#i still remember how his broken collarbone felt under my fingers
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thinking about how little things about someone you lost stick with you
#i still remember how his broken collarbone felt under my fingers#i only felt it once on a bench under a moreton bay fig tree#we were never that close#enough to talk at school#enough to give me hugs that were so warm#but its been six years and i still remember how it felt when i heard he was gone#and when i think about collarbones i still think of him#coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt
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Enemies to lovers with rafe Cameron and y/n
Thank you so much for this request, I love this trope and I have never written it for Rafe so it really excited me!! I hope you enjoy the read.
Maybe I liked you this whole time.
paring: Rafe Cameron X y/n
Series: outer banks
Warnings: use of guns, swearing, fighting, kissing, sexual talk.
Summary: you and Rafe despise each other. But one little night at a beach party could change all that. That doesn’t come without, flirting, crying and having a gun put to your head, you know- all the normal stuff. Protective Rafe <3.
“And that’s how my mum crashed her car” Rebecca cackled shaking her head full of mousey blonde hair. She was in stitches over her own story. Me and Chloe looked at each other as if to say what is going on. “Rebecca your mum is going to have to pay out a lot of money for that car, let alone the medical bill for her broken finger” I raised my eyebrow stopping at my locker to put my books away. “And her broken collarbone don’t forget that” she warned me with a bright smile on her face. I pulled a face of horror at her.
“Y/n my mum is fine, she’d laugh about it too, plus who cares- we’re kooks the moneys there isn’t it” she rolled her eyes at my reaction before ignoring me and unlocking her phone to take pictures of herself. I focused my attention back on my locker twisting the right password in to open the door. As I did, unbelievably, golden coloured sand started poring out all over the floor. It buried my feet beneath as I widely stared at the rest tumbling out. There was nothing more I could do.
Once it has stopped falling I blinked at it to double check I wasn’t dreaming. But laughing pulled me out of my fake delusion. I threw my glare around until it landed on the person laughing. Rafe Cameron. And his gang of ass-lickers. “Did you do this?!” I gritted my teeth together, the hallway was silent seems everyone was watching the scene. “Did you steal my test paper out of mr Larry’s office and replace it with one full of nonsense?” Rafe questioned me with his thick eyebrow raised.
I felt my blood boil inside of me, under my skin. The sand was everywhere. And I’d never get it all out of my locker and shoes. “Because you syphoned all the petrol out my car!” I yelled back unable to control my anger. Which was not the right move seems rafes eyes were still full of glee and his dumb smirk was still stuck to his face. He was enjoying this, he thrived off this. “Yeah I only did that because you filled my school bag with jam when sat behind me in maths” he giggled walking slightly closer to me.
“You know why I did that!” I put my finger up at him warning him to stay back. “Well you know why I don’t like you, so you know why there’s sand in your locker” Rafe bounced his shoulders as another annoying laugh tumbled out of his mouth. “You’re such a dick Rafe!” I bent down and picked up the sand in both my hands and launched it at him but he was long gone. Running away down the hall way pissing himself with laughter.
“I hate him! I hate! Him!” I scrunched my fists together “I think he hates you more” Rebecca shrugged her shoulders looking down the hall for him. “No! He doesn’t, I hate him more- more than England hates their government” I put my index finger up making it very clear how serious I was. “Forget him y/n, look- let’s go grab our lunch and talk about what we’re going to wear to the beach party later” Chloe wrapped her arm around my shoulders.
“Ugh- I don’t know Chloe- I’d rather grab lunch and think about how to get Rafe back” I shook my head as she started dragging me towards the doors to get out. “Why do you hate him so much- I mean everyone knows that you’ve played pranks on each other since before we can remember, but what actually started it?” Rebecca questioned following us out the building. I blinked staring at my feet. “I- don’t remember” I admitted in a shaky voice, I’d never sat back and thought about it before. “But it’s irrelevant why it started, I hate him now”.
And that’s what I did, while Chloe and Rebecca spoke the whole of lunch, I sat and planned. There were two options I’d narrowed it down to. Either I could remove all the tires off his car or I could cover his car in slime and dirt, then throw feathers on the top of it. I voiced the ideas to the girls, Chloe didn’t even seem half interested but they made Rebecca laugh. “Why don’t you just pretend to be into him, get him to think it’s going somewhere and then drop him- leave him flabbergasted my love” she shrugged going back to her phone.
My mind raced with the idea “no one would believe y/n was into Rafe” Chloe shook her head negatively. “Negative Nancy much, look at her she could pull it off, he’d be drooling” she flirtatiously winked at me. “Yeah- his ego would be so bruised- that’s a great idea, why’d you hide it from me for so long” I scoffed throwing my note pad on one of the seats. “Really y/n? Or rise above it?” She raised a threaded eyebrow at me. But I just shook my head. “Nope, I’m not a loser, I will win this stupid game” I answered rubbing my hands together.
“Now we can talk about what we’re wearing to the beach party, I need to look sexy, Rafe will be there” I winked at them.
Later that night-
Chloe picked me up, Rebecca was already in the front so I got into the back again. But before I did Rebecca made me do a spin. I’d chosen a white dress because I’d once seen Rafe post something about ‘tanned brunettes dressed in white’. I’d also done my nails and toes in white too, to match. I’d left my hair down but washed it to get the shine back. Incase I did get in the water, I didn’t want my hair to be ruined. I was actually quite confident about the plan, Rafe was easy so I thought it would be easier than it sounded. “My girl looks hot, come on jump in, I’m so excited”
Chloe got us safely to the beach, there was quite a lot of people there already. The music was blearing and the beer appeared to be flowing. “Can anyone see him?” I whispered as we all got out the car. “I’m staying out of this one, don’t ask for my help” Chloe put her hands up shaking her long brunette hair. “There y/n, by the keg” Rebecca whispered to me. “Here- pose next to the car- look hot” she hissed pushing me backwards while whipping out her phone.
I did as she said, as I positioned myself she put her fingers in her mouth and wolf whistled at me. “Hotter, hotter my girl” she shouted as I moved around. “Fuck me it’s working- rafes looking right at you” Chloe whispered gobsmacked that the plan was somewhat working. “What facial expression is he making?” I asked in a low tone, while bending down for a photo. “It’s sorta- neutral- oh he’s biting his lip” Chloe freaked. I stopped posing and went straight to see the photos with Rebecca. “Play it cool guys, keep it normal” she whispered scrolling through them.
“That was quick thinking babe” I nudged her “all because I watched a YouTube video on how to wolf whistle” she winked at me. Eventually we all walked down the stairs to the beach. “I’ll get the drinks” I wiggled my eyebrows at my girls before walking off backwards. I thought if I completely ignored him, he’d start something with some sarcastic, snarky comment. “Do you think you’re hot posing like that in front of all the guys on the beach?”. I was right. He came up behind me making me turn around. Our bodies only inches apart.
“You tell me, were you turned on?” I whispered tilting my head. He looked my body up at down before laughing. “You couldn’t turn me on even if you tried y/n” “not even a little bit?” I whispered smirking. “You uh, ever heard of hate fucking Rafe?” I leant in to his ear, I had to stand on my tippy toes because of his hight. I caught his eye, he looked shell shocked. “Because you turn me on- just a little bit” I showed him with my fingers. “You’re playing games y/n” rafe’s face shifted, his eyebrows knitted together as if he was confused. “Okay- if you’re not interested that’s fine” I shrugged pulling away and attempting to walk off.
He grabbed me by my waist and pulled me back towards him. “I didn’t say that” he whispered back, staring into my eyes. In that moment I really took Rafe in, he was gorgeous. His blue eyes pierced mine and mesmerised me. “Rafe! Rafe look who’s showed up!” Topper came over slapping him on the back. He didn’t let go of me though, he clung to my waist as he turned round to see. The pogues.
Not just any pogues. The pogues. Kelce was already starting on them, they were at the water now causing hassle. I heard him say “this is a kook party only”. Which wasn’t true because there were a bunch of tourons here and a few other pogues dotted around. “You should probably get out of here- I’ll come find you later” “don’t start shit Rafe” I rolled my eyes pulling away from him. He caught me yet again spinning me around to look at him.
“Will you get out of here, before you see something you don’t like?” He raised an eyebrow. “It’s all gonna be over after this huh?”. He nodded at me rubbing an hand on my waist. “I’m leaving” I sighed putting my hands up and walking away from him for good this time. I heard him go over to the pogues but I didn’t watch. In the next moment I heard gun fire. My body froze. What if it was rafe. I turned round to see what was happening but a large group of people came running my way, knocking me to the ground.
I saw topper fighting John B in the water and I now could see JJ was the one holding the gun. “What the fuck are you doing! Why the fuck would you bring that here!” Rafe yelled storming towards him. The crowd had just gotten past me and I sat up looking for Rebecca and Chloe to make sure they were safe. In the next second I was dragged up by my neck and I felt the gun touching my temple. I was face to face with Rafe now. “How’d you like it if it’s your girl huh?” JJ snarled at him. My chest panted up and down heavily as I saw rafes face drop and go red with anger within a few seconds of each other.
“Huh!” JJ yelled out. “Get the fuck off of her, or I swear to god you won’t recognise yourself when you look in the mirror tomorrow” Rafe spat out in a low tone. “JJ stop it! Y/ns done nothing wrong” kiara called out desperately, in tears. JJ looked down at me, I was trembling and my eyes were watering. “Fuck sake” he put the gun back in his trouser band and let go of me. I turned around and slapped him right across the face. “Coward” I hissed but that clearly wasn’t good enough for Rafe.
He came up behind me and punched JJ across the face. “STOP IT! It’s over!” Pope yelled out. But Rafe punched him again in the face. And again. Before grabbing his face and pulling it up to his. “Put your hands on her again, I fucking dare you- you won’t be able to see the sun ever again” he snarled very close to him, but JJ looked like he was about to pass out. “Rafe” I called out putting my hand on his shoulder. He looked up at me seeing my tear stained face, my messed up frizzy hair. He rose and embraced me, my face falling flat on his chest.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you” he whispered stroking my hair. “He had a fucking- strap to my head Rafe” I winced trying to keep it all in. “Let me take you home” he whispered making me look up at him holding my chin. I nodded in agreement, that’s all I wanted right now. We made our way towards the stairs, he didn’t even say a word to his friends. As if by magic Chloe and Rebecca appear from behind the wall. “Y/n! I’m so glad you’re okay- I- we looked for you but hoped you had gone back to the car” Chloe ran over embracing me.
“I’m okay- I’m glad you two are as well” I said in a very timid voice. “Um- im going home can I catch up with you two later” “with- rafe?” Rebecca wondered looking him up and down. “Yeah it’s fine guys, I’ll speak to you later get home safe” I rubbed Chloe’s back and waved to Rebecca before Rafe put his arm around my waist guiding me to his car. Though he’d been drinking I’m sure he’d sobered up after that. He was careful driving me home, even though one hand was always on my thigh. We didn’t talk nothing needed to be said.
When he pulled into my driveway we stopped and looked at each other. “I’m sorry y/n- I’m so fucking sorry” he whispered dragging a thumb down my cheek. “I’m okay” I shook my head taking his hand in my hand. “I have- something I feel guilty about..” I stuttered feeling embarrassed to bring it up. “What are you talking about?” “Me flirting with you- I was just trying to get you back for the sand thing…” I trailed off feeling stupid. Rafe cracked a small smile and adjusted himself in the seat. “Well that’s a shame” he told me before rolling his head towards me. “Because I think I like you y/n”.
I blinked. I blinked a few times not knowing what words to use back. “Don’t look at me like that- I can hardly believe it myself” he chuckled rubbing a thumb over my thigh. “It’s okay- maybe that’s why I enjoyed pranking you so much” “rafe- you didn’t let me finish” I shook my head grasping his hand again. “I know I like you- me pretending to flirt with you made me want it to be true- they way you protected me- I know I like you- I don’t understand it but… that’s how it is”.
He tilted his head to the side. “You’re not just trying to get me back?” “No rafe- I finally realised why I pretend to hate you so much- it was easier believing that then going through the pain of not having a chance”. Rafe moved his hand to my cheek rubbing it gently. He looked me in the eyes as he lent in before we both closed them. Our lips met in a kiss I had never imagined myself wanting until tonight. Our pace matched, my hand slid into his hair holding him closer to me.
“That’s what I call passion, I dunno about you” he whispered after he pulled away, hardly moving his face though. “I can’t believe it- us- who would have thought?” I whispered laughing slightly. He pressed another kiss on my lips. “I love your laugh- you’re so gorgeous” he whispered taking me in.
“Do you want to come in?” I questioned, not letting go of him. Rafe smiled, giving me a little nod.
Rafe masterlist-
Outerbanks master list-
All series masterlist-
Masterlist of masterlists-
#fyp#netflix#imagines#writers on tumblr#writing#short storys#rafe cameron#rafe outer banks#outerbanks rafe#rafe fluff#rafe angst#rafe x oc#enemies to lovers#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe imagine#rafe x reader#rafe obx#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe x y/n#rafe cameron fluff#rafe x female!mc#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron fic#rafe concepts#outer banks rafe#obx rafe#outer banks series
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His confession
Hello again, void.
I have a fondness for these two that I've been daydreaming about since middle school. I wish I could say I'd write a book about their story, but that's unlikely.
I've kinda grown up with them, putting them through hell and back.
They're both a little broken, both a little cocked in the head. But who doesn't love their messed up little OCs?
For now I'll put out snippets until maybe I can organize their timeline a little better and actually post them up in portions.
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I chuckled in her ear as she groaned. Her hips turned and one leg slid up the other as she squirmed under me. I could smell the whiskey on her breath, a tinge of peach wafted the air as she exhaled. The touch of her hand on my chest did nothing except send a thrill through me. Tonight, she would forget everything as I nuzzled my nose against her neck, leaving the tiniest hickiest on her skin.
"Did you know I picked you? The day you came to our doorstep, crying about him was the day I said you were the one for me?" My voice was only a murmur, but it still elicited another soft moan as I walked my fingers up her stomach. The thin blouse she wore flitted up with my hand without argument. "I never knew someone could look so pretty when they cried. I've looked around and no one seems to do it like you do."
Another moan and a gasp as I brought her sleeves down her shoulders and bit her teasingly. The light fabric bunched around her chest like the most delicate lace.
I began to pull the button loose, exposing her bra to the chilled air in the rom. "Miles…" She moaned and her hands tangled in pillow and sheets under us. My fingers worked deftly as I slowly stripped her shirt away and unhooked the front clasp of her bra. It was a good thing I kept her drinking as I smirked. She wore these front clasped bras more simply because I'd mentioned liking them years ago.
"You were broken at such an early age, moy kisa. So am I, but who knew I'd enjoy you better this way," I buried my face between her breasts, before crushing one of her nipples between my fingers and sucked on the other. Her back arched to me and the little mewl that came out was intoxicating. I didn't need a drop of liquor to ever enjoy her. Why would I want to dampen the experience?
"My broken kitten. No one will want you the way I do. I'll take it all. These wicked little secrets you have. How you like to hurt, be destroyed." I grinned widely as I slipped my hands into her underwear and found her slick.
"Miles, please," Her voice was airy and delicate. "Gods, I hate you." She whispered out in her drunken daze, but it was true. She hated me as much as she loved and needed me. She made it all the more obvious as her hand tangled in my hair, pulling my mouth back to her perky nipple.
"Hate me, moy kisa. No else will want you like I do. I'll be your last. Even if someone tries, they'll see what an ugly creature you are and I'll pick up the pieces over and over."
As I spoke, I felt her legs beginning to wrap around me, pressing her skin to mine. Oh how she curved so perfectly to me. Her eyes fluttered, trying to keep them open when her mouth moved without a sound leaving the tip of her tongue. Stop. Please.
My hands tangled in her hair this time and held her still as I grabbed her thigh so hard I knew it would bruise tomorrow. She gritted her teeth and reached up to press her lips so hard to mine it was more a gnashing of teeth than a dance of lips. But when I tasted that coppery crimson I smeared it all over her collarbone.
"Only I can love you like this, moy kisa. And tomorrow even when you can't remember me saying this, we'll both know it's true. How could anyone love someone like you except me?"
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Hey bestie can u make a eren x reader one shot where eren just won’t let the reader move on🙃
thank u anon for this lovely idea
scumbag!eren x crybaby!fem!reader
WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, past toxic relationship, slut-shaming, possessive behavior, yandere tendencies,
WC: 1.8k
He pins your wrists against the dingy bathroom tiles with an unrelenting grip, and you swear you've never felt more claustrophobic in your life.
The dark-haired boy eyes the glitter on your cheekbones, the neon-colored eyeliner, the rogue on your lips, and the black satin of your mini dress exposing a substantial amount of plush thighs. He's never seen you like this-never allowed you like this before.
You almost feel like uncharted territory but nothing escapes his observant nature. From the tremble of your lips, and the water starting to collect in your lower lash lines, Eren knows this you. Maybe not who you were pretending to be in the strappy heels, low neckline, and the party-girl masquerade you put on in front of your shallow ditzy friends, but he knows who you really are. Vulnerable. Scared of your own shadow.
"E-eren,' You stammer, "Please let me go." You try not to think about the voice cracks, trying to sound as assertive as you could without meeting his eyes. Eren, of course, thinks you look like a baby mouse. Hopeless and trapped.
"Don’t you miss me?" He mummers into the nape of your neck. You have an explosive No prepared in the roof of your mouth, ready to sound out the single syllable, until his hand, adorned with chunky silver rings, covers your mouth, muffling your whimpers. You could taste the metal.
“It’s a rhetorical question.” He’s smirking, green eyes lit up dangerously under the too-white bright lights, “Let me talk okay? I just want you to listen.”
All you’ve ever been doing is letting him walk and talk over you. And then when you finally got the nerve to stand up for yourself-
“I haven’t seen you the past three months” his low voice interrupts your contemplation, “It’s like you’ve been ignoring me.” He finishes flatly, his thin lips stretched into a line. His multitude of ear piercings catches the light, glinting sharply.
It’s too overpowering, his close proximity after going cold turkey. His presence is like a drag of a cigarette after not smoking for months. Hurts your lungs but the remnants of what you used to feel with the sudden rush of nicotine bubbling up again. Because when all is said and done, you’re still deliriously attracted to him. And you hate yourself for it.
You try to focus on the other sensations, sensations that aren’t busy on the feel of his warm breath or his hands holding yours down. You can still hear the song playing from the club.
All my bitches feel like I dodged the county
Fucking with you feel like jail n——-
Yeah, it really did.
Changing tactics, he holds you by your neck instead, giving your aching wrists sweet relief but that relief is nothing compared to the panic of having his beefy hand on your thrumming pulse.
His grasp wasn’t tight. You could breathe, but it was the kind of tight that let you know he would go tighter if you didn’t listen properly. React properly.
“You’re fucking ignoring me again” he’s practically growling the words out, baring all teeth, “I know I’m pretty difficult to tune out, so I would like to know what the fuck you’re thinking about.”
His hand leaves your delicate throat- his knee between your thighs keeps you in place- to roam down the satin of your dress, the fabric clinging to every curve. You hate how scrutinizing his viridian eyes are, feeling a wave of insecurity wash over the previous hot-girl-summer confidence.
He hated how good you looked on the dance floor, laughing with your stupid friends like you had lost all your inhibitions. Hated that you looked so good, everyone could see it. Hated how you didn't notice his eyes boring holes into you. Do you remember the time how you used to be hyper-focused around him? Aware of every movement, aware of every tonal shift?
And now you didn't even look at him.
"Are you thinking of other guys? I saw you grinding on those men like a slut." He presses his body deeper, "Have you fucked any other guys since we broke up? You must have. I know how slutty your pussy is"
You bite down on his hand. Hard.
You're counting on his reflexes, for him to retract his hand and give you an opportunity to run to the door. But Eren has been fighting for years and predicts your maneuver. With a calculated sidestep, Eren lets go of his hand, before promptly slamming you against the bathroom wall again but this time front-first.
Clouds dance in your vision, and you're sure you would have fallen by now if not for him holding you up. Eren uses this newfound position to his advantage by groping your ass, rutting his dick against your backside.
Deciding to be petty, you let the spite-coated venom escape your pretty lips, "Yeah. I fucked so many boys, and they were so much better than y-"
Anger blinded him. Roughly, he turned you around to face him once more, forcing you to look up at the green-eyed monster. He flipped your dress up, nearly ripping it during the process, shoved your lacy panty aside, and plunged his fingers inside. He felt a visceral sense of validation course through him at finding wetness coating his slender fingers to your utter mortification.
"Liar. I know you haven't been fucking anyone else." His smile is all teeth, pearly white and sharp,
You gulp, feeling sweat beading down your neck and arousal pooling at the bottom of your stomach. Damn yourself.
"You don't know that."
He looks almost feral, green eyes in slits and hair all mussed up, falling out of his usual bun. The top few buttons of his black button-up are left unfastened giving you a gracious view of his smooth muscular chest, and the dangling silver cross-chain.
"No, I do. See a little birdie told me all you've been doing the past few months is crying yourself to sleep, and eating frozen meals. This is the first time you've been out since I broke up with you, huh?" Condescension drips with every word.
He thumbs away the tear falling down your cheek with a mocking kindness and adds, "There, there. Don't cry. Good thing I happened to be here tonight, right?"
You're full-blown crying now, too upset to care if you're smudging your make-up. This is the real you. This is how Eren remembers you.
"Awe, my precious little crybaby, don't worry. You came here tonight looking for dick? I'll give it to you. It's okay," He coos, breath tickling the shell of your sensitive ears. Well, every part of you felt sensitive right now.
You're rubbing your eyes, sniffling, "E-exactly. You b-broke up with me, so why are you here? Why can't you just let me be?"
The dark-haired boy sighs, and with an uncharacteristic softness, leans his head down to press his forehead against yours, and intertwines his hand with yours, noses almost touching.
"To be honest, it was just to teach you a lesson." A soft exhale, "I didn't think you'd actually stay broken up with me." He's crushing your fingers now, "Didn't think we'd be broken up with for real."
Your eyes flash with indignation, feeling your body surge with an emotion you couldn't qualify, "I don't care. Yeah, I was sad but god, you were a terrible boyfriend! I'm so much better off without you. All those lonely nights are still better than any night I've ever had with you!"
You're breathless by the time you're done.
"Done with your little monologue?"*
You can feel your shoulders shaking, and you almost want to laugh from the indecorousness of it all. How could he not care? Was this how little you mattered to him?
"I know you're lying because" Without any preamble, he shoves his fingers inside of you again, finding that spongy spot that made your knees weak, eliciting a soft moan from your downturned mouth, "You're wet. And you want me."
"In fact," an edge of excitement colors his voice, "I bet your insides are still molded to fit my dick."
It's hard to talk when one thumb is violently brushing over your clit, and his tongue is forced into your mouth, drowning any whines of protests. You close your eyes, focusing and unfocusing. A hand snakes up your dress to fondle your tits and tease your perky nipples.
It's just one sensation over another, and your sex-deprived body was welcoming all these feelings with open arms. Eren knows your body like it came with an instruction manual and that manual advised him to bite your earlobe, which was especially sensitive. He knew where on your collarbone you liked to be marked, how hard you wanted your nipples pinched, and how you could ride his face with complete abandon.
But right now, he didn't want to pleasure you. He's coaxed enough orgasms out of you throughout your relationship.
He unbuckles his belt and frees his long slender cock, the head a flushed angry red, dribbling with precum. He lines his full-mast cock to your entrance. Fully alert as to what was about to happen, pretty pleas of "no Eren, please don't, no" are falling out of your mouth, wide starlit eyes dotted with pearlescent tears. He kisses the top of your head like the way he always used to.
And then he thrusts himself inside. You give up so easily, he thinks. Do you even realize how you're swinging your hips on your own accord? How you're wrapping your lush legs around his waist to pull him deeper?
His pace is ruthless, making your head bob up and down. Moans and grunts drown out the music from the club. You're begging him to slow down.
"You're mine. Always mine. Always were. Can't fucking believe you really thought-" He doesn't even finish his thought because a violent shudder rips throughout his body.
Your nails are digging into his back, so sharp it could have been clawed. You could feel yourself right on the edge-
The door shakes to reveal a tall young man with slicked-back blond hair with a frat-boy laugh.
"Holy shit! Eren?!"
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkcufkcufckfuckfuckfuckfuc
Shame burns your face. You have no choice but to cover yourself behind Eren's broad frame. You're just hoping to every god he'll go away, and keep this to himself.
Your dark-haired ex-boyfriend turns around to face the blond, "A little busy here, Porco. Shut the door. I'm uh, getting reacquainted with someone."
"Goddamn. Is that ___" You don't even have to look at Porco to recognize how impressed he was.
"Get out Porco." Eren growls.
The door closes with a loud thud.
You're borderline hysterical at this point begging Eren to get out of you, but his grip on your hips is iron-tight.
Outside you hear stunned gasps, but one phrase stands out to your straining ears: "Yeah, I guess they're back together."
Eren kisses the top of your head once more, "After I fuck you, we'll go home together girlfriend."
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* {A/N}: This line "Done with your little monologue?" is inspired by this delicious fic by @hotwings0203.
#yandere eren x reader#eren yeager x reader#toxic eren#eren yeager x reader fanfiction#attack on titan fanfiction#dubcon tw#tw noncon
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Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving
AN: Okay I’ve given in and become a Zemo simp but Bucky is still my number one don't worry.
Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...
Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader, very slight Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2,326
Warnings: Some small spoilers for Ep3, lots of sexual tension
“I still can’t believe I agreed to do this.” You grumbled as you climbed the stairs, falling behind at the fear the men could see straight up the skirt of the dress Zemo had chosen for you.
“I, for one, think you have the easiest job of us all. James must be someone he detests, Sam must be a notorious criminal he doesn’t know and you must sit and look pretty.” Zemo spoke under his breath as you came to the entrance of Selby’s HQ.
You glared at the man but he didn’t care. He was too busy worrying about Selby.
The door was opened for you by one of Selby’s men. Zemo nodded curtly at the guard before entering.
You went ahead of Bucky and Sam to stay close to Zemo, following your role as his current inamorata.
It was a short walk into Selby’s office but with every step you could feel the fear rising in your chest. You weren’t convinced that you’d get away with this; Sam wasn't exactly the most kosher criminal and Zemo’s story didn’t quite add up on just how he managed to have the Winter Soldier in his mitts again.
“You should know, Baron. People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.” Selby spoke as she came into view. She was an expensively dressed woman with a short white pixie cut.
Zemo sat down opposite her but you remained next to Sam.
“Not a demand. An offer.” Zemo waved his finger as he spoke. It was a small yet dominant motion directed towards you. You tried not to clench your jaw as you walked towards him.
“A lot has changed since you were here last.” Selby’s eyes followed your every move as you made your way over to Zemo. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”
“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” Zemo held out his hand to you, guiding you to stand behind him. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”
“You’re taller than I’d heard, Smiling Tiger.” Selby cocked her head towards Sam.
Sam’s only response was a quick nod of his head. Selby purred at Sam, a wolfish smile on her face.
“What’s the offer?” Selby turned back to Zemo. Her eyes flickered up to you before landing back on Zemo’s face. You weren’t stupid you knew what her gaze meant.
“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum.” Zemo pushed himself out of his chair. You watched him cross behind Bucky, placing his hands on Bucky's shoulders. “And I give you him, along with the code words to control him, of course. He will do anything you want.”
Selby grinned widely as Zemo wobbled Bucky’s chin with his forefinger and thumb, showing just how under control the ‘Winter Soldier’ was.
“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” Selby seemed to be convinced. “Yeah, you were right to come to me. Arrogant, but right.”
Zemo returned to his seat before Selby continued.
“The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank. Or... condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on. The Power Broker had him working on the serum, but... things didn’t go as planned.”
“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo asked.
“Oh. The bread crumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron. And before you get all cute, don’t think you can find Nagel without me.” Selby rose from her chair, finding a place beside Sam as she very openly let her eyes roll down your body now that you were in her full view.
“What else do you desire?” Zemo questioned. He had clocked onto Selby’s behaviour and didn’t really need to ask to know what the answer was going to be.
“Her.” Selby pointed you out. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she awaited Zemo’s response.
“No, no, no.” Zemo tutted, holding out his hand for you to take. “This little bird only sings for me.” Zemo guided you round the side of his chair and pulled you gently onto his lap. You crossed your legs as you tried not to seem uncomfortable. The scent of the Baron’s cologne, mixed with his strong grip on your waist was making your heart race. You had never been this close to Zemo before and now you were sat on his knee with his arm around you.
“Well, you’ll make her sing for me or you won’t be getting what you want now, Baron, will ya?” Selby wasn’t playing games. She folded her arms across her chest, cocking her eyebrows at Zemo.
Zemo titled his head as he thought.
You felt yourself tense up when he placed a cool leather clad hand on your thigh. His fingers started to draw circles on your skin, edging your skirt higher, drawing Selby’s eyes down to your legs.
“She is very dear to me.” Zemo stated. He retracted his hand from your thigh to brush your hair from your shoulder, his finger traced a line from your jaw down your neck to your collarbone. Zemo, being so close, could see the goosebumps that covered your skin at his touch.
“Unless you have something better to offer other than your two play things, Baron, I suggest you hand them over to me... unless you don’t want the whereabouts of Dr Nagel.” Selby let her smile drop.
“I will––” Zemo was cut short by Sam’s phone going off.
“Answer it.” Selby suddenly lost all interest in the deal and only desired to prove the authenticity of the Smiling Tiger. “On speaker.”
That’s where things went wrong.
For the rest of the trip in Madripoor, you didn’t get the time to confront yourself and Zemo on what happened back there.
You were so confused to why you reacted the way you did. You had never been attracted to Zemo before but you couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelt, the way his breath tickled against your arm, the way the heat radiated out from under his thick coat.
You knew he was thinking about it too.
Every time you let yourself glance over at him, he was watching you and not in the same way as he usually would. You knew too well that Zemo often studied his surroundings like a hawk. He was silent and observant; he always knew where he would go next and he often watched you, Sam and Bucky as if he were calculating your next moves.
It wasn’t until you arrived in Latvia that you were confronted by your feelings again.
You were sat at the island in the kitchen as you ran your hands over your face and hair. You were tired.
“You should rest.” Zemo’s voice suddenly snuck up on you.
He had been so quiet walking into the kitchen that you hadn't even noticed he was there.
“I should but insomnia kinda comes with the job.” You sat up, trying not to act any different from how you usually would.
“Ah. My time in a cell has acquainted me with such the dilemma.” Zemo confessed as he moved towards the cupboards on the back wall.
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but watch his hands as they reached for the coffee pot, his fingers gripping it lightly. You could still recall the feeling of the cool leather on your thigh, his touch climbing higher as he pushed your skirt up...
“Coffee?” Zemo offered, interrupting your thoughts as he raised a mug and an eyebrow at you.
“Please.” You folded your hands together as you leant on the island.
There was a brief comfortable silence as Zemo fixed up some coffee for you both. He could feel your eyes on him but he didn’t say anything. He just let the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk as he poured you a cup. He let the smirk drop when he turned to face you.
He slid the cup along the countertop and you thanked him quietly. He pushed a thin smile onto his face for a second before returning to his usual stoic expression.
“There was something I wished to discuss with you actually.” Zemo announced as he picked up his own cup.
You almost choked on your drink at the words but you hid behind your mug, hoping he didn’t notice. He did.
“About what?” You asked.
“I wanted to apologise for Madripoor.” Zemo surprised you with that.
“Apologise?” You were confused to what he was talking about.
“I am aware that it was merely a role, that we were undercover, but I touched you without your consent. I wanted to apologise for when we were with Selby.”
You were completely shocked. You didn’t not expect this from Zemo at all.
“It’s okay. We all have to do stuff we don't want to do on missions like these.” You tried to brush it off. After all, Bucky had to become the Winter Soldier and Sam had to drink a cobra’s heart back in Madripoor. There was definitely worse things that could’ve happened.
“I never said I didn’t want to do it. I am simply apologising for not asking for permission first.” Zemo’s eyes were glued to your face as he sipped his coffee. He was watching for a reaction.
You felt your mouth go dry, you tried to swallow as you began to rise from your seat.
“Uh, t-thanks for the coffee, Zemo but...” You tried grabbing your mug but you only knocked it to the floor by accident.
“Shit!” You hissed as you bent down, picking up the broken bits. You felt your heart racing from the look Zemo had just given you.
Zemo rushed around the island with a rag, he placed it over the split coffee before taking hold of your wrist to stop you from picking up the pieces.
Electricity shot up your arm and your head snapped up to meet his eyes.
“No use crying over spilt coffee.” Zemo muttered, a smile tugging on one corner of his mouth.
“I-I wasn’t––”
“––Is there a particular reason you are so jumpy tonight?” Zemo inquired.
You rose back to standing; Zemo let your wrist go as you did but followed your action.
The air was thick between you as you withheld your answer.
There was no way you could admit you were worried of being close to him because of the undeniable pull he had on you since that night.
“I think...” Zemo stepped over the soaked rag which only made you take a step back. “...You enjoyed being touched and now you are confused to why.”
Your chest began to rise and fall heavily as Zemo continued to walk towards you until your back hit the wall behind you.
“But forgive me if I am wrong.” Zemo held his hands up with a smile, taking his final few steps until he was close enough for his cologne to engulf the air around you.
“You are.” You whispered but your voice had failed you in sounding convincing.
“Is that right, little bird?” Zemo used the pet name he had given you in Selby's office. He lifted his hand to brush your hair from your cheek behind your ear. “Because I believe you haven’t stop thinking about it. Just as I haven't.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You only just breathed out your words. If Zemo hadn’t been so close, he wouldn’t have heard them.
“Don’t you?” Zemo titled his head at you. “Because I am at liberty to remind you that I once worked for Sokivian intelligence. It was my job for a long time to study people, learn them, read them.” Zemo let his eyes drop down to your body before coming back to meet your eyes. “I can tell how a person is feeling just from observing their body. The way they move. The way they are breathing.” Zemo placed his hand in the centre of your chest where your silver necklace sat. The metal burned against your skin underneath Zemo’s warm flesh.
Your slow deep breaths lifted Zemo’s hand up and down as you stared back at him.
“I can feel your heart racing.” Zemo uttered. “Are you afraid?”
“No.” You shook your head as your eyes flickered to the man’s lip for just a second.
“Good.” Zemo smirked.
Suddenly Zemo was ripped away from you.
Bucky had teared Zemo back and pushed him across the room. Zemo staggered backwards before standing and adjusting his sweater from how Bucky had grabbed him.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bucky growled at Zemo with a look in his eye that could kill.
“I was merely having a conversation with (Y/n).” Zemo shrugged, acting as if everything was perfectly innocent.
“Oh yeah it looked like a real polite conversation with (Y/n) backed up in a corner and your hands on her!” Sam was stood behind Bucky. The both of them were squaring up in front of Zemo to protect you.
“I didn’t need your help.” You stepped forward, trying to intervene.
“You put your hands on her again; I won’t stop myself next time. I’ll turn you into a new coat.” Bucky warned Zemo as he ignored you.
“I apologise.” Zemo lifted his hands up in defence.
“No.” Sam pointed back to you. “Apologise to her.”
Zemo turned his head to you. When your eyes met, he smirked just ever so slightly, you knew the boys didn’t notice at least.
“I apologise, (Y/n).” The way your name sounded in Zemo’s mouth made your stomach flip.
“It’s fine.” You said before pushing past Bucky and Sam. You hated it when they played protective big brothers and you didn’t even need saving... You think...
(PART 2)
#baron zemo#Helmut Zemo#Zemo#Zemo x reader#zemo imagines#Helmut zemo x reader#Helmut Zemo imagines#the falcon and the winter soldier#the falcon and the winter soldier imagines#daniel brühl#Daniel bruhl imagines#Daniel bruhl x reader#Bucky barnes#Sam Wilson#imagines
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addicted - charles leclerc
summary: you and charles have broken up but an unexpected reconciliation and jealousy leads to some fun
request: Can you do Prompt 100 with Charles? ❤️🥺
prompt: 100) "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."
warnings: NSFW, 18+, sex, public sex lmao shocker
The music blared out of your speaker as you danced around your bathroom. Your apartment had been quiet for days now, something you definitely weren’t used to.
It had been a few weeks since Charles moved out of your shared apartment. It was an emotional breakup, but something that you both eventually decided was best for the two of you.
“I want this to work more than anything, but I think it’s best if we spend some time apart.” You said between tears.
“I don’t want to be apart from you. I love you.”
“I love you too, but this is what we need.”
“If this is going to make you happiest, this is what I want too.”
You recalled the conversation between you two but quickly pushed it out of your mind and focused on your plans tonight.
It was a Friday night and all of your friends were either out of town or busy, but you wanted to have a fun night. You sent a text to a coworker and decided to meet him out at a restaurant downtown.
It was hot and humid and the outdoor restaurant was making your cheeks turn red. Your coworker had gone to the bar to get you two drinks.
“Hey, how have you been?” He asked when he returned.
“I’ve been doing okay,” you hesitated a bit. “Charles and I broke up a few weeks ago and this is my first time coming out since.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. How are you doing?” He was obviously shocked. You and Charles had been together for years.
“I’m doing okay. We needed time apart, it’s just weird getting used to being alone.” You took a sip of your glass of wine and looked around. So many people were on dates tonight.
“I totally understand that. I’m here for you, whatever you need.” He smiled at you.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.”
You conversed and decided to order some small plates for dinner. It was refreshing to have the company of someone new, even though you missed Charles immensely.
“No fucking way,” you said as a salad leaf almost fell out of your mouth.
“What’s wrong?”
Your eyes focused on the couple a few tables away. “Charles is here, on a date I think?”
“Oh no, we can go somewhere else if it would make you more comfortable.” Your coworker got flustered, trying to make sure you felt okay. His kindness was not overlooked.
“No, it’s okay. This was bound to happen. We live in the same town, a small one at that.” You continued to eat your salad hoping to find something else to get your mind off of this awkward situation.
“Are you sure?”
You nodded and shoved your fork in your mouth laughing. Just your luck.
Charles got up from his table and headed towards the bathroom inside. He was wearing your favorite shorts of his and a black top. You loved when he wore black because it complimented his skin and eyes perfectly. The thought of him dressing up like this for someone else hurt.
“I have to use the restroom, excuse me,” you said scooting out of your chair. Your date nodded and smiled.
You picked up your pace so you could catch him inside. Luckily you did, right before he reached the bathroom door. “Charles.”
He turned around confused, saying your name in response to his. “What are you doing here?” He asked.
“Same thing you are.” He nodded. “I couldn’t let the night go by without saying anything.”
You admired his body, once again. Your favorite outfit of his. For someone else. Ouch.
“I hope you’re doing well,” he said.
“I’m doing the best I can. Same to you.” You both danced around what you really wanted to talk about.
“Who’s the guy?” He asked.
“A friend from work. We’re just here getting drinks.”
He nodded. “I saw you the moment I sat down but I didn’t want to bother you. You seemed happy.” The sadness in his eyes was evident.
“I’m having a good time. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you.”
Servers were using the hallway to get back and forth to the kitchen. “Can we talk in here? Somewhere a little more private?” He motioned for the bathroom.
You crossed your arms as you leaned against the door. “Who is the girl?”
“To be honest, I don’t know her at all. She’s a cousin of a friend. He thought I should try to get my mind off of things.” Well that was a bit of a relief.
He stared at you. “You look really beautiful tonight.”
“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.” You smiled at him, remembering how much he loved a good compliment.
He took a deep breath in. “I want to be supportive and let you do you, but it’s killing me to see you out with someone else.” You looked at him with sad eyes and felt a chill from the cold air conditioning. “And I’m sorry, I know this isn’t what you need to hear right now. But it’s how I feel and we promised to be more honest with each other.”
You looked at his lips and the years you spent kissing them all came back to you. You wanted to pounce on him and feel his body move with yours but you made a promise to yourself. You needed time alone.
"I love you, Charles, I really do-" he cut you off with his lips, practically reading your mind.
"Don't say another word please." It felt so normal, how could you object?
Your bodies molded together the way they always did. You were meant for each other. His fingers tangled in your hair and his warm kisses felt like home.
He pulled away from you, his hands still in your hair. His eyes took in your body and he bit his lip. "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you."
His hands moved down your body, taking in the feeling. "Just me."
He kissed your neck and left sloppy desperate kisses along your collarbone, causing your head to fall back against the door.
He flipped your body around and you could feel his growing bulge against your ass.
His fingers trailed under your dress and went inside of you, warming you up for him. You let out a soft moan, remembering what his fingers felt like.
He wasted no time by undoing his shorts and guiding himself inside of you. You moaned at the full feeling. His hands gripped your hips and rocked you back and forth on his cock. "Jesus," he said, trying to keep the noise to a minimum.
"Would that guy out there make you feel like this?" He asked you.
You responded in between moans. "No." You always loved his jealous side because amazing sex followed, but this was nothing like you had ever experienced before. You weren’t his anymore but he wanted to make you his again, show you what you were missing.
“He doesn’t know your body like I do, baby,” he whispered in your ear. His hands wrapped around you and found your chest, taking your breasts in his hand.
"Fuck, I love you," you said between moans. He was taken back and stopped for a second, but eventually snapped back into it. His hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them, making you feel even fuller than before.
He shook his head in disappointment. “I need to stop fucking you but I’m just so addicted to you. I can’t stop.” He grunted while continuing to thrust into you.
Your hands were flat against the door and your head turned to the side. You could see his muscles flexing out of the corner of your eye, making you suck in a heavy breath.
“You feel so good, Charles,” you said. A moan escaped your lips but you couldn’t hold anything back any longer. “Fuck me like it’s the first time again.” Embarrassingly enough, your first time together was in the bathroom at a house party. It seemed like bathroom sex was becoming your thing.
He picked up his pace, and pulled out quickly, but not quick enough. He came all over the back of your dress.
Your jaw dropped but you couldn’t help but laugh. He apologized profusely but also let out a small chuckle.
“Let me take you home and clean you up,” he said.
You stopped for a moment to think. “Only if you take this dress off the next time you want to fuck me.” You grabbed your purse and left the bathroom, making a beeline for the side door.
He grabbed your hand and followed you out to his car. “This isn’t how I expected my night to go.” He said, opening up his passenger side door.
You slipped in to his car and laughed. “And you think I did?”
#f1 smut#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 blurb#smut prompts#f1 fanfic#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc blurb#charles leclerc x reader#cl
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Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective
A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.
Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.
Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...
TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway?
“You are absolutely unbelievable!”
“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid.
“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”
“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”
“Sherlock!”
“John!” He mimics.
John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face.
“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”
As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs.
Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded.
“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.”
With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open.
“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake.
John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.
Can you come over? Please? SH
It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now.
Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.
He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door.
Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body.
“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.
The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek.
It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together.
That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.
“I’m here, bud.”
Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there.
She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too.
His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker.
His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.
“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows.
“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.
Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”
“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”
“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.”
He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”
Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.”
And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-
Oh.
The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory.
Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face.
His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?
Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?
Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.”
She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”
“Hmm, same difference.”
Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.”
He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive.
“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”
“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise.
Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.
It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces.
As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep.
For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him.
Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone.
“May I take your shirt off?” he asks.
“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”
“Be my guest.”
In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.
His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets.
“Never undone a bra before?”
He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”
“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”
“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling.
She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck.
“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine.
“N- fuck, no.”
“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”
“I know you will.”
She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years.
“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”
“That depends what you want to do.”
“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”
She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”
“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”
“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”
“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”
Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again.
They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little.
He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name.
“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”
“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words.
“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”
“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”
He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”
And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort.
Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off.
“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”
“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”
“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”
She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees.
“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”
Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…
“You sure you wanna go this far?”
“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.”
He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-
“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”
“No you wouldn’t.”
“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”
He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”
“Hmm, anything, you say?”
Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”
Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.
This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.
Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane.
Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.
“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.
A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away.
“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”
“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”
“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”
She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up.
“Touch yourself f- for me.”
“What? Why?”
Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on.
“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”
She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there.
“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”
She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers.
“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air.
She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair.
His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen…
He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him.
“Do you have a condom?” he asks.
“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”
“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”
“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”
“You have a considerably good point.”
With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.
“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”
“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”
He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.
“Are you okay? Can I…”
“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”
Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had.
His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before.
“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another.
“Please.” She all but begs.
Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.
“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing.
“Hmm, not quite.”
The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?
“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.
“So good.”
She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame.
“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns.
He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly.
The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.
“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”
He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”
Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other.
His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her.
“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him.
“Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely.
Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another.
He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight.
“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”
His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them.
“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before…
She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?”
He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body.
“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.”
Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering.
“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”
He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.”
A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom.
“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”
He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner.
“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”
He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”
“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs.
He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”
As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs.
“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.
“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”
Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther.
“Thank you, Sherlock.”
She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse.
“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks.
“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.”
He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.
“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything.
“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.”
She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly.
“Look at you now.”
After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain…
With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.
In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly.
His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.
What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?
The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton.
“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.
Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way.
“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...”
She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”
He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.
“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”
“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”
He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”
Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier.
“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”
“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”
He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”
“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles.
He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.
“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”
“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”
“No, I don’t think I ever can.”
The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’
“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs.
And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.
“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.
John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…
He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock.
It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag.
She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that .
This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet.
One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”
How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of…
Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.
John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple.
The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone.
She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”
#sherlock#sherlock holmes#bbc sherlock#johnlock#sherlolly#mystrade#sherlock smut#sherlock fanfic#sherlock imagine#sherlock holmes imagine#sherlock holmes smut#william sherlock scott holmes#mycroft holmes#molly hooper#dr john watson#sherlock bbc#john watson#sherlock x oc#sherlock x reader#sherlock fluff#sherlock angst#sherlock fic
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the drunken words you spoke last night (1) | b.d.
one thing leads to another and before she knows it, y/n's longtime crush becomes a casual fuck.
word count: 2,893
warnings/included: nsfw (explicit smut -- male x female, pretty vanilla), fem!reader, angst(?), also a lot of this is written in italics cuz of flashbacks
a/n: sorry it's been so long since i've written anything!!
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It was never supposed to end up like this. Just one quick fuck was all it was supposed to be; which lead to another one, then another one, then another one…
y/n watches as Bill scurries around the room, searching for his shirt. She’s noiseless and he doesn’t know she’s awake yet. He does a good job at being quiet, making sure not to disturb what he thinks is a sleeping y/n. The grey baseball tee he wore to her place last night turned out to be underneath her bed—how it got there was a different story. The silence is broken when Bill opens the door and is met with a large creaking sound.
Don’t look back, don’t look back, don’t look—
He regrets it immediately when he sees y/n, her back against her bedframe. She’s wide-eyed from watching him with such intent.
“Hu-hey.” Bill swallows the saliva gathering in the back of his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t nuh-know—”
“It’s fine.” y/n says her words with such ease and for a moment Bill’s jealous. He wants to know a life without speech therapy, a life without the nickname Stuttering Bill. And most of all, he wants to know a life without loving someone who won’t love you back.
“So, you’re not staying?” y/n does her best to conceal the insecurity in her voice but it’s hard. She doesn’t want to come off as needy or clingy, but she wants a response she already knows the answer to.
“I duh-didn’t want t-to wake you.” Bill shrugs as he says this. Half of it was true—he really didn’t want to wake y/n but seeing as she was already up his excuse fell flat.
“Right.” It takes everything for y/n to not roll her eyes as she replies through gritted teeth.
“So…” Bill’s left foot is digging into the carpet and his fingers find themselves intertwined together.
“So.” y/n herself is picking at loose strings from her worn-out comforter. Her eyes avert from their previous lock on his figure and she doesn’t know what to do with the lump in the back of her throat. She’s annoyed—no—furious.
It was never supposed to end up like this.
“Hey,” Bill answered the door in low-rise sweats and shirtless. “What’s u—”
He’s cut off and taken aback with a messy kiss. It’s bold, breathtaking, and smelled like vodka—nothing he’d ever expect from y/n. Once the shock had passed, he felt his eyes flutter shut and he became lax under her touch.
“I need you,” y/n mumbled helplessly in between kisses. Her fingers which had previously been confidently intertwined around his neck were now reaching for the ends of her shirt.
“W-Wait—what?” Bill’s still hazy from the blunt he smoked earlier and everything’s going so fast.
“You heard me.” Uh, not really. She pressed another kiss to his already swollen lips and the feeling of his skin on hers feels a hundred times better than what she imagined it to be. “Fuck.” Her hips press up to his, but Bill can’t revel in the delicious spark their jeans create every time her hips meet his.
The Denbrough’s front door is still open.
“y/n,” Bill spoke. He tried to say it firmly, but it came out as more of a breath than an assertion.
“Hmm?” The noises coming from her are downright pornographic, which only made Bill wonder what the rest of the night will be like.
“I have to shut the door,” he whispered. His breath tickled her neck and y/n felt her face grow hotter—if that was even possible. Reluctantly, y/n relieved Bill of her possessive grip so he could shut the door. But, immediately, he noticed he’s cold—freezing, even. But how can Bill be cold in the middle of July—Maine’s hottest month?
y/n’s quick to reassume her previous position—arms swung around his tanned neck, hips bucked up desperately to meet his.
“Wuh-we should take this somewhere more comfortable. Sh-shouldn’t we?” Bill only stuttered when he’s nervous now. It’s cute.
She pressed a quick kiss onto his jawline. If there weren’t remnants of her lipstick on his skin, he’d assume he was dreaming. “Okay,” she hummed into the spot her lips had just previously grazed over. Bill shivers.
He led the two of them up the stairs and into his room. The trip is slow. Bill’s careful to make sure y/n didn’t trip or snag her top on the railing. What a gentleman.
“Bill,” she whined.
That night, Bill decided his favorite sound was her voice calling his name. He’s always loved the sound of y/n’s voice and the way his name rolled off her tongue (“Bill, watch!” “Bill are you coming?”). But this was different. Tonight was different.
“Bill, I need you.” He turned to y/n who wore a pout as she followed Bill closely into his room. It’s pitch black but Bill doesn’t need to turn on a light to know his way around.
The back of y/n’s calves hit his bed with a light thump followed by another whimper.
“Shh,” Bill cooed into her hair…
y/n awoke that morning with her too-tight tank top and faded denim shorts replaced with one of Bill’s graphic tees that drape over her figure like a dress. She finds half of her eyeliner and lipstick-stained on Bill’s grey pillowcase and there’s an empty space next to her where Bill once lay.
“Fuck,” y/n whispered to herself. She can’t remember the events that happened last night, and the pounding in her head doesn’t make it any better. But the way the sheets around her creased and wrinkled, and the way her collarbone peaked out of Bill’s Led Zeppelin tee made her skin crawl and her stomach turn.
“Hey.”
Bill’s scratchy morning voice startled y/n. His perfect tall and slender figure slanted against the doorframe and y/n had to compose herself under his sheets the way she’s done all her life.
“Hi,” she swallowed thickly. Her breathing started to pick up along with her pulse and when did it get so hot in here?
“Do you want breakfast?” Bill made a motion towards the kitchen downstairs. “My parents aren’t home still. I guh-guess they’re still out.” Bill’s parents were always “out”.
y/n only nodded.
“Look, about last night—”
“Whatever happened last night, I can—”
“Did you mean it?” Bill cut her off, not even listening to the word vomit spilling from y/n’s splotchy lips.
“Mean what?” y/n’s ungroomed eyebrows furrowed together inquisitively because what the fuck? What on earth happened last night that could have left Bill Denbrough wondering for answers in the morning?
“Wuh-when you said that stuff about needing me.” From the flushed cheeks and timid words, y/n could tell Bill felt awkward saying to her what he’d just said.
Mortification took the form of y/n y/l/n that morning. The tiny hairs on her neck started to rise and goosebumps shot a trail down her forearms.
Bill crept forward after he didn’t receive a response. His face was only a few inches away from y/n’s. The swoosh of his I-just-woke-up hair framed his hairline like an auburn halo. To make matters worse, the morning sun shone directly on his skin, giving him a god-like glow.
“Did you?” His minty breath hit her face. Colgate.
Instead of watching his swimmingly blue eyes—swimming for answers, an indication, anything—she watched his lips. She admired how rosy they were even in the morning. She admired the curl of his cupid’s bow. She admired how soft they looked and felt as she bit the bullet and shoved herself forward to kiss him.
This kiss is different from last night. It’s daring, yet nervous; sweet, but awkward. It’s not the same as her desperate kisses from when she was wasted. This kiss is slow, thoughtful—
Bill pulled away. His breaths grew heavy, and his eyesight got hazy. The only thing he could think to do was go in for another kiss. So, he did. He’s quick to capture her bottom lip with his and cup her jawline in the palm of his hand.
Bill’s impatient now. His parents were gone, and he had a beautiful girl in his bed. What else was a teenage boy to do? In a flash of flesh, Bill’s shirt was gone.
“Do-do you want this?” He asked before he made the effort to remove any other articles of clothing and possibly embarrass himself further. Of course, Bill would be perfectly fine with getting off in the other room with just his bruised ego and bare chest to keep him company.
But y/n was fast to reply “yes” and press yet another kiss on Bill’s swollen lips. Their flesh pinned against each other’s elicited a feeling inside the two that both y/n and Bill had never felt before.
“You smell good,” Bill murmured against her shoulder. The words slipped out of his mouth like a hockey puck on ice. “I bet you taste even better.”
y/n grew flustered at the sudden statement. It wasn’t like Bill to confess something like that—at least not to her. Before another moan, like the ones from last night, could claw its way out of her throat, y/n caught Bill sliding the elastic of his grey sweats down his long legs.
He’s in his boxers. y/n could only catch glimpses of streaks of greens and yellows but didn’t get a chance to look at them for long as her attention was redirected to taking off her—Bill’s—shirt.
Although he knew it wasn’t gentlemanly, Bill could only stare at y/n’s bra-clad chest. It’s just black, simple, classic. But it hugged y/n’s figure effortlessly and contorted her shape perfectly.
“Bill?” y/n wondered aloud. His silence worried her, but she has nothing to worry about—she’s got Bill hooked like a fish.
Her meek words snapped Bill out of his trance, which allowed him to press another kiss onto her lips before he trailed down to her neck. Each graze of his lips turned her into a moaning mess. Bill wished he could say he was surprised, but he wasn’t, not from when he remembered the events from last night so vividly.
His lips lingered a little longer on a certain spot just above her collarbone that made y/n’s lips part so erotic-like, Bill thought he might cum at the sight.
But he wouldn’t allow himself to release just mere seconds in of making out with his dream girl—even if it pained him.
He released his lips from her skin, leaving a bruise. Bill chuckled to himself. At least, if he can’t have her, he can pretend he does for these few moments until she leaves for home and covers his mark with her trusty concealer.
Their lips clashed again. It was hard and rough—y/n’s more dominant than she let on and before either of them realized, she was on top: legs straddled Bill’s torso, nimble fingers gripped at his skin where a shirt used to be, and her lips viscously stained his red with what was left of her lipstick from last night.
Bill’s the one to moan this time. The sound was throaty and gruff, which sent shocks straight to y/n’s core. She bucked up, causing Bill to moan again and the cycle repeats.
“Fuck, y/n, I need you.” y/n liked this side of Bill: the bolder, dominant side; the speak-your-mind side. But most of all, y/n liked Bill.
She giggled at his words. She loved the way his voice cracked with desperation and the way his fingers began to clutch her skin tighter—like she was his.
The delicate sound of y/n’s voice only made Bill want her more. The tent in his boxers grew impossibly harder—a contradicting feeling of pain and desire at the same time.
“Please.” It wasn’t long until Bill’s groans turned into pleads. The rough palms of his hands coast across her bare skin, causing goosebumps to form and hair to raise. “Please.” The fast movements of y/n’s clothed clit on his plaid-covered dick matched the fast beats of y/n’s pounding heart.
Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb. Ba-dumb.
“Plu-“
“Tell me what you want,” Bill’s voice easily sliced through y/n’s pathetic whines, “using your words,” he instructed clearly.
“I wah—” Another whine. “I want you.”
At that, the rough pad of Bill’s thumb started to massage the sharp edge of y/n’s jaw. “I need you to be more specific, baby.”
Baby? Bill’s never called her that before. Actually, Bill’s never had a girl as beautiful as y/n on top of his lap before but here he was, the tent in his boxers being barely relieved by the girl by his dreams.
“I—” The sensation of the fabric against skin felt too much to bear but she wanted more. “I want your—your cock in me. Please.” She said this through lazy lips and heavy lids.
“F-f-fuck.” Bill groaned at the vulgarity of her words. Never in his life would he expect y/n to utter something as filthy as that. But never in his life would Bill Denbrough ever expect to be offered the chance to fuck her. “Okay, baby, hold on.” His calloused palm slowly slipped its way down from the slope of her jaw to her neck where fingerprints were left and then down to the clasp of her bra.
The damn thing. As hard as his hand grasped and as hard as his fingers twisted, the clip wouldn’t budge.
“Need some help?” y/n giggled, as she noticed Bill’s pained expression. Effortlessly, she unhooked the cursed contraption. It was as effortless as how the piece of fabric once made her look so perfect. But perfection didn’t change once the garment left her skin. Bill then realized that it wasn’t the strawberry-stained lips or the dramatic smokey eye or the tempting clothing that made y/n perfect. y/n was already perfect on her own; everything else was just a prop.
Bill’s once furrowed brows softened when y/n began to take the lead. His bare back pressed further into the mattress in the same motion y/n’s chest leaned into his.
Her crotch just barely brushed his and Bill couldn’t take the ‘almost there’ feeling anymore. “I hate these,” he bit. His hand swooped down to peel off the lacy string of fabric in one harsh motion.
“This is a little unfair, isn’t it?” y/n posed. Her eyebrow raised a little the way it always did when she asked a question. Her hands were cold when they made a trail down his chest and to his boxers. “Now we’re even,” she giggled when she finally released him from his confinements.
In an instant, Bill’s erection had slapped his stomach and y/n found herself near salivating at the sight. Her thumb just barely brushed the tip, letting out a hiss from Bill.
“Baby—”
“Shh…” Before Bill could get another word out through choked moans and deep breaths, y/n led his cock to her heat. Immediately, she let out a whine at the stretch of Bill which he chuckled at. “Bill..”
“Yes?” Bill couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he was making her feel this way. He was the one whose name she was moaning. He was the one she was fucking.
“Bill…harder…” Her moans were like a record Bill would never get tired of hearing. His right hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear before his fingers gripped her scalp while his left hand moved just below her butt, allowing him to thrust deeper.
Moans turned into whines and whines turned into screams as Bill set the pace faster and harder. Each thrust hit deeper each time, hitting a spot no boy had ever found before. “Bill, I’m—” But y/n’s words were cut off when Bill’s lips captured hers in a kiss. His hand still found itself tangled in her morning hair. His other hand still tightly gripped on her ass which would surely leave a bruise. His hips bucked up once more, leaving y/n in a moaning mess, unable to hold herself above him anymore. With shaky arms, y/n allowed herself to collapse on Bill’s chest. Their breaths mixed and their pants synced.
Tenaciously, Bill pressed a kiss upon y/n’s sweat-slicked forehead. The feeling of his lips was gentle and tickled as they dragged down to her cheekbone.
It was never supposed to end up like this, y/n could only think to herself now as she watched Bill walk out of her room and presumably out the front door. Of course, he’d be back the next night. Ever since their first drunken encounter with each other, casual sex had become second nature to y/n and Bill—like learning how to tie your shoes or riding your bike. But it was at this moment when y/n realized how she wanted more.
Hickies and torn shirts would never be enough to satisfy the aching need for something deeper; the feeling that made her stomach drop every time she caught Bill looking at her; the feeling that made her throat dry up every time she tried to speak to him outside of moans and cries; the feeling that made her heart skip a beat at the thought of him; the feeling of want—and only want—for Bill Denbrough.
#bill denbrough#bill denbrough smut#bill denbrough imagine#bill denbrough angst#bill denbrough fanfic#bill denbrough fic#bill denbrough x reader#bill denbrough x reader smut#it x reader#it chapter 1#it chapter 2#it 2017#it 2019
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OKAY finally finished with eliot hand pain hurt/comfort fic, and i couldn’t actually decide whether i preferred it in second or third person POV. this is the version with the third person POV, otherwise nothing is different from the other version !
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Contrary to what the four crazy people he spent his time risking his life for nowadays thought, Eliot didn’t like the pain.
There was nothing cleansing about it, nothing satisfactory. A ringing hit to his jaw didn’t feel like penance. The actual protection aspect was a different story. Standing like a wall between your people and danger, there was nothing that made Eliot’s ribs ache with pleasure like that; a wall didn’t feel, didn’t think, it was just an immutable fact. He was an immutable fact. The problem was that the wall-as-Eliot, or perhaps the Eliot-as-wall, had to become human again sometime after the last man went down and the last dollar bill was stuffed into a duffel. To hurt was human, and not just to hurt but to remember the wound long, long after, for it to live in your knees and wrists and between the vertebrae in your spine. Some days— and this was a product of how long after a job it had been, how hard he had pushed—some days were worse than others. The fact that some days the first sound out of his mouth wasn’t even a groan, but a whine, or worse the half-awake pleading for please please make it stop i’ll do anything just make it stop—
No, Eliot didn’t like the pain.
Comparatively, today was a good day. Today, he could get out of bed. His head and body were blessedly in agreement that it was in his best interests to swing his twinging knees to the side of the mattress, push himself up onto legs that were sore but stable, with arms that shook only slightly. But compared to Eliot’s best days, the ones where except for the old shoulder injury which would never let him forget it and the scar on his hip that put a falter in his giddy-up in all kinds of weather, the days on which except for those he sometimes even forgot the pain, this didn’t hold a candle. Today his hands were so beat and weak that the ache radiated up to his mid-forearm, settled into him all familiar-like and made its home in him.
In the bathroom, Eliot used his wrist to turn on the faucet and stuck his mouth under the water to drink. Holding a cup was off the agenda. His morning routine was interspersed with winces, not unusual for his post-job bathroom adventures, and if it took Eliot longer to shimmy on the sweats he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of today, it made him appreciate the comfort of wearing them a little more.
Going handless was fine until he was face to face with the fridge, and resisting the urge to growl at it, like that would solve anything. Taking a deep breath, he put a hand on the stainless steel handle, testing his grip. A light flex had Eliot drawing it back like the metal had burned him, like someone had snapped a tight clothespin onto each ligament. He took a moment to pace a couple steps, let out a loud but cathartic expletive, and then wedge his hand between the handle and the door so he could open the fridge with his elbow strength. The feeling of triumph behind his collarbone faded quickly as the hitter scanned its contents and realized there was nothing he wanted to eat, or at least nothing he wanted to hold and eat. The thought of grasping a fork brought another growl to his throat, and he slammed the fridge door to stomp to the couch and throw himself down, cradling his hands in his lap.
Eliot knew the drill: in an hour, he would grit his teeth and get to up to try and fumble open his bottle of painkillers, and if he succeeded, he would wait another hour for them to truly kick in so he could handle the tv remote, put on whatever game was on, and vegetate on the couch until further notice. The phone he had left on the nightstand rang loudly, fully audible from the other room, blaring out the chorus to “Macho Man” that Hardison had put as his ringtone and Eliot hadn’t figured out how to get rid of yet. If it was important, whoever it was would call again, so he ignored it. His ire rose when the same noise sang out from the bedroom a couple minutes later, a bit-off groan escaping from his clenched teeth as he levered himself up to get to it as fast as he could, awkwardly accepting the call and maneuvering the phone between his shoulder and ear. “What?”
“Man, we haven’t heard from you since we split yesterday, I thought we were gonna get a beer downstairs last night?”
He rubbed his eyes with his wrist, frustrated that he had forgotten he was supposed to get together with Hardison the night before. Getting home, washing the sweat and blood off, and falling into bed had seemed like the only goal in his mind. “Look, sorry, I’ve been busy. And if this ain’t important, you—“
“Bullshit. Absolute bullshit, you’re using your tough-guy, bullshit voice. And you actually apologized, so something is double wrong.”
Eliot snarled. “I don’t have— Hardison, I don’t know what you’re talking about, just leave me alone.”
“Too late, we’re already at your place.”
Before he could open his mouth, his doorbell rang, drawing a groan from him. If he was correct about who the “we” was, it seemed silly to even ring it. His suspicions were confirmed thirty seconds later as the door clicked open anyways and Parker and Hardison came in, having the decency to at least look slightly sheepish. Eliot had already moved back to the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” he growled.
“Excuse us for being worried about your wellbeing, Mr. Suffer-In-Silence,” Hardison scoffed.
Parker leapt onto the couch cushion next to him. “We thought you might have been captured by ninjas.”
“You would know if I had been captured by ninjas,” Eliot muttered. “It’s a very dis— look, you’ve seen that I’m not kidnapped, it’s our day off, can you please leave and let me rest.”
“You still owe us a hangout from last night!” Parker chirped. “Don’t worry, we won’t stay long.” She vaulted back over the couch to go rummage through his snack cabinets, getting into the granola bin by the sound of it. Eliot made a note to restock it before she came back next.
When he next opened his eyes, Hardison was lightly sitting on his coffee table, looking at the hands still resting in the hitter’s lap. “What’s up with your hands, Eliot?”
Eliot’s first instinct was to deflect. He trusted his team, sure, but this was different. They weren’t supposed to know that he had these days. That he wasn’t invulnerable. “Nothing’s wrong with them, stop sitting on my coffee table.”
“Mhm mhm, sure,” Hardison said. “Go like this for me?” He wiggled his fingers in a “hey sailor” kind of fashion. Before Eliot could tell him just what he thought about that, Parker’s ponytail swung into the side of his face, the thief reaching down to poke one of his hands faster than he could stop her.
By the time Eliot was able to refocus and pull himself back from the whiteout of pain, Parker and Hardison were looking at him with open concern, the hacker leaning back slightly, a little pale. Eliot thought he might have howled; he wasn’t sure. Both his hands were clenched tightly to his chest, wrists together, arms outward, wishbone shaped. He felt just as brittle as one, with their stares on him. He summoned the anger from his throat, the only weapon at his disposal (only half-expecting that it would work, always defenseless when it came to their prodding).
“Can you leave me the hell alone now?”
Hardison looked at him, taking his time formulating his thoughts, but it was Parker who spoke. “Nope.” Eliot turned to her where she was perched on the couch. “You get hurt taking care of us. Now you let us take care of you.”
Eliot looked at Hardison pleadingly, hoping he at least would take pity on him and let him wallow by himself. The hitter wanted to hide like the trap-escaped, half-dead badger whose den he had accidentally put his foot into half a lifetime ago in the Italian Alps, earning him an earful of hissing that scared the shit out of him. He wondered if he seemed as belligerent as that now.
Hardison just shrugged and smiled gently. “Hey, you heard the woman.” He leaned forward slightly, just enough in Eliot’s space to let him feel his warm presence without crowding. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”
He didn’t want to try, was the thing. It was only that it wasn’t their job to take care of him. It was his to take care of them. They just seemed to be wholly unaware of this.
“You taken anything for those yet?” Hardison asked, pointing at his hands. He hummed at Eliot’s slight head shake. “Thought so. Which ones?”
“White bottle, red pills. Only need a half,” Eliot mumbled, slouching. Parker was already up and heading to the bathroom.
“We need to get something you can actually open when this happens, some kind of spring-loaded catch maybe,” Hardison mused. “Alright, let me see them.” He patted his legs, frowning at Eliot’s growl. “C’mon, none of that. I know they hurt, I’ll be really, really gentle. I won’t even touch without asking.”
Eliot looked him in the eye for the sincerity he already knew would be there, the eagerness to help that (damn him) was one of his favorite traits of Hardison’s. Hesitantly, he extended his hands, rolling his eyes at the hacker scooting forward to offer his knees to rest them on.
“I assume you got antiseptic and ointment on these knuckles already, so totally disregarding those, even though it sucks. Nothing broken?”
“No, just. Aches. Like a son of a bitch. Can’t make a damn fist. Happens sometimes.”
Parker bounded back in, armed with a glass of water and half a pill in her open hand. “So no jobs for a while. Easy, I’ll tell Nate. Open up.” With a scowl, Eliot took the medication from her fingers with his teeth (gently, gently), and let her raise the glass to his lips, nearly choking as she tipped it a little eagerly, and choking for real when Hardison said, “Whoa, woman, let him swallow.”
“It’s not just the last job, Park, it’s jobs two years ago, or five, or ten,” Eliot managed, once he had his breath back. “Part of the package that comes with the lifestyle. It just happens sometimes, don’t matter what schedule we’re on.”
She frowned. “Still. We shouldn’t be doing jobs if you’re hurt. Nate should know that.”
Hardison leaned forward a little more while he was distracted trying to find the right response to that, that they wouldn’t be doing any jobs at all if that were the case, that Nate trusted him to get the job done no matter what, reaching out to his forearm and stopping just a hair’s breadth shy of touching. The hitter froze, and Hardison did too, meeting his eyes. “It’s ok. I’m just trying something out. Is it alright if I touch you here?” At his tiniest of nods, the hacker placed his fingertips on his arm, rubbing circles so lightly that Eliot almost couldn’t feel it. “Let me know where it starts to hurt, okay?” Hardison applied the slightest pressure as he added his other hand and lightly started rubbing down his forearm. When he got to his wrist, Eliot couldn’t help the strangled noise that partly escaped through his nose, high and strained. Hardison moved away from there immediately, going back to tracing soothing, gentle patterns. “You’re ok, you’re ok. I can work with this, no problem. Where do you keep your hot pads, man?”
“Bathroom, lower right drawer,” Eliot grit out. Parker was zipping off to get it and warm it up before he could even process. Hardison applied a little more pressure with his fingertips, rubbing the meat of his forearm. Eliot breathed out long and slow at how good it felt once the initial ache had ebbed.
“I want to try giving you a hand massage, but I don’t wanna hurt you more than it would help,” Hardison said, pausing slightly. “You up for it? I’m not gonna pressure you either way.”
Eliot’s thoughts stuttered, and then bolted in different directions. The feeling that he didn’t deserve this, that this was too much to ask, which had been simmering this whole time leapt to life again. It joined with the wounded, snarling animal part of him that still wanted to hide, burrow down with the covers over his head until his pain faded into the muted background noise of the world. He didn’t even know if a hand massage would work, might make the pain worse.
But it might be nice, a small, hopeful part of him murmured. Eliot couldn’t remember the last time he had been offered something like this, let alone the last time he had taken the person up. If there was anyone he trusted to do it, if there was anyone he wanted to receive it from, it was these two. How could he refuse them even he wasn’t fully on board with what they were suggesting?
“Sure, just…” Eliot said as Parker returned with the hot pad, pausing from tossing it hand to hand like a hot potato to fix her stare on him. He licked his lips, swallowed around a dry throat. “Just be gentle.”
“I will,” Hardison said earnestly, taking the hot pad from Parker to gently maneuver it under Eliot’s hands, resting on his knees. Eliot tensed slightly as the thief leapt up onto the back of the couch, perching above his head, but otherwise relaxed as the warmth of the hot pad started to loosen the ache in his hands. Hardison started where he had before, applying the slightest pressure to the hitter’s forearm. Parker ran her fingertips lightly through his hair, humming.
“Your hair is kinda wonky,” she said, fingers catching on a tangle. Eliot winced.
“That’s what happens when you go to bed without brushing it properly, you know that,” he grumbled, breath hitching as her fingertips grazed his scalp. His breath stuttered again as Hardison’s hands started working towards the sore meat of his wrist. Eliot’s hand began to shake.
“It’s ok baby, I got you,” Hardison murmured under his breath, more soothing sound than words. Eliot cracked open an eye to see him looking between his hands and his phone, playing a video where it was propped on his thigh.
“Man, are you watching hand massage tutorials right now?” he gritted out, doing a poor job of masking his genuine amusement with frustrated disbelief.
The hacker tapped his index finger against Eliot’s arm lightly. “I’ve been watching videos dude; think you’re so slick, tryna hide your hand pain from me. I just wanna make sure I get it right in real time.”
Parker’s fingers running through Eliot’s hair more boldly silenced any follow-up thoughts he had, mind going fuzzy with how good it felt. Without thinking, he insistently pushed his head up further into her touch, making her laugh. The sound reverberated in his chest, leaving him longing to hear it again. Instead a half-whine left his throat as Hardison probed the bottom of Eliot’s palm, the ache drawing him back to full awareness.
The hacker backed off for a moment. “Sorry, sorry. You still cool to keep going?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Eliot breathed shakily.
“Just tell me if there’s anyplace else that needs to be handled more delicately, or you don’t want me going at all,” Hardison said, putting his clever hands to Eliot’s again and taking up his gentle, slow pace. Parker’s fingers had paused in his hair a second, but went back to running through it again, scratching his scalp on every other pass.
Slowly, slowly, the vice of pain on Eliot’s hands started to dissipate, bone by bone, finger by finger. He don’t know how long he sat there in a haze, as Hardison and Parker patiently touched him, fixated on the single task of caring for him. The thought made the tender space behind his breastbone twinge. When he surfaced from the half-asleep contentment of their efforts, the television was on, Star Trek playing at the lowest volume. Eliot grunted, lifting his head from the couch to look at the two of them sitting beside him, grinning at his movements. Hardison’s warm hand was still in his, but instead of massaging he was just holding it softly.
“Hey sleepy,” teased Parker, throwing herself over Hardison to get closer and forcing an “Oof!” out of him.
Eliot looked down to his hands, flexing one experimentally, in disbelief at how the ache had faded to an almost imperceptible hum. With the other he tightened his fingers around Hardison’s hand, moving his thumb lightly over his.
“Hey,” Eliot simply said back, a real smile rising to his lips.
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Consolation || Bucky Barnes x reader
summary: you know it’s probably not great that you always turn to your best friend Bucky whenever you’re especially hurt by your husband. you know your husband should probably care that you spend so much time with him, but he doesn’t. which is good, in the end, because you two really are just friends… until you’re not.
word count: 4k
warnings: smut!, infidelity (see summary, reader is married), descriptions of failing/sexless marriage, angst, fluff, ~feelings~
You were good at hiding it— the real reason why you showed up at Bucky's apartment unexpectedly, that is.
It wasn’t entirely unexpected: you sent a text first, asking if he was down for a movie night, telling him you missed when you used to hang out more. He did, too, but he had always been afraid your husband would be an issue. Nice enough guy, but he didn’t seem to trust Bucky entirely… certainly didn’t seem to love that you two were so close.
And who could blame him? A beautiful, sweet, smart girl like you… he understood why your husband didn’t want you hanging out with other guys when avoidable. I’ve told him a thousand times, you’re just a friend— you’re just Bucky, you would tell him when you were recounting arguments, explaining why it had been a while since you two had had a chance to catch up. But Bucky never told you that your husband was right to worry, that he had dreamed since he met you of being more than ‘just a friend,’ that he himself was the reason you two didn’t spend more time together: because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confessing his feelings.
Because of course he would never make a move on his best friend— on a married woman. It would be so overwhelmingly inappropriate, such a colossal waste of time; and it wasn’t like he couldn’t handle just being your friend. Sure, it killed him a little bit sometimes, but it was worth it a million times over to be near you at all. He would take what he could get… and if that meant platonic movie night because you’d had another argument with your husband, then so be it.
“I stopped by the store on my way; heard your ice cream reserve was depleted,” you explained as you brandished the Ben & Jerry’s before slipping past him to put them in his freezer.
He watched you walk there, silently hating how comfortable you were in his apartment. He loved it, but he hated it, too.
“What are we watching?” you asked, snapping him back to reality.
“Uh, I dunno…”
“You were supposed to pick while I was driving over, genius,” you grumbled sarcastically.
“I narrowed it down to The Ring or You’ve Got Mail,” he decided suddenly.
You chuckled lightly and the sound lifted his spirits. “Okay, so, two drastically different evenings."
“I mean, if you think about it, they’re both about meeting new people through technology,” he corrected.
“Do VHS tapes count as technology?” you raised an eyebrow incredulously.
“They do to me,” he shrugged.
//
With the ice cream supply exhausted and Bucky’s largest plastic bowl now containing only the unpopped kernels and little broken pieces of popcorn that didn’t make the cut, the third act of The Ring was beginning and you were spending more time covering your eyes than not.
“Let me know when the scary part is over,” you requested weakly from between the hands on your face.
“It’s a horror movie; the whole thing is one long scary part!” he laughed.
You peeked out through your fingers only to see another terrifying moment, yelping and hiding yourself in his chest.
He froze, not sure at all what to do with your face pressed against him; he held his breath in case the inflation of his chest would disturb you.
“I can’t look!” you whimpered, voice muffled by his shirt.
He lifted his hand in consideration of stroking your hair comfortingly, but ultimately decided against it and set it back down.
Thankfully, the movie was almost over and you wouldn’t stay cuddled up to him after it ended— meaning he’d finally be free from the glorious torture of your nearness.
But then the credits were rolling and you still didn’t budge, holding him tight. At first he thought you were just still scared, but then you took a slow, shaky breath… and he realized something was wrong with you, way beyond just a spooky movie.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, preparing to hear you explain what really happened with you and your husband that made you come here.
You just shook your head a little against his chest, making him sigh.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” he continued, and you hesitated before pulling back and sitting up straight again. As painful as it had been, he missed your touch already.
“Yes,” you answered, “but I shouldn’t.”
“Okay,” he nodded.
“But I need to.”
“Okay.”
“But I can’t.”
“...okay…”
You groaned and hid your face in your hands— not from fear this time, but exasperation. “I told myself that if it ever got to this point, I’d tell someone. But now I… I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” he soothed.
"He doesn't… we don't…” you started and stopped a few times. “God, Buck, I can't even say it…"
"You don't have to—" he began to tell you, but you said it anyway, tearing your hands away from your face and looking back at him sternly.
"He hasn't touched me in months. And today marks an entire year since the last time I had sex."
He tried not to choke when he heard that. He figured you were just going to say that he was texting a female coworker too much or flip-flopping about if he wanted kids or not. This was something else entirely. "Oh… um, wow."
“Yeah.”
He wasn’t sure where to start. In spite of all his obliviousness, he was pretty sure he should say something, he just didn’t know what. “And he… he knows that you… want that? I mean, you’ve like… tried to, you know… initiate things, right?” He cringed at his own voice, and stupid question.
You laughed a little, in a sad way. "I've begged him for it, fuck, it's so humiliating. It doesn't even work. He's always too tired, not in the mood, busy with something. And of course I want to respect him and not pressure him into anything but at the same time, I feel so fucking unlovable— so hideous."
"You're not hideous,” he said firmly, more sure of that than anything else he’d said so far.
“I try to believe that, really,” you mitigated, “I try not to take it personally— but fuck, it feels personal. Do you know how often people talk about sex? It’s like society has this idea that men just wanna bang twenty-four hours a day and the only thing stopping them is women being prudes. Do you know what it’s like to hear people talk like that when your husband rejects you every night? Do you know how it feels to hear your girlfriends complaining about how their boyfriends are pestering them for sex too often, and you’re just sitting there screaming inside your head ‘at least he wants you’? Bucky, you can’t even imagine…”
“I can’t,” he agreed.
"It's been so long…” you sighed shakily, collecting yourself before you started again. “It's been so long since somebody touched me. I wondered if I would forget what it felt like."
His hand shook a little as he reached out with his flesh hand and brushed it against your arm, staring into your watery eyes and finding less fear there than he expected, thankfully.
"Did you forget?" he asked softly.
"I must have," you mumbled, "it feels better than I remembered."
The heartbreak in your voice made anger bubble up in his chest, amazed at how your husband ever allowed this to happen; ever allowed you to become so touch-starved that even just a brush on your arm made you emotional. "I can't imagine being with you every day and not wanting to touch you whenever I could get the chance,” he admitted. “I can't imagine being your husband and not making love to you every day, every hour, whenever you wanted; whenever you'd let me. I can't imagine having you beg me for something and not giving it to you— I'd give you everything."
He had to fight a gasp as you suddenly grabbed him and pulled him into a kiss, a bit sudden at first but melting into something gentle and patient and soft.
“Then do it,” you whispered as you finally pulled back; he could barely think straight to even process what you were saying. “Give me everything.”
He nodded a little before he kissed you again, rough but deep and slow. His hands roamed your body like he'd wished to for so long; his tongue slid against yours and the taste of you drove him wild.
As hard as it was to break from your lips, he moved his kisses down your jaw to your neck, sucking at your pulse as you groaned and clutched at his shoulders through his shirt.
"Fuck," you whispered under your breath, and he must've heard you swear a million times but this time it sounded so different.
His cock was straining against his jeans already, just from this— it was like he was a fucking teenager again, but to be fair, you'd always had that effect on him: sweaty palms, stammering, sudden boners. It was like lifelong puberty with you around.
When his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, just barely brushing over the skin right above your sweats, you pulled back briefly to pull your shirt off over your head. He thought it might be awkward if he just stood there gawking at your chest, so he only allowed himself a moment of it before he got back to work holding you tight and kissing your collarbones.
He pulled you closer and you must've felt his cock pressed against you because you gasped a little. And you must've liked it, because your hand slipped down and rubbed him through the front of his jeans, making him choke on nothing.
“S’big,” you mumbled, and he grinned a little.
“Feel what you do to me?” he asked softly, and you nodded a little before grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand down your body and into the waistband of your pants. He shuddered when he felt how warm your skin was, the lacy fabric of your panties, the slick folds you guided his fingers through.
“Feel what you do to me?” you shot back, but your cockiness faded when he circled his middle finger over your swollen bud. He loved the way your body reacted so easily, subtle little gasps and shivers, your hips jolting forward for more stimulation. You both moaned when he pushed a finger into your channel, your walls already pulsing around him.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
You whispered your approval and he twisted the finger inside you. Even just that made you let out a heavy breath, your hands reaching down to grip his wrist— they didn’t push him away, thankfully, just reminded him to be gentle with you as he added the second finger, pushing a bit deeper than before.
“More,” you whimpered your plea, “I want more.”
For a second he thought you meant more fingers, but then you opened your eyes and gave him a look… that look.
It made it abundantly clear that fingers weren’t going to be enough. After all, you had asked him to give you everything. So he gladly obliged when you started to tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. You lifted your hips to let him pull down your sweats, not giving him much time to drink in the sight of you before you started opening his fly for him.
Being undressed by you made his heart race; the way you rushed, like you couldn’t wait a moment longer to have him, was flattering yet relatable.
You sighed when you got his cock out, instantly wrapping your hand around his shaft and stroking. He shuddered at the softness of your hands, at your gentle but persistent exploration. Clearly it had been a while since you’d gotten the chance to interact with a dick, but it didn’t show in any lack of skill— if anything it just made you more eager, your grip firm but your touches gentle. He kissed you again, holding your face in one hand and leaning you back with the other until you were laid on the couch and he was hovering over you.
He guided your hand away from his cock, replacing it with his own as he guided the weeping head over your slick folds, smiling at your gasp when he bumped against your clit.
“Do you want this?” he asked, fully prepared for you to back out now before you did something you really couldn’t take back.
“Yes.” Your answer was more confident than he was expecting, but he still couldn’t really believe it. It was just too good to be true. So he had to check again.
“...are you sure?”
"Don't make me beg, Bucky," you whimpered, "I've done it enough, I can't do it again. Just make love to me— I need you inside me, please…"
Your head fell back as he pushed into you, your nails digging into his shoulders until he stopped from fear of hurting you (even though it took more willpower than he knew he had).
"Don't stop," you whined, "need to feel all of you, Bucky, please please don't stop—"
He definitely didn't have enough willpower to resist that. Slamming into you all at once, he hissed as you cried out, baring his teeth at the sight of you quivering and moaning beneath him.
"I— I need a second," you explained, voice tight with ill-concealed pain, "it's been a while.”
"I can wait," he nodded, "I won't move until you're ready."
He could tell you were struggling, because how could you not be when you felt so fucking tight around him? He guided you to breathe slowly with him, feeling your body relax slightly and noticing the way your face untwisted as you became more comfortable.
You nodded a little, but he needed to hear you say it. "Fuck me," you whispered.
And he did.
He still kept his pace measured and relaxed, savoring every inch of you— savoring your reactions to every inch of him.
But watching your face was going to push him towards the edge too fast, and he wanted to make this last if possible, so he leaned down to suck on your neck, thoroughly tasting your skin as you moaned and writhed beneath him. It felt incredible to surround your body with his, to cage you in and pin you down with his weight— it made him feel like he could protect you, keep you safe, even though he knew he couldn’t save you from heartache as much as he wanted to.
If you wanted someone to touch you, to give you affection, to make love to you and make you feel loved, then you’d come to the right place. That came to him naturally; the hard part was going to be letting you go, letting this be the one-time favor for a friend that he already knew it was.
“You feel so good,” he found himself whispering against your skin, just beside your ear, “so good for me.”
The praise must have had a strong effect on you, because your walls tightened around him suddenly.
“So perfect,” he continued, wanting to feel it again, “my perfect girl.” And you weren’t his girl, but maybe he could pretend you were; you certainly seemed to enjoy pretending, with the way your moans egged him on. “God, baby, your pussy feels so fucking good around my cock.”
“Bucky,” you whined, arching your back, and he grinned because it was obvious that you responded even better to dirty talk than praise.
“You like that, huh? You like makin’ me feel good?” he pressed, laughing a little when you nodded feverishly. “Fuck, such a good girl… takin’ me so good, so fuckin’ deep…”
You grabbed him by his hair to make him kiss you again, hungry lips smashing against his.
Inspired by your passion but afraid of what he’d do with all of this control, he wrapped his arms around you and hoisted you up until he was sitting while you straddled him, looking up at you with a grin. "Ride me, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it," he instructed lowly. The way you rocked your hips and threw your head back was everything he'd dreamed it would be, increased exponentially. Of course, he'd never told anyone that he dreamed about that, but he'd also never thought it could ever come true. He ran his hands over every part of you he could reach, just to make sure it was real; just to make sure he memorized the feel of you while he could.
He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around a hardened nipple, sucking gently and smirking a little when you moaned loudly. “You’re sensitive here,” he noted aloud, kissing his way to the other nipple but still teasing the first with his metal fingers.
Your moans came faster and louder, your fingers combing through his hair and pulling seemingly unintentionally. He noticed that you let your eyes fall shut, your head crane back, and although he was glad that it was a sign of pleasure, he wanted to see you; he wanted you to see him, know that it was him making you feel this way. so, he reached up and cupped your face in his hand, cradling your cheek, pulling you closer to look at him, staring into your eyes— and he knew it wasn't a subtle move, wasn't believable as a guy just helping out a friend, but he didn't care anymore. When he kissed you again, it almost felt like you meant it, too; like you wanted him first, and not just as a consolation prize.
But you pulled back a little too soon, a reminder to both of you that this couldn’t be anything more than what it was.
Your hips gyrated faster and more vigorously, his hands gripping you tight and guiding your movements while you sighed and bit your lip. You looked so indescribably good when you were immersed in pleasure like this, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly for balance, your chest swelling and deflating with quick breaths.
“So fucking beautiful,” he whispered below his breath as his hand softly trailed from your collarbone down to your thigh. The sounds you made were constantly changing, a little more high-pitched and needy now as you rode him faster. He was already picking up on the little signs that you were getting closer: your thighs flexing where they were straddled beside his own, how your body jolted and shivered in his grasp, your eyes wrenched shut and your skin breaking out into goosebumps.
Already he knew your body so well, but he knew there was so much more he would never get the chance to discover. For now, he’d just have to settle for a preview of all the perfect little ways you fell apart.
And, in the interest of speeding that process up a bit, he reached down to where your bodies were joined and circled a thumb over your clit.
“Fuck!” you yelped, your inner muscles bearing down on him out of nowhere until he was forced to groan from your tightness.
“You close?” he stammered out, way less confident than he meant it to be. He should’ve said something cool like ‘I know you’re close’ or ‘aw, baby, does that feel good?’ but no, he was too far gone and gave his own desperation away.
"Yes, baby, I'm so close," you sighed, "I'm gonna come— you're gonna make me come."
You said it with a hint of shock in your voice, like you could barely believe it. He couldn't believe it, either, because it was surely too good to be true.
"Come for me," he instructed firmly, pulling you closer until his nose brushed against yours, "say my name when I make you come."
It was unfair, but he needed to pretend you were his for just a moment. Only his.
"Bucky," you whimpered shakily. Your walls tightened around him so perfectly, over and over, until it took everything in him not to bust right then. "Bucky, I'm coming, fuck, I'm coming—"
"I know," he whispered, "I know, pretty girl, keep going."
Your nails dug into his skin, but he couldn’t even notice the pain when he was watching your face as you came— it was tight and twisted at first, before falling into a gasp and a moan that made his heart swell along with his cock that painted your walls the absolute second he knew you’d come. It was intense, not just from holding back for so long, but from knowing he was coming inside you.
He sighed and started to catch his breath as you slumped forward and buried your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, the warmth of your body nearly overwhelming now as he felt little aftershocks ripple through your channel around where he was still within you.
"Thank you," you whispered, so quiet he could barely hear it. But he did, and he nodded a little as he rested his face against yours, stroking your hair gently. You held each other in silence for a long time, so long that when your breathing slowed down significantly and he could feel your body relax entirely, he realized you had fallen asleep.
Carefully, he held you tighter so he could stand up and carry you to his bedroom, your body instinctively wrapping around him like a koala… like even in your sleep, you could act all adorable and break his heart just that much more.
He did his best to tread quietly and gently, laying you down onto the bed and only then pulling his softened cock out of you, finding his discarded boxers to put back on before joining you between the sheets.
He knew you would be gone in the morning but he indulged himself in holding you tonight, breathing your scent and pressing your back against his chest. He didn't want to fall asleep because he didn't want to miss a second of your body wrapped in his, but it was impossible not to with the soft pace of your breathing almost rocking him to sleep like a beautiful lullaby.
Where there was warmth and peace before, he awoke to cold and emptiness— both between his sheets and in himself.
It’s not like he really expected you to stay, and even if you had it wouldn’t mean that you would leave your husband for your best friend, that this would have ever been anything more than a glimpse of what could’ve been in another life or another universe.
He could still smell you, barely, and he buried his face in the sheets to take it all in before it faded away. When it was gone, he pulled back only to find a wet patch of his tears there instead.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n
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almost caught
something for @jilytoberfest! prompt: "if we get caught-" "i'll make it worth your while, i promise."
i wrote this quickly and didn't revise it a ton, but im just excited to contribute for jilytober!!! hope you lovely's like:)
"Okay, James. I'm going to be completely frank here- and I wholeheartedly mean every word when I say this- this is perhaps the stupidest idea you've ever had- and you've had loads of stupid idea's."
"Oh, come on. Try to have some faith in me," James whispered back, opening one of the drawers of the desk. They were in the Ravenclaw Prefect's office. James had suspected that the Prefects were somehow involved with their Quidditch team cheating by using weighted and magic-infused balls. The only evidence he had to back his theory up was a "gut feeling" and the fact that the bludgers seemed to target the other team more often, which Lily chalked up to confirmation bias. While she disagreed with cheating, she figured a better idea was to talk to their Prefects, not snoop through their office.
"Famous last words," Lily rolled her eyes, "I can't believe that I let you drag me into this. If we get caught-"
"I'll make it worth your while, I promise," The boy reassured her as he looked up at Lily, messy dark curls hanging in front of his eyes. He had finished looking in the first drawer and moved to the one below it, quickly searching. Lily wasn't sure what he meant by that, "Besides, we won't get caught. Now, are you going to start searching, or are you going to make me do all the work like usual?"
"Like usual? Excuse me?" Lily said. She was standing in front of him, hands firmly planted on her hips disapprovingly before turning to the cabinets. Besides breaking his collarbone last night in a quidditch game (Which Madam Pomfrey fixed just fine, and if he followed her instructions, he'd be totally healed in days), the year was going swimmingly for James and Lily. She enjoyed working with him as Heads and was seeing real change in him. He was no longer a bully, and in fact, he always shut that sort of thing down.
"I don't even know what I'm looking for."
James just chuckled as he closed the second drawer, kneeling to search the third drawer, "Probably anything quidditch related."
"You've got the wrong person for this," Lily sighed. That was probably true. She knew nothing of sports- both muggle and wizard alike. She turned to the cabinets on the far wall, which was full of books, mostly student records, and smelled musty.
"You know, this would be so much easier if you just agreed to use the cloak with me," James commented as he stood up and brushed off his pants. Lily had grown to like him over the past few months and didn't mind working with him as co-Heads. He was kind, responsible, and enthusiastic enough that almost everyone adored him- even Lily. She was even starting to get butterflies around him, something she never thought could happen.
"I'm never going under that damn cloak with you," Lily said as she took out a book of student records. She dusted it off and then put it back where she found it.
"Never is a strong word," James said as he walked over to the wardrobe. He opened it up and stepped inside, pressing against the back of it to see if any secret openings were on the back wall.
"I know," Lily said, following him and standing behind him, "That's why I said it."
That's when they heard the door handle jiggle, indicating that someone was trying to come in.
Lily, panicking, looked up at James. He quickly grabbed her by her waist and lifted her into the broom closet, quietly slamming the door. One hand was on her waist, the other over her mouth to try and keep her quiet. He gently took it off and put it behind her head. One hand was still on her waist as he tangled his other in her hair.
Fucking hell, he was hot.
Lily's hands were holding tightly at the bottom hem of her skirt. She knew that if she didn't plant them there, they'd undoubtedly find themselves tangled in James's dark locks.
"Maybe you were right about that cloak," Lily whispered as they were both breathing heavily and pressed up against each other. She wondered if he could feel how hard her heart was beating. She wasn't sure if that was from fear of getting caught or being so close to James.
James just brought his finger back to her lips and shushed her softly. His breath was softly blowing on her bangs, which caused them to tickle her forehead. All Lily could do was look up at him, remembering what was going on outside the cabinet, hearing the door open. He then anxiously looked out through the crack of the wooden doors, trying to watch whoever she heard come in. Lily tried to ignore the way he was clenching his jaw. She noticed that was a sort of nervous tick of his, something that he did when anxious. One hand was still on her waist, the other resting on her hair on the nape of her neck.
Why was she caring more about James's hands on her than she did at the idea of getting caught?
"Weird, I swore I heard voices," Sabrina Wood, the sixth year Prefect, said.
"So did I," Robert Thomas responded.
James, seeming to spot something above Lily's head, quickly reached his hand up. However, he never got to inspect what he wanted to. Lily heard the sound of his collarbone crack, implying that it was rebroken. While Madam Pomfrey had patched him up just fine, she said he needed to refrain from sudden movements of reaching above his head. Lily now realized this was why.
James leaned forward and grimaced in pain. Still on Lily's neck, his hand grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled at it slightly.
"Fuck," He groaned quietly in Lily's ear, and she felt his hot breath against her ear and neck. Her eyes widened at how attractive that word was coming from his lips, silently cursing herself at the sinful thoughts that flashed in her mind.
The sound of footsteps walking around the office brought Lily back to the current reality. She looked above her see his arm clenched in a fist. He was in a lot of pain.
Wordlessly, she pulled out her wand and pointed it at his broken collarbone. She had practised nonverbal spells a number of times, although never this one. She wasn't sure if she'd ever done this one on a human before.
The footsteps were walking towards the wardrobe and she looked at James. He had relaxed his grip on Lily's hair (much to her disappointment) and moved it to her waist. He nodded slightly, giving her permission to try.
She wordlessly performed the healing charm. James gripped at her shirt in response to the painful snap of bone back in place, just as they heard Robert say something about how they needed to get back to their rounds. They heard the two leave and the door close, listening to the charm the Prefects performed to lock the door. Once they determined they were alone, James let out another groan as he brought his hand down from above Lily's head.
"Good girl," He exhaled as he melted into her, and Lily's eyes widened again. That should not make her feel the way it did, but regardless her toes crinkled and she tightened her grip on her wand.
"You alright?" She asked sheepishly, trying to relax. She was feeling bashful and disappointed that they now had to exit the wardrobe.
James, slightly sweaty from the pain, nodded and raised his other arm to what he wanted to look at earlier. He pressed against the wall, and a hidden drawer slightly popped out. He reached his hand in and pulled out a piece of parchment from inside it.
"Lumos," he said, still breathing heavily. The room lit up, and Lily looked at James, light reflecting on his glasses. He was looking so damn good, skin sticky and lips soft. She fought against the image of something else that could make James groan, sweat, and breathe heavily.
They both looked at the parchment, and written in neat handwriting was "For those who forget, use wingardium leviosa to control replaced quaffles."
James looked up at Lily, a victorious smirk on his face, which Lily couldn't help but smile at.
"God damn it," Lily said, annoyed that he was but also influenced by his contagious smile, "You actually were right."
"We did it, Evans," James said excitedly, putting his hands on her face and shaking it with enthusiasm.
Lily laughed, blushing at his hand placement, "For Ravenclaws, they really are thick. That was way too easy to find."
James shrugged and dropped his hands, "I don't really care too much. We'll take this right to McGonagall. She'll sort this whole thing out."
Lily nodded as he opened the wardrobe door, feeling the cooler air hit their skin. She blinked at the sudden brightness as he helped her out.
"I can't believe you could do that spell so well, and wordlessly too! You never fail to astonish me with your brilliance," James ruffled her hair with his empty hand and pocketed the parchment with his other.
Lily, blushing harder, smiled at him, "Says the idiot who rebroke his collarbone."
"True," James just laughed, putting his hand on Lily's back to push her forward. He then put both hands on her shoulder and shook them back and forth as he guided her out of the door of the office and down the corridor, "What would I do without you, Evans? My saviour."
Lily just laughed as she shrugged off his hands, playfully pushing him. She looked up at him, his hands clasped behind his back and glasses peering down at her.
"Probably walk around with a broken collarbone."
"Of course," He looked forward, "I've got a question for you, Miss Evans."
Lily's stomach lurched at that statement, and she bit her lip in anticipation, "Yes?"
He stepped in front of her, stopping her. His hands were still behind his back, and he looked down at her. They were nearly as close as they were in the wardrobe.
"Did you think about kissing me in that wardrobe?"
Shit. Fuck. How did he know??
Her stomach dropped, and while she was taken back from the question, but decided she wasn't too mad about it. So they were doing this now?
Lily, full of panic and anxiety, was determined to remain as calm and collected on the outside as she could. She smirked and tilted her head flirtatiously.
"Maybe. What's it to you?"
James smirked back and stepped back to Lily's side as they started to walk again, "Why didn't you?"
"For starters," Lily said, deciding to remain confident, started to lie, "You had a broken bone and seemed to be in a decent amount of pain."
James scoffed sarcastically, "I don't know what you're talking about. Didn't hurt at all."
"Ah, of course, it didn't," Lily looked at her feet as they walked as she remembered the way that he grabbed at her hair and his tone when he whispered "Fuck" in her ear. She got chills again.
They were heading to McGonagall's office. She wasn't sure how James would explain how he obtained the evidence to McGonagall, but she wasn't thinking about that too much at that point. They were talking about kissing, something much more compelling and appealing to Lily.
"Regardless, and back to the more important thing at hand," He smirked at her as he leaned to whisper in her ear, sending chills up Lily's spine, "Perhaps we can get stuck in another wardrobe soon- and don't hold back next time. I still have to make it up to you for nearly getting caught."
#jily fanfic#jily fanfiction#james potter#james x lily#jily fandom#marauders#jily fic#jilytober#jilytober fest#jilytober 2021#mauraders era#jily fan fiction#jily#jily tension#tension#lily evans x james potter#james & peter & remus & sirius
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Attention — Five Hargreeves
Requests: “Hiiiiii would you be able to do 48 and 56 from the smut prompts for Five! Tyyyyy 🥺🥺”
“Hiii could I request 48 + 56 from the smut prompts with five”
Smut Prompts:
48. “I only want to please you.”
56. “Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”
A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!
I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.
I hope it got close to what you guys wanted. ❤️ As soft prompts, I chose not to make a heavy smut, because I think that's what the requests wanted. Basically it's a more tranquil smut.
Guys, I really understand who doesn't feel comfortable reading or writing Five's smut. But I always say that I only write with him (any genre: romance, fluff or angst) with the notion that Five is 20 years old here. All of my fanfics mention swearing or sex, even if it is a memory or something shallow, but as I am writing with Five as an adult, it is consistent that the fic has aspects of an adult life.//
English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.
Requests are open. Love you ❤️
Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.
Warnings: smut explicit and fluff too.
— — — — —
While the night outside bathed the city streets with a midnight lunar glow, Five kept hunched over notebooks, pencils, a mug with coffee and the lamp on. He was in those equations for hours and, truth be told, you were starting to get bored.
Not that it was a surprise Five to spend hours immersed in their mathematics of probabilities, submerged in a world of numbers that you didn't understand at all. Usually, you accompanied him with a book, without saying anything, just reading while he did his math. It was cozy that dynamic, sometimes he looked at you just to make sure you were comfortable, that you were there, and you felt peaceful just for his company.
But that day... well, you were restless. You watched Five pass the equations onto the table, scribbling numbers on the wood as he pulled his coffee mug down for another sip.
You used those moments to observe all the details of him, from his silky black hair, smooth skin, strong jaw and eyes that were always fierce. The long fingers caught your eye even more, and you held your breath for a second when the same fingers squeezed the pencil.
You were an idiot for Five. It was true. You remembered perfectly the moments when those fingers already made you feel so good, sinking into you so deep that you were unable to suppress the moans.
You felt slightly needy all day, getting excited about small, ridiculous things. As it was now, just by watching those long fingers squeeze the pencil.
Five and you had recently engaged in a kind of relationship. You two didn't have a label yet, but you knew that Five already had an attachment and possession over you, so him couldn't even tolerate the idea of you with someone else.
“Five” You called, your voice slightly slurred, trying not to show how needy you were.
He did not answer, immersed in his own thoughts. And then you appealed to... well, plan B.
You sat on the bed, looked at the pants in your pajamas and decided to remove them completely, putting them aside while opening some buttons on your shirt and showing the pulp of your breasts, covered by the lacy black bra. Your legs were now completely bare, your hips covered by the piece of black panties, with the hem of her shirt not covering much of your ass.
“What are you doing?” Then Five's voice came, without him taking his eyes off the equations, demonstrating that he had noticed your sudden lack of clothes.
Plan B was fulfilling its purpose...
“What?” You made a fool of yourself, just to get his attention.
And him did it. Five took his eyes to your direction, falling down your body before returning to your eyes.
“Your clothes.” He nodded “Put them back.” Then he turned to the front again.
That bastard...
You blinked a few times, looking at him while trying not to be consumed by the feeling of insecurity.
“Why?” You asked, dragging yourself to the edge of the bed, closer to Five. “It's not an invitation, I'm just hot.” What a great lie.
“Put on shorts then.”
This guy...
“Can't I stay like this?”
“No.”
“Why?”
So you've reached the peak of Five's tiny patience. He turned to you, his eyes slightly flashed with small irritation, his jaw clenched as if he were controlling himself to not do something.
“Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”
But if he wanted to discourage you with that, the reaction was the opposite. You grinned, your cheeks taking on a ruddy hue, your heart pounding, the feminine vanity bulging inside you. In those moments, when Five looked at you as if you were the most superb creature on earth, you felt powerful, desired, sexy. And that gave you the courage to take attitudes absent from shyness.
You stood up, the smile still on your face, your heart racing in chest. Five kept the eagle eyes on you, watching you sit on his lap, each leg next to his hips.
“Y/n...” his voice was a clear warning, but his hands involuntarily went to your waist.
That simple moment was able to bring vibrations in your belly, already wetting your panties. You held a sigh, brushing the black hair on the back of his neck with your fingers.
“I only want to please you.” You delivered the game quietly, making Five let out a loud breath when your words were combined with the movement of your hips.
He should have stopped you, but if there was anything in the world where Five had a weakness, it was you. He was addicted, unable to refuse anything about you.
Then Five gave himself the luxury of enjoying your wet panties against his pelvis, your mouth tracing kisses through him neck that was now as hot as summer. The feeling that it was having you in his lap was indescribable, him body pulsed under you, already ordering something that Five knew very well what it was.
The tightness in your waist became stronger, and the long, long hands went down to the hem of your shirt, reaching inside and squeezing yours thighs.
You blew out a loud breath, pressing your lips against Five's neck as his hands continued to rise, completely invading your shirt, until it reached yours breasts.
The cold palms against your hot breasts aroused a euphoric sensation in you, and a broken moan escaped when Five closed his hands, massaging the nipples of yours breasts, making you squirm in his lap and rub your hips whit his pelvis.
“You want this?” His voice was low, hoarse, slightly profane.
“Y-yes” You sighed loudly, bringing your mouth to his and whimpering there when Five tightened yours breasts and moved her hips against yours. “Fi ... five!”
“I will give you what you want.”
Then his hands left you, going to own belt, opening quickly and lowering his pants enough for the pulsating, hot member to jump out.
But Five didn’t give you time to enjoy the view, or enjoy the sensation of feeling that part of his body. No, he held the base of the cock with one hand while he pulled your panties away with the other, entering inside you. You clasped your hands on his shoulders, seeking help.
“Five!” You were unable to control a groan, but he stuck his mouth to yours, drowning out your groan and his himself.
“Shii. You don't want them to know what we were doing, do you?” His voice was still provocative, making your belly flutter, destroying any chance you had of being able to resist it.
Five's hands went to your waist again, pulling you upward before you came down hard against him. His cock went deep, reaching every corner, being squeezed by yours aching walls.
He groaned, or it was you, or it was both. But you didn't have time to get used to it, Five pulled you up and down brutally and quickly, making you put up with everything he gave you.
And you take it anything.
“F-fi-five” You moaned in his mouth, putting your arms against his neck and burying your face there, trying to stifle your groans while he was taking you so badly.
Five brought one hand to you collarbone, pulling the cloth of shirt aside and exposing you bare shoulder. He put his lips there to muffle his own sounds, pulling you with his hands closer, sticking your body with his, pressing his mouth to your skin when you started to move in rhythm, going up and down hard too.
Their bodies clashed, the air was muffled, the room became hot, their skins began to sweat. You started to feel a thread about to burst, lifting you high, about to push you into an endless void. Five turned his mouth to yours, putting an arm around your waist to pull you down and up harder, and the other hand went to the back of your neck, pressing his fingers to the strands of your hair while forcing you to keep your mouth against his mouth.
You were so close. Your moans became more broken, needy, and you felt Five's rhythm start to stutter, his grip to tighten. Mouths were now only an inch apart, feeling each other's moans on their own lips.
That's when you noticed Five. His eyes spilled from that serious, wild look he always had, his mouth ajar against yours, his black hair clinging to his forehead. He looked like a god, and the crash was too much for you.
You came intensely, in an orgasm that trembling your legs, and your hands tightened more in Five, your core squeezing him cock inside you, making Five swear loudly and sink deep once more, pouring all the hot cum into you, in yours walls tight.
You were both panting, bodys coming down from the top, muscles relaxing. Yours thighs were on fire, but it was a very small price to pay for such a good fuck.
You let out a small laugh, which was accompanied by Five. He removed some sweaty strands from your face, sealing his lips in you, a quick kiss before relaxing in the chair completely.
“Was that what you were looking for?” His voice was smug, boastful again, with a touch of arrogance and mischief.
You laughed again, nodding as you rested your head on his shoulder.
“Was better.”
#five fanfiction#five hargreeves#five hargreeves smut#five hargreeves x reader#five hargreeves x you#five x reader#five x y/n#five x you#the umbrella academy#five hargreeves imagine#number 5 imagine#number 5 x you#number 5 x reader#number five fanfic#number five x y/n#number five smut#number 5#tua smut#tua fanfic#tua five#five imagine#the umbrella academy imagine#the umbrella academy smut#smut fanfiction
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The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 5
More people said yes to Hannigram, which is good because Will is already involved in the plot and it would be awkward to have him just disappear. Also, I had someone request a Hannigram x reader in my asks. Apologies to the one person who voted no; I promise there will be more solo Hannibal x reader content in the future.
Hannibal decides to that y/n could do with some extra protection, but doesn’t anticipate what she has to tell him.
I have no idea how to make a proper tag list but @deadman-inc-bikeshop and @dovahdokren here you go
Trigger warnings: discussions of alcohol, victim blaming
“When I saw his face, I immediately knew he had never once experienced the touch of his own hand, let alone that of a woman.” Charissa read out loud to everyone on staff. “Or, that he was buried so deep in the closet he found Narnia, but those two things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
It was expected to be a slow night, as was normal for an ordinary Tuesday. On nights like those, you could get away with more, like reading a tabloid article out loud for everyone to hear.
“I can’t believe [F/N] actually went public.” One of the new busboys commented. “What an absolute madlad.”
“Did you just unironically use reddit terminology in an actual conversation?” You narrowed your eyes at the kid.
“[F/N], you are making a very dangerous enemy.” An older waitress said, cryptically, from the corner of the room.
“Who, Jason?” You gestured to the busboy. “What’s he gonna do? Make me cringe myself to death?”
“You know that’s not who I mean.” She frowned. “I’m talking about Chase Mulvaney.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” You shook your head. “He’s not stupid enough to come back here.”
Charissa made a noise that denoted her doubt. “I dunno, [F/N]. You’d have to be pretty stupid to start stabbing people at a crowded restaurant in broad daylight.”
“But he was smart enough to get away, right?” Jason asked. “That’s gotta count for something!”
You and Charissa exchanged glances. Neither of you had the emotional bandwidth to explain white privilege again. Instead, you just humored him.
“Yeah.” Charissa lied. “He was smart enough to get away, meaning he probably knows better than to come back.”
"You're kidding yourself." A third waitress, who's name you couldn't seem to place, added. "People always say that killers are these galaxy-brained superhumans, but they're not. Mulvaney believes he's divinely ordained, so any thought that pops into his coked-out head is a sign from god."
And so shattered your thin firmament of denial. You made a point to never learn this person's name just out of spite.
“Oh, shit.” You said, trying to hide your genuine fear with a sarcastic voice. “Maybe he is coming back for me.”
Charissa glared at the two other waitresses, equally pissed at them for scaring you.
"And it'll be your own fault for provoking him with that article." The older waitress said.
"Holy victim-blaming, batman." You mumbled.
“Alright, listen up, y’all.” Matthew announced to the group. “In ten minutes we open for dinner. Remember, if you want to switch shifts with another person, you have to run it by me first. I don’t want to see anybody but [F/N] at the bar tonight, capiche?”
“Yessir.” You saluted him and made your way over to the bar. You’d been doling out your bartending shifts left and right to avoid even the possibility of being cornered by another Freddie Lounds. You were only prolonging the inevitable, though. Eventually, you needed to return to the bar.
You passed the hostess's stand, where Charissa was stationed. Suddenly, you felt someone grab at your arm.
"Fucking hell, dude?!" You flinched violently and your heart rate jumped. "Don't do that!"
"Shit, sorry!" Charissa looked immediately regretful. "But, look!"
You followed her gaze through the window where a fancy car was parked. He leaned against the door, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt.
Now your heart was beating fast for a completely different reason. You squeezed Charissa's hand, trying to keep a lid on your nervous excitement.
"I think your luck's starting to turn." She said in a sing-songy voice.
"Yeah, I bet he'll protect me from the Baltimore Butcher." You whispered, trying not to giggle like an elementary school girl.
"Oh, could you imagine those arms around you?" She sighed deeply, her hand firmly against her chest. "I would die."
"Not until he sinks his teeth into your neck." You smirked, gnashing your teeth together.
"I would let him." She rested her chin on her hand.
"Yeah, me too." You agreed.
"I would give anything to trade shifts with you." Charissa groaned.
"Well, you heard the boss." You shrugged, suddenly feeling much better about your assignment. "I gotta stay behind the bar."
"Oh, pobrecita." Charissa rolled her eyes. Underneath the stand, she put up her middle finger in your direction. "Suck a dick, [L/N]."
You walked backwards towards the bar, keeping your eyes on your friend. "That's the plan, baby."
You tried to make yourself look busy. You dared not look at him as he entered the restaurant.
He exchanged pleasantries with Charissa then took his seat at the bar. You pretended not to notice him right away, only to give you an extra second to compose yourself.
"Hi there." You greeted, knowing you'd feel stupid no matter what you said. "Er- good evening."
"[F/N] [L/N], I assume?" He asked.
Fuck, you thought. His voice was dark, low and made your insides tremble. Even though part of you knew he was going to know your name, it still felt so sensual passing his lips.
You realized you had waved to him with your bandaged hand. That's how he was about to identify you so quickly. "Yes, I am she. I mean- her. Me."
Way to go, dumbass. You thought. Now he knows you're nervous and he's going to wonder why.
“God, I need to stop wearing this damn thing.” You said, clearing your throat. “What can I get for you tonight?”
He was quiet for a moment. "What do you recommend?"
"Well, that depends." You said, pulling your gaze from him and grabbing a few wine glasses down from a high shelf. It was the only way you could maintain your composure.
"On?"
"What you're having for dinner, for one." You said. "And whether or not you're a vulpine tabloid journalist trying to corner me into a dubiously ethical interview. That's also a factor."
"So that's how Miss Lounds wore you down?" He concluded. "With wine?"
You rested your elbows on the bar, filled with an intoxicating confidence. "She tried wine first. Then she tried to get me fired because she asked for chardonnay and I brought her chablis. And when that didn't work, she siphoned my gas."
"I wish I could say that was out of character for her." He looked at you, apologetically.
"I take it you've had your own run-ins with Freddie?" You smiled.
"She's tried to infiltrate my practice multiple times." He sighed. "She's entered my office under a fake name with a recording device in her purse."
"What a sick fuck." You said, before remembering you really weren't supposed to curse in front of customers. You covered your mouth. "Sorry."
The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. "Don't apologize. You're right."
“So you’re a doctor?” You asked, hoping he wasn’t the type to be offended by questions.
“I’m a psychiatrist.” He nodded. “I used to work as a surgeon, but I find the mind much more compelling.”
"Seriously, though." You pushed yourself back to your feet. "What can I get for you?"
He eyed the wine menu and then looked back at you. "What is your favorite red?"
"My favorite red?" You placed your hand on your collarbones. "On a night like this, I enjoy a nice, dry Argentinean Malbec."
"In that case," he thumbed through the list once more. "I'll have a bottle of Cobos Chañares from 2016, please."
You smiled. You wouldn't mind taking a sip of that if he offered. "Right away."
You carefully pulled the solid black bottle from its crevice and placed it on the bar. You removed the plastic seal and reached for the corkscrew. The bottle opened with a satisfying pop, filling the air around you with the strong, complex and seemingly contradictory aromas.
You poured a bit of this criminally expensive wine into his glass. He smelled it, then swirled it for a moment before taking a sip.
"Redcurrants and vanilla," he began. "With floral notes that operate with the precision of interlocking gears in a clock. Everything in its place."
"So you're a sommelier and a poet?" You tilted your head and filled his glass. "I'll bet you make women swoon at every corner."
You never had the best grasp on flirting, but even you knew that line was awful.
“Are you flirting with me, Miss [L/N]?” He asked, clearly not too worried about the consequences and enjoying the flattery. “Or are you just trying to get a taste of this Malbec?”
“Little bit of column A, little bit of column B.” You shrugged. “Though you are as handsome as everyone says, I’ve had my eyes on that wine for slightly longer.”
You fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. You had just broken the cardinal rule of workplace gossip. Panic reverberated through your body as you tried to break down his unreadable expression.
Once again, he just looked amused. “I’ve seen those lingering glances, the way you all whisper and giggle. It’s flattering.”
You felt your cheeks growing hot. “...I see.”
“If you tell me what they say about me, I’ll let you have a taste.” His eyes bored into yours.
You paused, trying to decipher exactly what he was offering. Then it hit you.
“Oh!” You interjected. “The wine.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant.” He said. “Dare I ask where your mind went?”
Your cheeks stung from all the uncomfortable smiling. “I’d really like to keep my job, thanks.”
“Have you never heard of bartender-client confidentiality?” His voice lowered and his eyes found your lips. “Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls.”
Your insides turned to jelly. He rested the wine glass in his hand and offered it to you. Your hands shaking, you cradled the glass like an 18th century French village prostitute being offered a mug of hot soup. You brought the glass to your lips, the strong, overwhelming smells assaulting your orifices.
You let the wine grace your tongue. You had taught yourself to overcome the sting of the alcohol and focus on the undertones. Your eyes rolled back in to your head and you let out a little noise of pleasure.
“Christ on a bike, that’s decadent.” You said, gasping for air a little bit. You quickly passed the glass back to him before Matthew could see you. “Thank you.”
“Now, indulge me.” He instructed, glancing at the fresh pink lipstick mark on his glass. “What do the lovely women of Terroir whisper while I’m just out of earshot?”
You rested your elbows on the bar and leaned in close. “They say you’re a vampire.”
Judging by his unchanging neutral expression, it clearly wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection. “Perhaps they’re on to something.”
“One of our line cooks used to say you were the devil.” You informed him, hoping that was one he hadn’t heard before.
“Used to?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Until Chase Mulvaney came around.” You instinctively ran your fingers over your bandages, as if to make sure they were still there. It was a nervous tick you’d developed anytime someone brought up that day. “He’s stopped talking about, like, anything having to do with his religion ever since.”
“It takes a lot to get an evangelist to stop evangelizing.” He refilled his glass. “Do you think he lost his faith?”
“I heard someone say in passing that it was because he and Chase Mulvaney went to the same church.” You whispered. “But I can’t verify that.”
“I’d say it’s more likely than a regular customer being a vampire, wouldn’t you?”
“I wouldn’t trust their word because they made a regular customer into a vampire.” You corrected, hoping he would overlook the fact that you were one of them. “Secrets may stay within these four walls, but they tend to bounce around. It’s only a matter of time before one escapes, and you’d better hope it’s not one of yours.”
This man must have been an exceptional therapist, because, there you were, baring your soul to him after fifteen minutes and one sip of wine. Occasionally, you were pulled away from the conversation by another customer who had the audacity to also want a drink. But, very few people came to you with the sole intent of drinking on a Tuesday evening. You and the sommelier talked until closing time.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Miss [L/N].” He said pulling out his wallet. “You are as delightful in person as you are on paper.”
“Thank you, but I never caught-” you said, but stopped yourself. “I mean, you never gave me your name.”
He signed his name on the paper check, then pulled out a fifty and unceremoniously handed it to you. “Now why would you want to ruin the mystery?”
“Nothing we say tonight has to leave these four walls, remember?” You grinned and crossed your arms. “Come on, I won’t tell anyone.”
He took the customer copy of the receipt and scribbled something down on it. He the folded it in half and slid it in your direction as if it contained nuclear launch codes.
“Join me for dinner someday.” He ordered. “I’ll supply the Malbec.”
#hannibal x reader#hannibal lecter#hannibal nbc#hannibal x you#hannigram#hannigram x reader#the sommelier#wine#tw trauma#tw victim blaming#tw alcohol
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could have danced all night
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
Inspiration: Prompts #2 (“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”) #14 (“when i’m not with you, it’s almost like…i can’t breathe.”) and #41 (“i may or may not have left some…marks.”)
Warnings: sexual references, kissing, meddling siblings, fluffy fluff
Word Count: 3,733
Author’s Note: This is my first request! Big shout out to @acmbooksandfilm for sending this in, I had a lot of fun writing it. Also, apologies on it taking a bit to get out, writing has gotten difficult as my real adult job has slowly turned my brain to mush. But, if you would still like to send in a request, feel free! My DMs and Askbox is always open, even though it may take a little longer to complete requests. And as always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists. Thanks for all the love on my other one shots and enjoy!
“Colin, enough,” Benedict huffed as he threw on his shiny black tailcoat, “Surely you have better things to do than pester me about my love life.” Anthony, Benedict, and Colin often crossed paths when getting ready for the numerous events of the season, and now the younger Bridgerton brother was doing everything to get on his elder sibling’s last nerve.
“I’m merely pointing out the obvious, Benedict,” Colin said smugly, straightening his cravat as he looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but flash a mischievous smile at his reflection, “Practically everyone in the ton knows about you two, what’s the harm in proposing?”
“What on God’s green earth are you two talking about?” Anthony strode into the room, closing the door in the likely event that Colin said something inappropriate and scandalized one of their younger sisters or, heaven forbid, their mother.
Benedict couldn’t help but flush. Yes, he was close enough with his brothers to discuss all matters surrounding women, but it felt wrong for him to talk about you. Especially when your relationship wasn’t meant to be any sort of relationship whatsoever.
It had started out innocently enough; you had been close with his younger sister Eloise and Penelope Featherington for years, acting as surrogate older sister on account of you being several years older than them. You were also friendly with Daphne and Simon Bassett, and often had tea with the pair when they weren’t off performing their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.
In truth, you knew Benedict the least out of the Bridgertons who had or were close to coming of age, and was shocked when he requested to have his name written on your dance card at the first ball of the season. When it came time to dance, you had expected Benedict to act shy at first; but after some coaxing from you, he won you over almost instantly with his wit and humor.
He only asked to dance with you once more at that particular event, not wanting to be improper. However, it was clear from the way the two of you looked at each other that there was a spark.
“No one,” Benedict said, almost too quickly, “Our brother is just sticking his nose into affairs that aren’t his own, as usual.” Anthony rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by his younger siblings’ bickering. The three of them strode down the stairs of their home and seized a carriage so that the conversation could continue in private.
“So…” Colin drawled, “It is an affair, then?”
“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”
“A slip of the tongue, perhaps? You know, brother, you must choose your words more carefully—"
“Mark my words, Colin Bridgerton; I will kill you in this very carriage if—”
“Will the two of you, please,” Anthony huffed, feeling a migraine coming on, “Benedict, is this about who I think it is about…?” Colin nodded fervently, but Benedict remained stone-faced. He hated keeping things from his family, especially his brothers. But he couldn’t risk tarnishing your name, not after what had transpired between you two.
It wasn’t meant to happen. When Benedict had snuck off one night to another one of Sir Granville’s soirées, he was shocked to see you there, wearing a tightly-laced corset, undergarments, and practically nothing else. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened to the size of your mother’s best teacup saucers. Without thinking, you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.
“Benedict, wha—what are you doing here?!” he remembered you asking him, utterly flustered. His eyes drifted to the sheer robe draped over your shoulders, the fabric floating gently with your every movement.
“I could very well ask you the same question!” he attempted to whisper, now distracted by how your corset pushed up your bosom considerably, “How do you even know about these, um, parties?” For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of what to say as Benedict’s pale blue eyes bore into yours.
You sighed, resigning to come clean, “Genevieve—Madame Delacroix—she told me about them. I confided in her about my father’s money troubles,” you felt the tears start to well up, but could not bear to cry in front of Benedict in the state you found yourself in, “I barely have any money for a dowry to find a suitable husband, and Genevieve and Sir Granville are familiar so…I work when I can and just make the guests feel comfortable—you know, offer them drinks, tobacco, the like—but I provide nothing more than hospitality.”
You felt that you needed to make that distinction to Benedict. Though you suspected that any chance with him was gone now that he had discovered your secret, you wanted to at least maintain part of your reputation, “Granville is generous enough and I could not be more grateful,” you continued, pulling the nearly translucent robe tightly around your body, “And these parties are so secretive that I thought, perhaps, I could scrounge enough money together before the end of the season before I was discovered. Clearly not.”
You couldn’t help but laugh dryly, but Benedict stared at you, his expression earnest, “You need not worry about that,” he breathed, “I won’t tell a soul.” You absentmindedly bit your bottom lip, chewing nervously on a bit of broken skin. Could he really be trusted? Yes, you had crossed paths over the last few weeks, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional flirtatious glance, but would Benedict be able to keep your secret?
“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied coyly, deciding that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “Perhaps I will be able to repay you one day.” A sly smile spread across Benedict’s face, his eyes flickering to the locked door. Though the party was continuing on the other side, you two had remained virtually undisturbed.
Feeling bold, he traced his fingers over your collarbone, instantly sending a chill down your spine, “Perhaps…you could repay me now?” he posited, trying his best not to sound like a complete and utter rake, “Only if you wish to, of course.” Despite your best efforts, you could feel a palpable spark that had been building between the two of you over the past few weeks. And you had grown tired of restraining your impulses any longer.
Gently, you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and Benedict cupped your face with his hand, his grip surprisingly tender. His free arm wrapped around your body smoothly, pulling you flush against him. You frantically thought through the consequences of someone discovering you with a Bridgerton, but you were too preoccupied with removing Benedict’s clothing to pay much mind…
“Benedict!” Anthony snapped his younger brother out of his reverie as the carriage slowed to a stop, “Would you get your head out of the clouds and tell me what’s going on?” Benedict stared at him, utterly panic stricken. He had kept your secret for nearly a month now, and during that time the two of you had gotten even closer, both in the eyes of the ton and after nightfall in your bedchamber.
Benedict’s mind almost drifted to the night he had shared with you only hours before, but focused on the task at hand, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head, brother,” he said coolly, “I have it all under control.” Anthony looked as if he were going to be sick, and Colin smiled with devilish glee. The three brothers clamored out of the carriage and made their way into the bustling ballroom, more of their family trailing close behind.
Benedict could hear Eloise whine as Lady Bridgerton attempted to smooth down her hair, and he felt a small pang of guilt for not coming to his sister’s aid against their mother’s incessant prodding. But now, he had more pressing matters at hand; namely, what in the hell he was going to say to you now that his brothers were onto him.
He spotted you from across the hall, his heart fluttering with every step he took in your direction. He noticed that you were wearing an intricately laced shawl that was tied tightly across your chest, completely covering your collarbone and much of your breast. Benedict felt himself frown slightly, then immediately scold himself for being improper at a society function; surely, you need not show your bosom to the entire ton in order to draw the eye of him and a number of other suitors.
You were conversing with Penelope and Lady Featherington when he finally approached you, eyes wide with fear, “Hello,” he said politely, giving a slight nod to Penelope and her mother, “Is there a spot open for my name on your card?” You quirked an eyebrow, giving him a smirk as you removed the card from your wrist.
“Why of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied in an equally cordial manner. Heaven forbid Portia Featherington get a whiff of your affair; you’d be certain your name would be splashed across Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet before you’d wake the next morning, “In fact, you are the first gentleman to ask, so you may have the first dance. If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.” He shook his head and his eyes gleamed as he returned your card to your delicately gloved hand.
Despite his anxiety being astronomically high, Benedict was delighted that he was able to dance with you so early in the evening. He always thought of you as a fluid dancer, light on your feet as the two of you would glide across the ballroom. He often found himself not being able to take his eyes off you, the lively music and judgmental crowd fading away the moment he embraced you.
More importantly, he wanted to speak to you about the precarious situation you found yourselves in. It was only a matter of time until either Anthony or Colin pried the truth out of him, and he wouldn’t let the news spread across all of London society, besmirching your good name. He cared about you too much to allow such a wretched thing to happen.
A few moments later, all of the couples were signaled that the first dance was to begin. Benedict shot a glance to Colin, who had been talking Anthony’s ear off since they arrived. Now, the two of them were staring him down, whispering like schoolboys. He refrained from scoffing and instead took your hand gently, pulling you into his tall frame as the music began.
You instantly noticed the nervous and almost pained expression splashed across Benedict’s face, and you furrowed your brow in worry. However, you decided your best course of action was to try and alleviate the tension he must’ve been feeling, “I see you haven’t taken a liking to my shawl,” you remarked, a sly smile dancing on your lips, “I will have to tell my sister she has dreadful taste.”
Benedict ripped his eyes from his brothers’ stares and produced a small chuckle at your teasing. He realized he’d much rather converse with you than worry about what Anthony and Colin were up to, “No, it’s uh—it is, quite lovely,” he countered, lowering his voice, “Though I would prefer to see more of you, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed by his boldness.
“I believe you saw plenty last night, Mr. Bridgerton,” you posited, weaponizing his own name against him, “In fact, I suppose you could blame yourself for my more…conservative attire, wouldn’t you agree?”
Benedict couldn’t help but flush, but cleared his throat to attempt to keep up with your rather scandalous banter, “Yes, well…I suppose…” he stuttered, “I may or may not have left some…marks.” He spun you, watching as your dress moved gracefully around your body and fluttered behind you as you gripped his arm once more.
You searched the panicked expression on his face. Surely, he only knew you were teasing, so why did he look like he was on the brink of sickness? “Benedict, why are you acting so strange?” you asked, attempting to keep the mood light while searching for information, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”
Benedict swallowed, attempting to maintain his composure. Besides the looming threat of every affluent family in Mayfair uncovering your secret, he was also painfully aware of how nervous you had been making him over the past weeks. The way your smile lit up every room, the way your eyes sparkled playfully, the way your laugh made his heart do a somersault.
“It’s just as well,” you continued, not waiting for him to answer your rhetorical question, “I overheard Colin and Pen whispering earlier, and Simon and Daphne as well. Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He sighed, a little relieved that you had caught onto his family’s shenanigans before he worried you unnecessarily. He couldn’t help but appreciate your perceptive nature.
“Believe me, Colin and Daphne may be my siblings, but they are not my friends right now,” he joked nervously, only half-kidding, “And Anthony is on dangerously thin ice. It appears my family can’t help but get involved in matters that do not concern them.” You giggled, causing Benedict’s heart to swell. He was growing more infatuated with you by the second.
“I wish my family cared half as much as yours does,” you say, a twinge of sadness in your voice, “They are all so wonderful, and I’m sure they are just being protective.” Benedict nodded, heartened by the kindness and understanding you were showing to his siblings. You already got along quite well with Eloise and Daphne, and you were always courteous to his mother while still being able to hold your own when conversing with Anthony or Colin.
As the dance came to an end, Benedict had begun to realize his affection for you. Not just physically; yes, your first encounter at Sir Granville’s had brought you two together faster than he had ever expected. It was reckless, intimate, and completely wonderful, but getting to know you, without dozens of uppity members of high society leering at your every move, was more valuable than any nights you had spent together.
And he decided in that moment, as your hand released from his and you both bowed respectfully, that he could not bear to spend one more day without you by his side. But he could not profess his love in front of God and everyone, least of all his family; he quickly surmised that he must wait until a moment presented itself.
You were quickly whisked away by your mother, unable to even say a proper thank you and goodbye. But as your eyes met his blue ones, you couldn’t help but notice how they were sparkling in the candlelight, and you felt a twinge of melancholy. You cared for Benedict, but feared it was only a matter of time before your affair ended and he was married to another disgustingly wealthy aristocrat. You gave him a fleeting smile before getting dragged to the other side of the ballroom.
As you turned away from him, Benedict felt two hands grasping each of his arms, one hand belonging to each of his meddling brothers, “I knew it!” Colin whisper-yelled as he and Anthony pulled their love-struck sibling into a secluded corner of the lavish hall, “You know, you really aren’t fooling anyone, Ben.”
“How do you mean?” Benedict asked nervously in one last ditch effort to conceal the truth. He shouldn’t have bothered; his brothers had seen how smitten he was with you, and soon the entire ton would be abuzz with salacious gossip if he did not make his move that very evening.
“Benedict,” Anthony chided sternly, clapping him on the shoulder, “Please, do not deny it any longer. You’re clearly bewitched.” The eldest Bridgerton child could not help but smirk; it was almost entertaining to see his usually guarded brother so obviously in love.
Benedict sighed, defeated, “Alright,” he whispered, his face flush with embarrassment, “I apologize for thinking I could ever keep a secret from you two.” Colin smirked proudly, feeling as if he were London’s greatest detective, “I’ll tell you everything if you want, but for the love of Christ, it cannot be here.” He gestured to the room, which was growing more crowded with preening mamas, hunting for the slightest whiff of a scandal.
While Benedict and his brothers searched for a private room for him to regale your escapades, your night flew by, and hours later you found yourself chatting with Daphne and Simon on the gorgeously decorated outdoor terrace. The night was perfectly temperate, and although the noise had died down significantly as many guests had departed for the evening, your head was still swimming in thought. Specifically, you were overwhelmed by the thought of Benedict.
He was quite kind to you, and a very smart, charming gentleman, but you felt your heart lurch as you recalled the intimate nights you had shared over the last few weeks. Men of Benedict’s status would not wed a tainted woman, no matter how much you wished he would. It was only a matter of time before Lady Whistledown revealed your transgressions, and you would be marked as an undesirable to the entire upper echelon of society.
You shuddered at the thought. “Chilly, dear?” Daphne asked sweetly, noticing the unsettled look on your face, “I would think you’d be more protected from the elements with that beautiful shawl on.” Your heart jumped to your throat before you could cover for yourself; Benedict had appeared on the terrace, looking absolutely petrified. Simon and Daphne exchanged glances.
“Darling,” Simon said, turning to his wife, “It is quite crisp out here, don’t you think? Perhaps we should—”
“Go inside to warm up?” Daphne finished his sentence, that unmistakably mischievous glint in her eye that all Bridgerton children possessed, “Why yes, I think that is a fantastic idea, Simon.” She hooked her arm under her husband’s, and the two of them bid you and Benedict adieu, much to your dismay. You were certain he had been found out by his family and was here to end your affair before word reached the rest of the ton.
Still, you managed to smile politely. Simon was right, there was a slight chill that pervaded the terrace, mostly due to the lack of company that had populated the space only hours before, “Hello, Benedict,” you mutter, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other, “Will you be departing soon or—?”
“Erm, yes,” he answered a bit too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow. His strange behavior all night was another indicator that ending things was clearly as difficult for him to initiate as it would be for you to accept, “But first, I, well, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you weeks ago.”
You felt a lump in your throat almost instantaneously. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought, more distressed than you hoped you would be. Benedict took your gloved hand, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. If it were not slightly improper, you would almost find it comforting; his touch always seemed to soothe you, ever since your first night together.
“I never expected to…for us to become so close in such a short period of time,” he began, wondering at what point in this silly speech he would make a royal ass out of himself. Though he had gained a little brotherly insight from Anthony and Colin, he still felt as though he could vomit at any second, “And, well, truth be told, I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together.”
You smiled, pleased by his kind words, “Truthfully, I have felt the same,” you remarked, “But it’s quite alright, Ben, I understand—”
“You do?” he cut you off again, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, “Am I really so obvious about my affection for you?” You stared at him, confused. Was this not him ending whatever…relationship the two of you shared? Now you felt like the fool.
“Affection?” you repeated, your mouth twitching, “I thought you did not want to see me anymore.” Benedict’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but laugh dryly. You had mistaken his jittery behavior as a bad omen, when that could not be further from reality.
He shook his head, and you felt the pace of your heartbeat quicken, “My dear, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” he joked, clearing his throat, “I know that our relationship has been a secret for some time, but I cannot hide how I feel for you any longer. You are kind, and witty, and strong, and incredibly adventurous, and when our dance came to an end earlier this evening, I…I felt like there was a part of me missing as soon as you left. I…when I’m not with you, it’s almost like…I can’t breathe.”
Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, taken aback by his doting and earnest words. “And it would be my honor,” he smiled, his gaze intense and impassioned, “If I could ask for your hand.” Your eyes sparkled back at his, and you nodded silently, attempting to conceal a squeal of girlish glee. You two were still, unfortunately, in public.
“Yes,” you exhaled, feeling foolish from your assumptions about Benedict only minutes before, “I would be equally honored to be your wife, Benedict Bridgerton.” You snuck him a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to flush for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “I see our friends were right after all, weren’t they?”
“Yes, yes they were, and I doubt I will ever hear the end of it from Anthony and Colin,” Benedict mused, smiling sweetly as the corners of his eyes crinkled happily, “I’ll see to a proper visit first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.” He studied you, doing all he could to absorb the joyous look etched upon your radiant face. You smirked, turning in the direction of your family’s carriage.
“I shall hold you to that,” you said, pulling him towards the exit, “But don’t think this night is over, Mr. Bridgerton. I’m not done with you quite yet.”
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Speak Easy Part 7
Bakugo x Reader, Dabi x Reader
Words : 3515
Masterlist
*Smutty this chapter*
Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?
Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.
************************************************************************
“Please… I want to feel something. I need you to- I need you to make me forget, even it’s just for a little while.” His thumb was rubbing over your cheekbone. “Just don’t treat me like I’m fragile. I’m so sick of this numb and broken feeling.”
You knew you weren’t thinking clearly. You knew there was a very good possibility you’d regret this later. But right now… all you wanted was for Dabi to drown out all the thoughts in your head. You wanted to be consumed by him, wanted him to work you over until this numb feeling in your chest went away.
You expected him to be aggressive and he didn’t disappoint. His lips were on you, kissing and biting any skin exposed to him and when that wasn’t enough, his hands literally tore your shirt to pieces. His lips immediately connecting to your collarbone and trailing down. He spoke to you between kisses, his voice husky with need. “Red means stop. Yellow means slow down. Green means good to go. Repeat it back to me.”
He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and your back arched to push your breasts closer to him. His hand heated up and slapped the tit that wasn’t currently in his mouth. “I said repeat it back to me.”
You sucked in a breath, “Red i-is stop.” His hand came down to tease your clit through your underwear. “Y-yellow is slow down.” He started to rub firm circles, making you moan in appreciation. “Green is-“ He began to suck a bruise into your neck.
“Green is what?”
A tear ran down your cheek. “Green is… AH! Good!”
“Good girl.” He pulled your underwear down your legs and it wasn’t until then that you remembered your period. You weakly started to push his hand away as it traveled up your thigh. “I haven’t forgotten y/n. I also don’t care. I’ve blood on my hands before.”
He shoved two fingers into your sopping entrance and started to pump them in a hard but slow pace. He had only just begun, and you were already beginning to feel blissed out. You didn’t know how pent up you had been until he had you unraveling at even the slightest touch.
Your nails dug into his shoulder which had him chuckling. “Oh baby… I haven’t even gotten started yet and you’re already losing your mind.” His fingers quickened their pace and his other hand grabbed the hair at the back of your head forcing you to look at him. I want those eyes open and on me.” You shivered at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t a suggestion. “Do you understand?”
You nodded your head as you stared into his blue eyes. Afraid your voice would give away how desperate you were. He wasn’t satisfied with that though. He tugged on your hair, “Use your words, I want to hear that sweet voice of yours.” He put his forehead on yours his nose brushing against yours. “Now let’s try that again… Do you understand?”
You whined as his fingers started to slow down. “Y-yes..”
“Yes… what?” His lips ghosted over yours while the palm of his hand began pressing into your clit.
“Yes sir…” Your fingers twisted into his white hair trying to pull him closer to you to close the distance between your lips.
He didn’t budge. Keeping his lips right on top of yours but not touching. “A little louder baby I can’t hear you.”
You could feel your orgasm starting to build and your eyes instinctively closed as you let your head fall back against the mirror. A needy moan slipping past your lips.
Dabi growled and bit your nipple hard, pulling on it with his teeth. Your eyes shot open and you screamed. “YES SIR! Ah… Dabi
He cooed in your ear, “Shhh, such a quick leaner. Look at you fucking falling apart on just my fingers.” He curled his fingers making you gasp in pleasure as he managed to hit that spot over and over again. “Good girls get to cum. Have you been a good girl y/n?”
You were panting now, tears leaking out of the corner of your eyes. “Yes! Oh god please let me come daddy!”
The sound that left Dabi’s lips was practically feral. “Daddy huh? Well Daddy is going to fucking ruin this pussy. After I’m done with you, no one else will be ever be good enough. I’ll make you cum again and again until the only though in that empty little head is ‘thank you daddy’.” His fingers picked up the pace and you felt yourself tighten around them.
“That’s it baby. Show daddy how much you like it. I want to hear how much you love Daddy’s fingers!”
You cried out as you felt your orgasm take over. Waves of pleasure taking over you. You didn’t even know what words left your mouth as you babbled in bliss.
You felt Dabi’s body heat tear away from you momentarily before hearing the shower turn on. Before you had time to react you were scooped up into his arms and he was walking you into the hot spray. You didn’t know when he had, had time to take his clothes off but here he was buck ass naked pulling your back to his bare chest.
There was a seat in there that he had gotten for you. He took a seat and pulled you into his lap. His lips found the juncture where you shoulder met you neck. One of his hands came up to fondle you tit, fingers tweaking your nipple while the other squeezed your hip. “Color?”
You leaned back into him letting your head rest on his shoulder, “Green.”
The hot spray of the shower was hitting your chest and abdomen. You hummed in pleasure as he continued to lavish your neck in kisses.
Then with absolutely no warming he was shoving himself into you in one long hard thrust. The only hint of patience being when he stopped to let you adjust to his size. You screamed and your nails dug into his thighs. “That’s it let me hear you.” He slowly dragged his cock out to the tip before slamming you back on top of it. It was almost painful but in the best kind of way. “Let me hear that sweet little siren song huh? Let me hear the voice that’s so powerful it had a whole hero agency scared shitless.” He thrust into you again his lips at the shell of your ear. “I want to hear the voice that make men crumble to their knees… and I want to know that it’s singing my praises.”
His pace was slow but aggressive. You could already feel your second orgasm building and you couldn’t hold back your moans even if you tried. They only spurred him on.
Suddenly he was standing and flipping you around, so you were bent over holding the chair for support. His hips snapped into you as he picked up the pace. A hot hand came down on your ass cheek before snaking down to your front and playing with your clit again. “Ah fuck… yes. Thank you daddy. Please don’t stop! I’m gonna I-I’m gonna… AH!”
“You’re doing so great baby. You take my cock like you were made for it. No one could take this cock like you do. You’re so good… Cum for me. Come on you can do it, I know you can.”
You rockers your hips back into him a few times before gasping as you started to clench around him. “Oh baby you’re so fucking tight. God you feel so good.” You came even harder than you had the first time and felt your arms give out. You would have fallen forward if Dabi hadn’t caught you.
“Oh no baby doll. I’m not done with you yet… I heard all things, good or bad, come in threes… So, what do you say?” His dick that was still in you twitched. “Think you have another orgasm in you?” He chuckled when you only whined in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
He pulled out of you only long enough to turn you around to face him. You couldn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his naked body as this was the first time you had seen it. You thought you saw something that looked like insecurity briefly flash in his eyes, but you didn’t have enough time to ponder it because he was manhandling you once again.
He leaned your back against the shower wall lips finding yours. His fingers ghosted a trail from the side of your breast, down you side, until he reached your knee. He hooked a hand under it before pulling it up until your ankle was resting over his shoulder. He continued to kiss you as he repeated this process to your other leg.
The stretch in your muscles was bordering on uncomfortable as he basically folded you in half like a fucking taco. You didn’t have time to complain though as he thrust his throbbing dick back into you.
It was softer this time though. His forehead leaned on yours as he slowly fucked into you. “What’d I say about keeping your eyes open sweetheart. I need you to look at me. Now open up those pretty eyes for me huh?”
You bit your lip and blushed as you looked into eyes. “Oh no need to be shy now.” His hand came up to push some of your wet hair out of your face. “You are so-“ His hips started to stutter a little. “Fucking perfect.” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you are broken, or weak. You are a fucking fighter, you are so strong.”
A broken moan left his lips and you could tell he was almost at his limit. He began to eratically pump into you, hitting that hidden spot inside you every… single… time.
“Please Dabi, I can’t. It’s too much!” You struggled to keep your eyes open but you somehow managed.
“Yes you CAN! COLOR?”
Your hands gripped into his shoulder and you accidentally activated your quirk. You closed your eyes before you could connected with his thoughts, but there was nothing you could do about the skin to skin contact. You were hit with not only your own pleasure but his as well and it immediately overwhelmed the both of you. It was like an endless cycle of pleasure feeding into each other.
“Oh my FUCK! GREEN, GREEN, GREEN! SHIT GREEN!” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your legs shook violently with your intense orgasm.
He growled loudly as he released inside of you. “Shit I’m cumming. You took me by surprise you fucking naughty girl.” He pumped into you a few more times before stilling inside of you.
The only sound for the next few minutes was that of your labored breaths. His fingers traced patterns into your skin. You hissed when he finally pulled out of you. He put you feet back on the floor but had to keep his hands on you to keep you steady.
He reached behind him and grabbed a bottle of body wash. You felt like putty in his hands. Letting him clean you while massaging your sore muscles. It wasn’t until the water started to grow cold that he wrapped you in a towel and carried you back to your room. You fell asleep sometime after getting dressed for bed. The weight of the past few days finally lifting off of your shoulders.
****
Dabi pulled your sleeping form on top of him slipping his warm hands on your lower back, much like he had the other night. You nuzzled into his neck and sighed. Your small hands gripping his shirt in your sleep.
Later that night he stared at the ceiling as his fingers carded through your hair. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew he didn’t need to read too much into what had just happened between the two of you. You had literally asked him for a distraction. If that’s what you needed, then he’d gladly give it to you. He just hoped you didn’t regret it.
He knew this was temporary. He knew soon enough you’d leave here and end up with someone like Bakugo. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth. He saw the way you looked at each other. There was history there that he couldn’t ignore. Part of him knew you deserved to have someone like Bakugo at you side.
He couldn’t afford to let himself get too attached to you. He was already too close. Any closer and he would never let you leave. He needed to be careful.
*
The next day you woke up to an empty bed, which surprised you because you almost always woke up before Dabi… Oh shit Dabi. Your mind replayed last night’s events and you felt your face heat up. You had asked him to make you feel something and he delivered… three times.
You grudgingly rolled out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. The whole way there you practiced what you would say in your head. You expected him to find him sitting in the kitchen with his cocky smirk eating breakfast. You expected sly comments and maybe even an attempt at round 2 on the kitchen counter.
What you didn’t expect was to walk into an empty kitchen. You shrugged thinking maybe he was in his room doing only God knows what.
You headed to the pantry to grab stuff to make breakfast but saw a note written in the most childish handwriting pinned to the fridge.
“Had to run some errands. Try not to die while I’m gone, and don’t leave the house. There’s a phone in the office for emergencies. – Dabi”
You couldn’t stop the feeling of dread that washed over you. He wasn’t here. You were alone. He hadn’t even asked you, he just left.
You nervously made your way around the house checking every single widow and door to make sure they were locked and secured. Your nerves were all over the place. You were definitely giving him a piece of your mind when he got home. You momentarily debated if you should call Katsuki, but after what happened last night you didn’t know if you could face him. You refused to feel guilty for sleeping with Dabi, but you did at least acknowledge that it would hurt Katsuki if he found out, and that made you sad.
You didn’t know what to do with yourself. You hadn’t had a free day to yourself in a very long time. You used to love days like this. You’d usually order a bunch of take out, pop open a bottle of wine and binge watch TV.
Your circumstances might be a little different now. You may not be able to order take out, but you knew Dabi had a wine cellar and a TV. You snooped around the kitchen before you found some frozen pizzas. This had the potential to be a good fay after all. Maybe a break was what you needed. You still had some lingering anger with him about the whole drowning fiasco, and it your frustration only grew with his little disappearing act.
You didn’t know how long to cook the pizza, so you just guessed. You chuckled at the thought of Dabi coming home to you burning the house down trying to make a pizza.
You took what looked like a very expensive bottle of wine and plopped your ass on the couch. You could watch whatever you wanted, and it didn’t matter because Dabi wasn’t here to be grumpy about it.
You were one pizza, two bottles of wine, and three seasons into your free day, and you were loving it. You hadn’t felt so… normal in a long time.
You were putting a second pizza into the over when you heard the front door slam close.
You held your breath and grabbed the closest thing to you which was a spatula. You held it close to your chest as you slowly rounded the corner. You practically ran straight into a hard wall of muscle. You immediately started swatting at them with a drunken war cry.
“OW! Shit stop it you fucking gremlin it’s just me!” Dabi yanked the spatula from your grasp and used it to swat at your ass. “Seriously you’re in a kitchen full of knives and shit and your first instinct was to grab the spatula.”
You yelped as he swatted at your ass again. “Heyy you’re lucky it wasn’t *hiccup* a knife or I’d ‘ave stabbed you.”
“Oh yeah? I’d be more afraid of you stabbing yourself with how drunk you are.” He took a look around and smirked, “Looks like you’ve had a good day.”
The timer for the pizza went off and you practically jumped out of your skin. “Oh! Pizza! You want some?”
Dabi shook his head, “Unlike you, I’ve had a very, very bad day. I think I’m going to head to bed early.”
Your lip stuck out in a pout, “Oh come ooooooon. You’ve been gone *hiccup* all day!” You lunged at him and wrapped your arms around him. You noticed him wince and you pulled away to see your shirt was now covered in blood… his blood. The sight was nearly enough to sober you up on the spot.
“Dabi! What the hell? What happened?”
He tried to take a step away from you, “Nothing, some of my staples just ripped out. It’s not a big deal.”
You grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up. “Staples my ass! Dabi you’ve been stabbed!”
He groaned, “I’m fine! It’s not even that bad. Just a flesh wound.” The smell of smoke came from the oven, “Please take out the pizza before you burn the house down.”
“The pizza! Shit hold on.” You took a step towards the oven but came back and pointed at him. “Don’t. Move. I’ll be right back.”
He wanted to be irritated as he watched you skip off towards the oven. You were a cute drunk. A stupid drunk, but cute all the same. He watched you reach in to grab the pizza without any oven mits like an idiot, “Y/N! Stop! You’re going to burn yourself.”
He hissed through his teeth as he pushed through the pain to shove you away from the oven. You wobbled a little before your eyes settled back on Dabi. “Oops.” You giggled and put on the oven mits and took out the pizza. It was a little charred in some places, but you didn’t seem to mind. “Okay! Game plan… We eat pizza until I’m not drunk and then I sew you up.”
Dabi took a seat in a high bar stool at the kitchen island and you hopped up on the counter to sit practically between his legs. “That sounds like a terrible idea. I can handle it. I told you it’s not that bad.”
You took a huge bite of pizza, “Well if it’s not that bad then it should be something I can handle then.” Dabi opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off by shoving a piece of pizza in in his face. “Nope! No negotiations. Law number eleven accept help when it’s offered!”
He rolled his eyes as he took the slice from you. “You’re fucking stubborn you know that?”
“I am well aware. Now you going to tell me about how you got stabbed?”
He avoided eye contact and nibbled at his pizza. “Nope. That’s between me and the dumbass who was stupid enough to do it.”
You hadn’t expected him to tell you, but it still irked you that he was hiding things from you. “Law number twelve. No lying.”
Dabi could hear the hurt in your voice and he sighed. “I’m not lying, I’m just not telling you.”
You glared at him, “Not telling me is just a lie of omission!”
He brushed your hair out of your face, “Did you learn that in hero school.”
You pressed your cheek into his hand. “Will you please let me know the next time you decide to leave? It was kind of scary being by myself.”
He felt kind of bad for leaving without saying anything but he couldn’t risk you finding out what he was up too. He gave you a smirk, “Aw did you miss me?”
Your eyes looked into his and without any hesitation, “Yes.”
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. “I’ll compromise with you. I’ll let you bandage my little cut, but I promise it doesn’t need stitches.”
You smiled and tried to hop off the counter. Your equilibrium was still a little off though because you ended up in Dabi’s lap. He smirked, “After all this time, still falling for me huh?”
*******************************************************************
Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime@klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe @unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry @dabislittlemouse@aimee1602 @pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker
#bakugo katsuki imagine#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#mha bakugou#bhna bakugou#bakugo katsuki#bakugo x reader#dabi my hero academia#dabi imagine#dabi#yandere dabi#dabi x y/n#dabi x you#dabi x reader#dabi bnha#mha dabi#dabi todoroki#mha fanfiction#mha x reader#my hero academia
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sensational
Maxwell Lord x F!Reader
Summary: Maxwell is away on a business trip for work, and you’re missing him more than you anticipated.
Word count: 2,2k
Warnings: 18+ smut; guided masturbation, male masturbation, female masturbation, light degradation, edging, orgasm denial, phone sex, long distance after care 🥺
Authors note: I’ve missed writing. So here’s a little something for Maxie cuz I’ve missed him too :( <3
Maxwell had only been gone sixteen hours. He left at 6am, and it was currently: you rolled over to check the time on your bedside alarm clock. 10pm. You frowned, pulling the crushed velveteen blankets up to your chin. He was probably fast asleep now anyway— after the flight and a long day proposing business scheme after business scheme.
You missed him a lot. He promised to call you every morning and every night, so long as he wasn’t swamped at the office. That was his promise and truthfully, you thought you’d be okay. He was only due to be away for a week. You knew a lot of other long-distance couples had it much worse. But being alone in his big suburban house was more isolating than you had ever even considered. It felt empty without him, and it didn’t feel like home anymore.
At least tomorrow you’d get to see Alistair, so that was a plus. You mentally groaned as you remembered how you were going to have to visit Maxwell’s ex-wife in order to pick up his son. She didn’t seem to like you all that too much, and to be honest, you could probably do without the chore of visiting her every Tuesday evening and putting up with her crap. It would be okay though. Alistair was worth it.
Your mind wandered back to your boyfriend. Your smart, handsome and powerful boyfriend with the honey coloured hair and chocolate brown eyes. He was always soft and warm— and a fantastic lover. Not only he was an excellent businessman, but he was also a brilliant father and a wonderful partner. He really was the perfect man for you.
You smiled wickedly to yourself as you remembered last night, and the antics you had both gotten up to before he had to leave in the morning. It was a long, passionate night. Your fingers ghosted over the love bites and bruises that were peppered across your neck and collarbones, and you gasped at the memory, a familiar heat rushing down your body.
If only he was here now… you two could’ve done it all over again.
Your glazed eyes flicked up to the telephone that was on your bedside table. You must’ve been staring at it for a good few minutes, contemplating things. Maxwell had scrawled the number to his hotel room down on a card before he’d left… just in case of an emergency.
You dipped your hand down to your cunt and felt your breathing hitch as you gathered all your slick on your fingers. You hadn’t realised just how wet you’d become.
Just call him. The devil on your shoulder urged. If he was sleeping, you certainly didn’t want to wake him but… surely there was no harm in an innocent goodnight call. At least then, you could hear his warm voice and his articulate words.
Maxwell Lord had you whipped.
Sighing, you took the phone from the hook and dialled his number. He answered on the first two rings.
“Hey honey,” he had a tired lilt to his voice, but just the depth and richness of his tone was enough to set a blaze in your tummy. “I was just about to go to bed,” he continued. “It’s late. Why are you still up?”
Yes, his voice was giving you everything you had desired, and more.
You swallowed thickly, your finger tracing lazy circles over your clit. “Mm couldn’t sleep. Was thinkin’ bout you.” you revealed, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. If you could get off to his voice alone, without having him notice what you were doing, that would be perfect. If he did catch on that you were touching yourself without his permission though… that would be a different story. “Miss you.” you exhaled, your eyes snapping shut.
“I miss you too sweetheart,” Max sighed, and you could faintly hear him shuffle around in his bed, the sheets making a fuzzy noise on the other end of the line. “What— what were you thinking about?”
The question was a trap. You knew Max all too well. He was right to have his suspicions.
You didn’t even bother opening your eyes, and you tried to repress a longing whine as your finger involuntary picked up speed, like some kind of reflex reaction to his question. “S-stuff,” you stammered out when you felt your fingers begin to dampen and slip between your folds. But ‘S-stuff’ was hardly going to be good enough for Maxwell. You dipped two fingers inside you, surprised at how well they were stretching you. “Mm— Max, miss— I miss—“
You couldn’t even finish your sentence, already close to pushing your first climax out.
“Princess?” Max asked. “You there?”
Your response was delayed but was followed by a stifled moan that wasn’t lost on Max whatsoever. “Need you.” you gasped out, dropping the phone to your pillow by your head so you could use your other hand to rub yourself.
The friction of your digits rubbing against that sweet spot and the way your index finger and middle finger curled up inside of you was too much. You could feel yourself coming undone.
“Oh,” Max omitted knowingly, unable to contain the small smirk that was crossing his lips. “Oh baby.”
He felt his cock twitch from the faint little whimpers you were making, and he slid his hand under the waistband of his light grey sweats, freeing his already semi-hard erection.
“Tell me princess,” Max hummed. “What ‘stuff’ were you thinking about?”
Fuck. You wanted to curse. He knew. He clearly knew you were touching yourself to the sound of his voice; probably thinking you were needy and desperate. But you were. You really were and you’d give anything just to feel his hands on you right now.
“S-so much,” you answered, trying your hardest to collect your thoughts for him. “Undressing me. Caressing me. Mm, you playing with my tits like you always do. Kissing them— sucking them. Biting…” you reluctantly pulled your finger from your clit and began to palm at your breasts. “Come home.”
The two words were practically begging him. You ached for him. Your entire body was burning with arousal and you needed him more than you’d ever needed anyone before.
You knew it was a stupid request; and that he couldn’t just ‘come home’. But if you could have one wish— it would be for him to be on top of you right now, smothering you with kisses and whispering dirty little words into your ears.
“M-Max?” your voice was broken as you continued curling your fingers inside of you.
His fingers were wrapped around his own length now, pumping it as he imagined you sprawled out, naked on his king-sized bed. The grey sweats and white shirt had been long discarded onto the floor.
“I’m right here baby,” he assured, gathering the beads of milky white precum and rubbing it up and down his cock. “I’m here. Why— why don’t you take my pillow and grind your pretty pussy over it hm? I know you can get off like that, you dirty girl.”
Another uncontrollable whine omitted from your lips at his light degradation. You followed his orders, knowing better than to disobey. Taking his pillow, you got on your knees and positioned it in between your legs, holding the phone to your ear as you began to thrust your hips.
You imagined it be his lap. You’d rubbed yourself over his thighs plenty of times, making a mess of his designer pants and creating stains not even the drycleaner’s could remove. His pillow still vaguely smelt of his apple scented shampoo and it only spurred you on even more.
“I bet you look so pretty right now,” Maxwell grunted. “My pretty girl. What are you?”
You squeezed your eyes shut as the pleasure rifed through your veins. “I’m your pretty girl.” you confirmed, feeling your cheeks heat up when Max chuckled.
It was a sensation overload— and you knew you wouldn’t be able to last. Maxwell knew too, judging by the way your moans picked up and became jagged. “God— Ma-Mmm—Max,” your thoughts were fuzzy and jumbled as you increased your pace. You wanted to feel something inside of you again. Your fingers or a dildo or— something, anything. But you weren’t even sure if you’d get the chance. “I’m so close,” you warned. “Gonna— gonna cum—“
“No,” Max said darkly, his voice having lowered an octave. “Roll on your back princess, and pull the pillow off you.”
You wanted to cry. You knew he always liked to play these games.
“B—but,” you choked out, wanting to finish and reach your orgasm.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
He was using that scary business voice. The one you often overheard when he was on the phone with partners or associates. Reluctantly you pulled the pillow away from your weeping cunt put it back in its place.
“O-okay,” you mused, wiping the tears that had pricked at the corner of your eyes as you changed position and got comfortable on your back, just like he’d instructed.
“I wish I was with you sweetheart, wish I could fuck your little pussy. How wet are you?”
“Very.” you replied exasperated, desperately waiting for him to let you touch yourself again.
“Show me,” Maxwell smiled wickedly. “Move the phone in between your legs and finger yourself. I want to hear you.”
You frantically followed his instruction and inserted your two fingers inside of you, pushing them deep and curling them upwards so they hit that hot, spongey sweet spot. Your legs were shaking and your back was arched over top of the satin sheets as you panted your boyfriend’s name.
Max was more than thrilled to hear the squelching wet noise that echoed throughout the comfort of yours and his shared bedroom, with every thrust and curl of your fingers. It felt good but… it just wasn’t him.
Now his own broken gasps were audible. You loved to hear him. He always got loud when he was close. That’s how you knew he was about to finish. “So— so good. Sweetest cunt in the whole fuck—fucking world. When I come home I— gonna fuck you so hard.” he promised in between shaky breaths.
Your lips curled into a grin and you arched your back as your slick dipped down the softness of your inner thighs. After all the edging and over stimulation, there was no way you were going to last. This was exactly what you wanted; Max may not have been physically there but his voice alone had always worked wonders.
“Can we— can we cum togeth—“ your request was fuzzled by the way you buried your head into your pillow, feeling a warm flush of heat race to your core.
“Yes,” Max cut you off impatiently. “Are you close?”
“Y-yeah, I don’t think I can hold it—“
“You can baby, you can. I’m going to count down from three and we’ll cum together. Okay?”
You were a screaming sweating mess at this point, and his countdown couldn’t have felt any slower. Three seconds felt like three years as you mustered all your will to obey him.
“Three, two, one—“
He didn’t even say zero. The countdown was followed by a long groan falling from his lips as his milky white seed spilt all over his fist and his tummy. His cry pushed you over the edge and you released your own climax, spasming and shaking on his side of the bed.
You curled up under his sheets, still shaky, and pulled the phone back to your ear. “Hi,” you whispered sheepishly. “That was good.” you bit down on your lip, smiling to yourself. Your own voice was a little hoarse from all the moaning and whimpering.
“Yeah,” Max agreed, smiling himself. “Are you okay?”
“I’m tired,” you admitted with a huff, relishing in his cologne scented blankets.
“Wish I was there to clean you up,” Max sighed, and for a split second, he pondered the consequences of catching the next flight home.
He always took care of you after sex, paying a meticulous amount of detail to how you acted after your moments of shared intimacy. He’d fetch you water and wipe away any mess with a warm wash cloth. Sometimes he’d even help you into some cozy pyjamas or one of his shirts.
“I can go clean myself up, don’t worry about me,” you hummed in contentment. “Are you okay?”
“I’m perfect baby,” he grinned “I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
“I can let you go—“
“No,” you cut him off, clutching onto the phone not wanting him to leave. Yeah you’d missed the amazing sex but truthfully, you’d missed him the most. “Can we uhm, can we just stay here on the phone together? Fall asleep together? I— I want you to be there when you wake up.”
Max hesitated for a moment, but he didn’t see a problem with your request. In fact, he thought it was a wonderful idea.
“Yeah, of course honey,” he replied softly. “I’m gonna go wipe myself down. You should do the same.”
“O-okay,” you sniffed. “I love you. I won’t be long.”
When you returned, Max was already waiting for you. “Princess?” he called, when he heard you shuffle back into bed.
“Hiya,” you giggled, rubbing your eyes. “I’m sleepy.” you admitted, your statement followed by a yawn.
Max chuckled. “Has my girl worn herself out?”
You laughed and nodded your head. “Yeah.”
“Okay sweetheart, let’s go sleep.” Max hummed, resting the phone by his pillow and closing his eyes.
“Okay, good night Maxie.” you mused softly.
“Good night honey.” He returned, before you both fell asleep.
——————
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