directed us to the trays and gestured for us to fill them, “One meat, two vegetables, a fruit, a juice or milk, and a roll. We also have a snack time at 3pm on the patio, but you’ll get to see that tomorrow when you begin the schedule.” He then directed us toward an empty table. “Dorms and restrooms are communal and of course boys and girls are separated. I will go finish my dinner now and I advise you eat up quick, you only have about ten minutes remaining.” We didn't waste any time as we were starving at this point.

While shoveling down the bland food I looked around at the other patients. The stomper had been steadily crying since being forced onto the bench, but almost everyone else went back to doing what they were doing before he came out of the window room. I glanced to my side at Mabel we were sitting as close as possible, shoved up against each other. It seemed like she had shut down again. “Mabes don’t worry, we’ll be getting out of here soon regardless of what anyone says.” She gave me a small smile before returning to forcing food down her throat.

I had only eaten about half my food when Dr. Hart emerged from the window room and ordered us to throw out whatever remained of our meal and line up. Mabel had eaten more than me as she hadn't been gawking at the people around us. “Mabel, I know this place is scary, but don’t worry,” I didn't know how to reassure her anymore than I already had so after we dumped our food in the trash I hugged her again, “We get to see each other in the morning alright? You can think of this as a sleepover!” As we got into line she smirked at me.

“Dipping Sauce, I have never been this unfashionable at a sleepover.” We shared a smile before being directed to follow the rest of our respective groups to the dormitories where we will be assigned our rooms. Me and Mabel held hands through the hall until we reached a split and the girls went their own way.

After passing several other large dark rooms with large observation windows we reached a door with a card lock. A tall male nurse with short blonde hair and a muscular build who I hadn't really noticed until now pulled a key card out of the neck of his scrubs and swiped the card. After a few beeps the door sprang open and we were ushered into a stark white hallway which had twelve rooms with card locks. “Alright everybody get to your assigned room and we’ll see who gets the newbie.”

Only about five rooms had guys lining up outside of them. “Okay newbie, I’m Chip the main man to keep you guys in line and not killing each other.” I chuckled slightly, “No. That is not a joke like your height short stack. Everyone is here for a reason, whatever it may be, and studies show that male teens generally have a tendency to be… aggressive.” At that several of the guys lined up smirked at me. “Anyway, the first six rooms are sleeping quarters and each room has five beds. Then on the left we have the communal restroom followed by a solitary room. On the right we have my living quarters followed by three solitary rooms.”

He started walking down the hall pointing to each door and person as he spoke. “R1 contains Ross, Leo, Connor, and Georgie. L1 contains Thad, Marco, Andrew, and Horace. R2 contains Fred, Yao, Rick, and Nick. L2 contains Joey, Miguel, and Sonny. R3 contains Tanner, Jordan, and Eric. L3 is currently unoccupied until we reach twenty-five occupants and then everyone gets new sleeping assignments. You are Mason, yes?” He the looked at me.

I didn't respond for a moment until it clicked that he actually wanted me to respond, “I, er yes my name is Mason. Everybody calls me Dipper though…” Mentally I was kicking myself, it may be true but it wasn't necessary to say that, for all I knew Nicknames were forbidden.

Chip only smirked at me though, “Okay Dipper, you will be assigned to L2 now get in line and I’ll start letting you guys into your rooms.” I got in line behind Sonny as Chip began heading for R1, but one of the guys from R3, the overweight guy who I am pretty sure was called Eric, spoke up.

“Uhm, Chip, I need to go to the restroom.” several others piped up too it seemed like they almost forgot with there being a new guy in their midst. Chip looked over his shoulder and I swear he glared at Eric for a second before pulling an embarrassed face.

“Whoops, sorry about that guys, go ahead and when you’re done just line back up and we’ll get you guys to bed.” Everyone went to the bathroom walking quickly not running, but clearly hurrying to get there first.

Hmm...that is a somewhat abrupt ending huh? Oh well! Hope y'all enjoy this! I kinda sorta obscurely referencing a character from one of my friends stories. Please remember to review I feed upon them!

#gravity falls #gravity falls fandom #mabel pines #pinecest #dipper pines #fanfiction.net #fanfiction #fanfic #truth inconceivable #dark story #my first fanfic #mabel and dipper #dipper and mabel #lime

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mellicose · 6 years

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That Woman Over There - Chapter 2

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: Teen, for some mild w|w eroticism (You bet your sweet ass)

Word count: 4452

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

She woke with a gasp.

The sofa bed was nice enough, but her back ached for her own bed at home. She could’ve gotten a hotel, but Livvie insisted she stay at the house. Her and Alex wanted to take care of her.

Her heart rate decreased to something normal, and she realized why she was scared.

It was too damn quiet.

In her apartment in the meatpacking district, there was always noise. Dump trucks emptying bins full of glass bottles from all the nightclubs and restaurants. Foreign assholes driving around in their souped up sports cars, their engines roaring. Drug dealers screaming to each other from their respective corners. And underneath it all, the thrumming, coked-out heartbeat of the city.

Here, in this lovely little oasis, there was nothing. Not even the big-throated crickets that sang American suburb-dwellers to sleep. It was strange. She rolled out of bed and checked her cell phone. It was a little after 3 AM, local time.

It was 11 PM in New York. She usually went to sleep around that time when she was in the planning stage of her installations. She stretched and looked around at the dark living room. Everything seemed to be in the saturated primary colors of childhood, so different from Livvie’s cool, clean, and pastel. Furthermore, Alex’s influence was clear - in the art on the walls, and the upholstery on the furniture.

She stretched, arms high over her head, and caught of whiff of sweat and cigarette smoke from the pub.

“I need a shower,” she said softly to herself, and shuffled quietly up the stairs. Alex and Olivia’s bedroom door was open. Their blinds were up, and a breeze stirred the paisley curtains. They were a painting of domestic tranquility - Liv, snoring softly with her hand still on the rail of the small rocking crib. Monty lay on his back, dreaming. Alex slept on her side, hugging her pillow, her bum pressed against Olivia. Olivia’s other hand rested on the soft hillock of Alex’s hip.

Her chest twitched in a silent sob. She was so happy for her. She had everything she wanted, and deserved. Back when they first met, Olivia was resolved that although what they felt for each other was real, it was just a naughty phase. It was a mess - Connie, the more outwardly passionate one, came out to her conservative Catholic parents immediately, but Olivia refused to ruin her parent’s lives with such unpleasant news. She was angry at the time, but she could never hate her. In any case, experience taught her that people have to come out at their own pace - it should never be forced, even by a partner.

Alex was the one who convinced her to do it - the one she refused to obfuscate about.

She was a lucky woman.

After her shower, she went to the kitchen to make herself some coffee. She felt for the light switch, found it, then decided not to flip it. There was enough light coming in through the window to see her way around.

She rummaged through the cupboards for a loose pod and slammed it into the coffee maker. She looked out the window as she waited for the drink to brew.

There was music, very faint, and another sound that was familiar. A high-pitched whine. She opened the window and stuck out her head. John’s house was dark, but in his garden, there was a large shed whose door was open. That’s where the warm light and noises came from.

“What’s he doing in there at this hour of the morning?” she said to herself. Most probably crouched in front of a computer screen, typing filth on his MRA reddit page. She picked up her cup from the coffee maker and walked to the back door, staring out in curiosity, then decided to step outside. She wrapped her robe tighter around her and looked over the low hedge to his garden.

The music was intelligible now - it was pop, but in a language she couldn’t understand.

“Oh my God,” she said, and a half smile made her lip twitch. It was Kpop. She was sure of it. That leather-clad chode listened to Korean boy/girl bands? It was too much. The light spilling from the open shed door painted a warm yellow wedge on the lawn. It looked … inviting.

Her toes curled on the grass. She noticed the whine had stopped. Had that been a different kind of music? She walked to the hedge to take a closer look. The silk of her kimono caught in the neatly trimmed bush. Sticks poked at her hips. She raised her cup for a sip-

“Why you spying on me?” John said, coming up from behind and putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Virgen Santísima!” she said, clutching at her chest. The cup flew out of her hand and spattered hot coffee on her feet.

“Oh my God - I’m so sorry -” he said, his smile fading to genuine distress. He put down the steaming cup in his hand, pulled his t-shirt over his head, and dabbed at her feet.

She slapped at him. “Get off me! Why the fuck would you do something like that? I almost had a heart attack-”

When he saw the skin at the tops of her feet reddening, he nearly started to weep.

“I didn’t mean to scare ye like that. I saw you snooping through my kitchen window when I was making myself some tea-” He pointed to the cup by his feet. “What are you doing looking over hedges at this hour of the mornin’?” he asked, his accent becoming broad by the end of the sentence.

“I was making coffee, and I heard noises coming from here.” She shrugged. The fact was, she was being nosy. She just didn’t think she’d get caught.

“It’s my shop,” he said simply, still inspecting her feet. “And you need some aloe for this burn.”

“I dunno whether Liv’s got that, but I can put some calamine lotion on my legs.”

He stood up, a head taller than her. “That’s nonsense. I have an aloe plant on my back porch. I’ll cut you a leaf or two. You’ll be good as new by tomorrow.”

He walked through a gap in the hedge and beckoned to her. She stared at him, unmoving.

“Come on. You were already snooping. Might as well get a closer look, eh?”

She rolled her eyes, but followed him. The skin of her feet was beginning to sting. He put his shirt back on - coffee stained and damp - and walked quickly across his yard to the back porch. He took a small knife out of his pocket and sliced a long, meaty leaf from the plant, then expertly began to peel and split it. Her eyes drifted to the shed door.

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the steps. “They’re clean.” She lifted the kimono over her knees.

“Alright, sweetie, lemme get a good look at those welts.”

“Don’t call me sweetie,” she said curtly.

He shrugged. “Sorry. Encarnación.”

“Or that. I really don’t like it.” She was surprised he remembered. Most English speaker didn’t, or when they did, they mangled it.

“Why not?” he said, gently rubbing the cooling aloe on her skin. Despite being tense, she sighed with relief. “It’s like a Spanish puritan name. Very prim and proper.”

“It means incarnation, but it brings to mind red, bleeding meat. It’s grisly.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why my mother insisted on it and not a nice easy name, like Maria … or Rosa. Rosa’s nice.”

“You and roses,” he said softly, pressing the translucent heart of the leaf on a particularly nasty burn.

“What do you know about me?” she snapped, pulling the robe tight around her thighs.

“Olivia talked a lot about you, especially right before you came. Both Alex and I were very curious to meet you. The artist who makes magic with flowers. The beautiful New York socialite who took Liv under her wing and made her visit one of the best times of her life. ”

She snorted.“Olivia exaggerates.”

“Not about you,” he said earnestly, shaking his head. “Not even a bit.”

“Uh, thanks,” she said, standing up. “I should get back.”

“Of course. Away to bed with ye,” he said, wiping the aloe juice on his jeans. She resented his tone, but she didn’t know why.

Just as she crossed the hedge into Olivia’s yard, he ran to her, covering the distance in four strides.

“Yes?” she said.

He held up the other aloe leaf. “Forget to give it to you. For later. Again, I’m sorry. That’s what I get for trying to be cute.”

“Right,” she said, taking it. “Thanks.”

She turned just before reaching the back door.

“By the way, what’s in the shed?”

He gave her a mischievous grin, something he was quite good at. “My own magic,” he said, and gracefully vaulted the waist-high hedge to his yard.

Show off.

He watched her shadow as she walked into the house, then went into his shop.

Cedarwood plants, already cut to size, littered his work table. Behind it, his hand tools were neatly hung on pegs, or stored in the cabinets underneath the table and against the walls. He flipped off his radio and stood at the shed door, hands on his waist, like his grandfather used to do. A jaw-cracking yawn made him tremble, and he looked down at himself. His carefully chosen concert t-shirt was stained and wrinkled.

I didn’t much like the Verve anyway.

He took it off and cleaned the sawdust from the bandsaw, then oiled the blade.

Take care of your tools, his grandfather always used to say. They’re your bread and butter. That, and keep your shop clean. A shop is a reflection of the craftman’s mind. Organized shop, organized mind.

He finished sweeping and brushed the sawdust into a trash bag. He liked it there, in that shed - the smells, the memories, the peace. Lately, he preferred it to parties and pointless affectation. Mannism was his bread and butter though, but after the divorce, his anger had faded to bemusement.

Not all women were horrific, soul-draining harpies with silky skin and soft, lovely parts he still ached to touch. Not all of them were out to use and discard. Alex and Olivia had convinced him of that. But that was only them. It could be a lesbian thing.

He thought of Connie’s burn-spackled legs and smiled. He really shouldn’t have scared her. And he felt awful for scalding her, but happy he was able to care for her afterward. Maybe she didn’t see him as …

Scoliosis boy. He sucked his teeth.

Did he deserve it? Maybe a little. But he was more than his business. He hoped he could prove that, even though he didn’t know why he was compelled to do it. He picked up the pre-sanded boards, ran his graceful fingers along the smoothed edges.

“You’ll have to wait ‘till tomorrow,” he whispered, and piled them neatly at the corner of the work table and locked the shed.

He did some back stretching exercises in the dark, focusing on long, lean, and straight. After, he breathed on his lilies, then went inside for a good sleep.

Olivia woke up before Monty, breasts aching.

The morning sun sliced into Alex’s placid sleeping face. She was so lovely. The last bit of pink was growing out of her bleached locks, and it made her look like an ink-watered daisy.

She put her hand on Alex’s belly, let the ache echo to nothing, then nuzzled her.

“Good morning,” Alex said sleepily. She spread her legs and lifted the blanket to give her access. Olivia’s mouth watered at the smooth heat between Alex’s thighs. “Don’t stop. I’ll pretend I’m sleeping again if you like,” she said, and chuckled.

Olivia sat up.“No, it’s - um, I have to pump, ASAP. My breasts are screaming.” She waved her hands over them anxiously. The pale orbs were painted with fine blue veins, something that Alex had found is quite enticing. They were heavy, warm, and filled with life. Alex crawled to her and pulled on her tanktop strap.

“Why don’t you you just feed Monty?” she said, grazing her fingertips on her swollen breasts. “You just had two glasses of wine last night.”

“Dunno. I just want to pump this bit out, just to be sure. There’s enough bottles in the fridge to get to this afternoon.”

Alex pulled down the other strap, and gently undid her stretchy nursing bra. Her beautiful nipples were chapped red and sore with Monty’s voracious feeding. She cupped her breasts gently in her palms, caressing the hot silk of her skin with her thumbs.

“They’re being slowly gummed to oblivion,” Olivia said, flustered. She tried to cover herself, but Alex shook her head and removed her hand. She sat on her haunches in front of her.

“It’s okay,” she said, and kissed the tops of her breasts, brushing her sleep-warm lips on her skin. Olivia let out a soft wheeze that made her smile. She started to undo the tie on her pajama bottoms, leaning into her until she lay back. She pulled them down past her hips and ran her fingers right underneath where her c-section scar was a fading pink line. Olivia tugged at the post pregnancy belly wrap she still wore.

“Monty’s right here,” Olivia said breathlessly.

Alex kissed her, biting her lower lip. “Then be quiet.” Her hand moved down to where Olivia was downy and damp, and she sighed.”That’s yummy,” she said, then quickly removed her sleepshirt. Alex’s breasts were still pert despite the pregnancy - but a bit larger because of it. She was both cursed and blessed, and the glint of steel on her left nipple made Olivia swear. She wanted to give in, but there was something in her that had gone dormant. The thirst she had for Alex before and during the pregnancy had faded to nothing. It’s as if her pussy was broken.

Alex started to pull off her sleep pants, but Olivia shook her head.

“Not now,” she said softly.

“I’ll be gentle, mein frau,” she said, her eyes wet with entreaty. It had been over six months, and oddly, her own experience had not hurt her libido. “You won’t have to do a thing but lay back and enjoy.” She kissed the insides of her thighs. She was so needy that even Olivia’s faint scent made her shiver. Just as her head dipped between her thighs, Olivia popped up.

“No! Please,” she said. Monty began to whine at the noise. “See? Monty’s up.”

Alex sighed, then pulled Liv’s pants back up. “I’ll wash up and prepare a bottle.”

“Nice,” Olivia said, already picking the baby up from the crib and clicking her tongue at him. “Good morning, darling. How are you? How are you?”

Monty gurgled and tugged on her blond hair affectionately.

She watched them from the door, waiting for her blood to cool. She was horny, but so happy. She had Olivia. And a beautiful baby boy. It was not what she imagined at this point in her life - but it was better. The fading pain worked its way to her heart.

It’s what she called it, when she couldn’t face up to calling her by name - Jo. Baby Jo. John knew, and thought it was fitting - it was like having a girl junior. But Jo wasn’t to be. At first, her bitterness made her want to hate all the world in general, and Olivia specifically. After all, if she hadn’t inseminated without consulting her, she wouldn’t have gotten blind drunk and slept with daft John and gotten pregnant.

It was all cause and effect, right?

She wanted to hate her, but she couldn’t. It was impossible, even though she was angry. Olivia was type A to the hilt - a rad barrister, and super-organized and persnickety - but her pregnancy was a mess. She couldn’t be a mum alone. And, even thought at first it hurt to see her own belly shrinking as her’s grew, she powered through, for love.

If she could have no regrets about smoking laced weed at a fucking carnival, or getting pregnant by the dudebro next door, she could stay with Liv. And she did.

She went downstairs and found Connie doing stretches on the living room floor. Her legs were stretched and wide apart, and she leaned into the carpet, breathing slowly. She wore no more than a pair of panties and a tank top with lace cups. In other words, she could see everything. And everything was banging.

She had the body karate going on.

“Oops!” she said loudly, walking past and into the kitchen. She slammed a bottle into the bottle warmer.

“I’m so sorry!” Connie said. She heard her running around the living room, a zipper, and rustling cloth. She came in wearing a pair of jean short shorts and a t-shirt. She smiled bashfully. “I hate being that bitch, but it seems like I’m her regardless sometimes.”

Alex put her hand up. “It’s totally okay. We don’t do much stretching ourselves lately, but it’s still a nice to watch.”

Connie smiled, and dared to touch Alex’s tangled bleached locks. “I know it’s not on purpose, but your hair looks awesome,” she said, pulling on her fading pink ends. “Are you gonna cut it off, try another color?”

“I wanted to cut it off,” Alex said.

“You going straight then?” Connie said, joking.

“Never! I want to cut the pink out and try something else. I was thinking… green and purple.”

“It’s perfect. You’re giving me all sorts of mermaid teas,” Connie said, fluffing her hair. Her body was pressed against her side, and the softness of her breasts made her feel dizzy. Before she could stop herself, she looked down.

“The Eurythmics,” she said, pointing to Connie’s shirt. She tried to ignore the fact her nipples poked through the fabric.

“You like ‘em?” Connie said, puffing her chest out. Alex blushed. “They’re sick right? Annie is, generally.”

“Yeah, sick. Totally,” Alex said, hoping she didn’t notice her ogling, but Connie seemed oblivious.

“Here,” Connie said, took it off, and handed it to her.

“Shit -you don’t have to do that-” Alex said, but took it from her. She averted her eyes, but she could still see lace and perked nipple in the corner of her eye.

“Naw, man. I want you to have it - something to remember me by. Also, I have another one, with her wearing that rad feather headdress from the Why video. I’m good,” she said, and walked back to the living room to cover up.

Olivia came downstairs, and Alex heard a squeal and the smack of kisses as Connie took Monty in her arms. Olivia went into the kitchen, eyebrows high. She waved her hands over her body, cupping her hands underneath her own breasts in a curvy pantomime.

“I know,” Alex said, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her neck.

“She tends not to wear much - she’s been like that since she was a teenager,” Olivia said into Alex’s hair. “I’ll tell her if it bothers you,” she said, but she chuckled.

“Eh … I think I can deal for the rest of the week,” Alex said, winking at Olivia. They both looked into the living room, where Connie swung Monty in her arms to the baby’s delight. She wore an open-sided 90’s MTV t-shirt.

“I get it,” Alex whispered. Monty’s star-shaped hands grabbed at Connie’s breasts. He was hungry.

“Hmm?” Olivia said. Her arm was wrapped around Alex’s ribs.

“I wouldn’t wear much either if I looked like her,” she said.

Olivia swatted her bottom. “You know you’re quite yummy yourself, with your little sailor shorts and see-through tops,” Olivia said. Alex raised her brow. Now she was frisky? But she would take what she could get.

“Maybe I’ll wear something nice today,” Alex said, then gently bit her earlobe. The little gold hoop in Liv’s ear clicked against her teeth. The hand resting on her ass finally squeezed.

“I won’t complain,” Olivia said, flushed. Just a half hour ago, everything was dead underneath her belly button. She watched as Connie lifted Monty’s shirt and blew a raspberry on his belly. The baby screamed and giggled, kicking into her flat belly. She stared at the line of her throat, down to the softness beneath. Hers were the first breasts she ever touched, and tasted. All at once, her muscle memories came back. She remembered the different textures and flavors of her, her sounds. Her arm twitched around Alex, bringing her back to herself.

That was years ago. And she had learned a lot since then. She looked down at Alex, who smiled indulgently as Connie pretended to eat Monty’s chubby feet.

“Om nom nom nom,”’ Connie said, then tickled his sides. He wriggled with pleasure.

Alex’s hair smelled like lilac and smoke, a scent she now found comforting. The byzantine blue of her eyes, her easy beauty, made her giggle out loud like Monty. She was surrounded by love.

Connie looked up. “Like mother, like son,” she said, smiling at her. Alex kissed her cheek and walked into the living room.

“Time for breakfast, peanut,” she said, picking up the baby. Connie pouted, and patted the sofa.

“Commere, Liv,” she said. Olivia sat beside her, back straight and knees clenched tight together … until she saw the red blotches on Connie’s legs.

“God, what happened?” she said, tapping the skin delicately.

“Ah, nothing. I spilled some coffee on myself last night in the dark,” she said, shrugging. She didn’t know why she didn’t say what actually happened.

“You would, “ Olivia said. Connie’s clumsiness was a running joke. “I have some calamine in the cabinet. I’ll go get it.” She stood and walked into the kitchen.

“You don’t need to-”

John walked in, fresh as a daisy, wearing a giant grin. She was beginning to think it was his thing. And it was annoying.

“Morning, beautiful. Sleep well? He said, sitting down in the overstuffed chair in front of the window. He wore loose-fitting pants and a tank top. His freckled arms were slim, but well-shaped. He crossed his ankles in front of him, and his long legs seemed to stretch to the middle of the room.

“You’ve made yourself comfortable,” said sardonically, opening her suitcase and digging through it. She had to keep her hands busy.

“You look great. Classic MTV was the balls,” he said. She pulled a silk drawstring bag from the bottom and spilled its contents on the sofa.

“What is that tangle?” Olivia said, coming back with a steaming cup of herbal tea and the bottle of pink mud.

“I thought you hated herbal tea,” Connie said, eyeing the cup.

“It’s for better milk production,” she said, but she made a face. Connie and John laughed together, but Connie stopped. The synchronicity made her want to kick his leg. Olivia plucked at the ball of necklaces on the sofa.

“Why would you do this?” she said, trying to separate a pearl necklace from a tangle of gold and silver chains. She held up the pearls and clucked her tongue. “I gave you these! They’re Mikimoto,” she whined.

Connie shrugged. “Don’t have a jewelry box,” she said.

“But what about the one your mother-” Olivia started, then her mouth snapped shut. “Right.”

John looked back and forth between them, curious.

“What is it?” he said.

“Mind your business, Braveheart,” Connie said. It didn’t have the effect she wanted, since he leaned back, holding his stomach and laughing with his whole body.

“Oh, that’s rich … brilliant,” he gasped, slapping his thighs. His face was pink, his large eyes rimmed with tears.

“Oh, fuck off,” she said, and walked into the kitchen, where Alex had Monty in a high chair. She fed him porridge, which he wore more than ate.

“What’s he going on about now?” Alex said, then gently scraped the porridge from his chin with the spoon.

“Something that wasn’t that funny to begin with,” Connie said, walking to where Olivia had started scrambled eggs.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, her brow furrowed. “I can’t keep my mouth shut to save my life.”

“No biggie,” she said, and gave her a quick hug, and a peck on the cheek. She stared into the skillet. “I’m starving.”

“I know. You like them with dill and green pepper, on buttered toast?”

“You know me too well,” she said, and sat by Alex. She dipped her finger in the warm porridge, tasted, then made a face. “That’s nasty.”

“It’s for Monty. It’s made with Liv’s breast milk.”

“Oh wow,” she said, her face twisted. Alex and Olivia laughed. Porridge flowed out of Monty’s mouth as he smiled, wanting to share in the merriment. Connie made a thumb’s up at Olivia. “Really prime product. Good job.”

John loped in, curious about the laughter, and took some eggs from the pan. “Ooh, that’s better than your usual,” he said, and tried to get more. Olivia slapped his hand with the spatula.

“That is for our guest,” she said, spooning the fluffy eggs onto a plate.

“Aren’t I a guest?” he said, sniffing at the herbed eggs as she put the plate in front of Connie.

John looked over her shoulder. “You fancy sharing a bit with me? It looks like a lot, and I’m sure you’re watching your figure.”

The kitchen went silent. Even Monty seemed to squeal with disapproval.

“I’m not suggesting she needs to...” His voice cracked. The women stared balefully. He put his hands up. “I think I’ll make my own brekkie,” he said, and backed out the door.

“What a twat!” Connie said, her face red with anger.

“Language!” Olivia said, pointing at Monty.

He poked his head back into the kitchen. “ I wasn’t suggesting that you aren’t absolutely gorgeous, mind you. You sure you don’t want to share?” He gave her a toothy grin.

Alex threw the burp rag at him. “Bugger off, mate,” she said.

Olivia just threw up her hands.

Read Chapter 3

#That Woman Over There #you me and him #David Tennant #fanfiction #watch me work #the title's an acronym #I'm so sorry if readmore doesn't work on mobile

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