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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 III {finale} || professor!helmut zemo x reader

{𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 I} {𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 II}

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : some part of you thought that maybe you could get through this without ever having to really talk about your feelings, or the future, or all those things you were pretending didn’t matter. but they matter, and they can’t go unspoken forever.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 11.7k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (semi-public sex aka car sex), some possessiveness, angst, fluffffff way too much fluff, violence (mentioned), mentions of serious injury, military references, relationship discussions, choking (non-sexual lmao it’s just on food), minor character death (in a flashback kinda, not graphic)

You glanced over at him as he stared out into the road ahead, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh, his thumb absent-mindedly stroking your skin.

The weekend getaway had been his idea, but he let you pick the destination. You picked a cabin in a cute little seaside town, something relaxed where you could spend the whole weekend in bed together and not worry about the rest of the world for a little while.

But you were still in the car, so you were still worrying— specifically, worrying that this felt sort of like a boyfriend and girlfriend thing. And that itself wasn’t so bad, but it made you feel like the ‘what are we?’ talk was inevitable, as was that talk going poorly. You could picture it now: I like spending time with you, he’d say, one of those things that sounds like a compliment but really means you’re worth it as long as you require no effort and stay out of my way.

And you’d just nod and pretend to be okay with it because you were in too deep now to break it off. When you were together, you were so happy that you couldn’t imagine ending it; and when you were apart, you missed him so much that all you could think about was the next time you would be together.

We’re happy now, why do things need to change? he’d say, one of those things that makes sense until you really think about it and understand that it just means why would I care if we’re moving forward or not? I’m already getting what I want.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat, and he glanced at you quickly. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, squeezing your thigh.

“Nothing,” you mumbled.

“You expect me to believe that?” he chuckled. “You’re overthinking again, I can feel it.”

“You can feel me overthinking?” you confirmed, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” he nodded. “I can tell your mood very well by now.”

“Alright, then why ask me what I’m thinking about if you already know what I’m feeling, mind reader?” you challenged.

“You’re sighing because you are bored from being in the car so long,” he decided, “and you’re also noticing that you’ve never dated anybody who drove such a nice car before.”

Does that mean we’re dating? “Anything else?” you smirked.

“And you’re wishing I would move my hand a little higher.”

Before you could react to that, he moved his fingers up under your skirt, gripping your thigh tightly until you breathed another sigh— one very different from the last.

“Am I right?” he grinned.

“Spot on,” you breathed, whimpering a little when one of his fingers toyed with the hem of your panties. It was subtle, teasing, and yet it was enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and your thighs to clench together which he noticed easily.

He tutted in faux disappointment when his finger moved down to find a wet patch in the fabric. “Oh, wet already… what are we going to do with you, draga?”

Whatever the fuck you wanna do with me, you thought, but when your lips fell open thankfully only a little moan fell out.

It was impossible to complain about the risk of distracted driving when his fingers slipped into your panties and explored your folds— yet you were about to complain when he pulled his hand away, until you watched him bring his soaked fingers to his lips, quickly getting a taste before reaching under your skirt again. As if that wasn’t hot enough, he growled a bit when he pushed two fingers into you suddenly.

“Fuck,” you whispered, making him smile proudly. He only ventured the fingers inside you briefly, sliding them out slowly to brush the rough pads of them over your clit and it made your whole body shudder— he pressed down, drawing slow circles, until you were biting back whimpers and pleas for more.

He kept on teasing you, only reaching as deep as he needed to to lightly press into your spot before slipping out to rub your clit and then start the process all over again.

“You’re so…” you panted.

“Hm?”

“You’re so mean,” you hissed.

“Am I? I can stop if I’m bothering you,” he offered.

“N-no! I… I just need more, please,” you groaned, yelping a bit when he pinched your clit roughly.

This time when he filled you with his fingers, he twisted his arm to go a bit deeper and kept his thumb on your clit, your soaked pussy making it easy for him to pump in and out at an increasing pace.

Your eyes fell shut as you gripped the seat beneath you, rocking your hips up against his hand for more.

“Ohh, fuck, Helmut, I’m gonna come,” you warned mindlessly.

You only opened your eyes when you felt the car start to shift, looking over to him as he checked the road before pulling over off the side and stopping near the wooded treeline.

“Wh-what are you—?” you mumbled, cut off when he put the car in park and grabbed your face to kiss you roughly. You held the wrist by his hand that held your face, moaning against his tongue, still not sure what he was up to but already on board.

“Get in the back, I can’t wait any longer,” he whispered, and you nodded dreamily as you broke away and awkwardly climbed into the backseat; he followed soon after, pushing you back against the leather and sliding his body between your legs; holding you close, kissing you harder.

It would have been reasonable to expect that the small space would make everything more uncomfortable, but instead it just made it hotter— like there wasn’t room to be anywhere but pressed right up against each other, like the only place he could rest his hands was on your body. You felt totally helpless to his dominating and open-mouthed kiss, to his thick hands tugging your clothes out of the way while you blindly attempted to open his belt.

You reached into his trousers and found him already incredibly hard, wrapping your fingers around the silky skin and grinning when he cursed under his breath.

A bit hasty with your desperation getting the better of you, you guided him to your entrance and began to slowly push your hips forward— but he held your thighs and did it for you, sliding in in one smooth stroke.

This angle seemed to force him even deeper, and you clutched his shirt in weak fists as he pushed all the way inside. “H-Helmut,” you breathed as he started to move, not quite sure if it was a plea for him to slow down or never stop.

“Fuck, say my name again,” he demanded.

“Helmut,” you repeated, giggling when he kissed your neck on a spot that sort of tickled a bit.

“One more time,” he instructed; you could feel his grin against your skin, alongside his teeth grazing your pulse.

Just as you started to say it he fucked you harder all of a sudden, just to make you choke on it. Soon you were saying his name like a prayer, over and over until you worried you’d lose your voice and he had to kiss you to make you stop. “Say you’re mine,” he pleaded softly, right against your lips, “like you did the first time.”

You felt shame pang at the back of your head, a strong instruction from what was left of your logical mind not to do that. But for all your mind’s protests, your body was already his and already bending to his will. “Yours,” you moaned, “Helmut, I’m yours…”

“I know,” he breathed, nodding slightly as he kissed you again, “I know, baby.”

You whimpered and wrapped your legs around his hips, holding him closer as he stayed deep inside you, barely letting him pull back to thrust though he still managed regardless. The bottom of his shirt was rubbing against your clit (consequences of only half-undressing for a quickie) and it made your back arch until you couldn’t push your body into his anymore.

Embarrassingly quickly, pressure began to build inside you, your moans getting louder as they echoed around the inside of the car.

“Will you come for me, draga?” he purred, a low growl against your neck where he had moved his assault of wet kisses. You nodded quickly, holding onto his back tight and biting down on your lip a bit too hard. His hand held your neck, thumb running over your jaw, and in a way it soothed you, but it also sent you tumbling over the edge all at once You barely choked out his name as your attempt at a warning, as if it weren’t obvious just from the way your channel seized up immediately. “Good girl,” he cooed lowly right against your ear, “so good for me, don’t stop.”

You couldn’t stop so long as he kept his pace— not nearly as fast as you were used to, much more measured and patient, and yet it ruined you in a way nothing else could.

It was much too sensual for the backseat of a Lexus. Much too delicate and loving for two people who weren’t even in a formal relationship. Much too perfect to ever forget, irritatingly enough.

He kept his eyes open to watch your face closely as he came inside you, admiring every detail of your face twisted in pleasure— a tear even fell down your temple and he softly brushed it away— before it all slowed down to a stop and you were just holding each other.

Once you both cooled off for just a second, he pulled you close and rolled you around so he was sitting and you straddled his lap, keeping you in an embrace while he kissed your neck and shoulder. “So beautiful,” he whispered, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

You wanted to tell him that you meant it, that you were really his. That it wasn’t just dirty talk (and you weren’t even sure if it qualified as ‘dirty’). Even if he rejected you, at least it would be off your chest.

But you chickened out; and in your defense, if there’s any time to have a talk with a partner that might end up awkward, right before a weekend trip is probably the worst time possible. So, it was strategic aside from just pathetic.

“We’re already going to be a bit late,” he noticed, lifting his hand over your shoulder to look at his watch, “is it alright if we just stay like this for a while before I get back to driving?”

You nodded sleepily against his shoulder and he grinned, kissing your cheek. “Maybe you can rest here in the back after that…”

And you did, drifting off quickly in the comfort of his arms. You only partially roused from your sleep when he carefully pulled out of you and laid you down gently, the sound of the car starting coming a few moments later.

He had to keep his eyes on the road, but he wanted so badly to watch you sleep in the rearview mirror.

“So, what did you think?” you smiled expectantly as you turned from watching the credits roll on the TV to looking at where he sat beside you on the cabin’s big fluffy couch.

“Eh,” he shrugged.

“What?!” you squawked. “You just experienced an American classic!”

“American classics, in my experience, are aggressive and boisterous and… greasy,” he explained.

You snorted. “How can a movie be greasy?”

“I meant the food—”

“Oh! We should watch Grease!” you realized.

He grumbled something in Sokovian to himself as he rubbed his forehead, and you laughed in relent. “Fine, I won’t make you watch anything more.”

“No, I like watching movies with you,” he decided, “but maybe the next one can be a bit more… subtle.”

"The next movie we watch should be Sokovian," you suggested.

"There aren't many Sokovian films… the constant war was pretty hard on the cinema industry, believe it or not,” he scoffed. “We managed to make a lot of porn, though.”

“Well then maybe we should watch some of that,” you smirked, and he laughed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Oh no, it’s awful. Plumbers and lonely housewives, cops pulling women over, that sort of thing,” he dismissed.

“Cheesy porn tropes, you say? Like, perhaps, a professor and his student?” you pressed, leaning in to run your fingers playfully over his open collar. “So unrealistic.”

“It was different with us,” he decided.

“How?”

“It wasn’t for a grade, we never used the term ‘oral exam’...”

“Mm, maybe we should have,” you purred, hopping up to straddle his lap and trace your finger over the chain of his necklace that was just barely exposed under his shirt. “It’s sorta sexy.”

“Really? Oral exam?” he asked with a raised eyebrow. “Makes me think of the dentist.”

“Oh, so you don’t think dentists are hot?” you joked. “Who doesn’t like latex gloves and drills in their mouth?”

He laughed, and although you were sort of trying not to seem totally desperate, you just couldn’t hold yourself back from trying to kiss that smile right off his face— thankfully he didn’t seem to mind, humming a bit against your lips and placing his hands on your back to hold you closer.

Just when you thought he would deepen it, he pulled back slightly.

“Wait,” he mumbled against your lips, pushing you back gently to break the kiss. “It was… different with us, right?”

You shook your head slightly, confused as you struggled to remember what he was talking about. “What? Yeah, of course.”

Hastily pressing your lips back on his, you were all in but he was clearly distracted, only half-heartedly kissing you back; you could all but taste his hesitance and it forced you to pull back and look down at him again.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

“Oh, uh, nothing’s wrong,” he assured, “I just… I was just thinking.”

“...what were you thinking about?” you asked when you realized that was the end of his sentence.

“I was thinking about what you said a few weeks ago, on my birthday— that you liked that I’m so much older than you.”

“Mhm?”

“You’re not…” he started and began again. “This isn’t just… about that, for you, is it?”

“What?” you furrowed your brow.

“I mean, is that what this—” he motioned to the space between the two of you— “is about?”

You frowned, a little sinking feeling already forming in your gut. “I don’t understand,” you spoke, but your fear was more that you understood him completely.

“My English isn’t good enough for this,” he sighed. “Sometimes I worry that this is… something you do.”

“That what is something I do?” you asked, a bit more pointed than you meant for it to come out, but you really just needed him to say it.

“Date older men,” he finally finished. “Seduce professors, I don’t know, whatever you’d like to call it.”

You straightened up and got up off of his lap, stepping back. “Seriously? You think this is, like, my kink or something?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he clarified, standing up with you, “but I’m asking in case I’m wrong.”

Maybe on some level, you could appreciate that it was a reasonable question. After all, you had been sort of wanting to ask him if he made a habit of seducing students— but you didn’t because you knew it would be horribly offensive, which is why it was so aggravating that he was doing it to you now. In these months together (but not together together), had he not learned enough about your character to realize you weren’t in it for anything but him? “I told you I haven’t even dated that much before you,” you reminded him firmly, crossing your arms.

“And I believe you, I’m not accusing you of anything—”

“It kinda sounds like you are!” you snapped.

“And it sounds like you are getting defensive about it, which makes me worry even more!” he shot back, and you wondered if you’d ever heard him raise his voice before.

“Well, don’t worry about it, because it’s none of your business,” you rolled your eyes, “we’re not even dating anyway.”

Just as you started to walk away, not even sure where you would go when you were staying here with him (a walk outside, maybe, just to clear your head and be somewhere that he couldn’t see you cry?), he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“Wait, please,” he breathed, and only because he sounded so broken-hearted did you turn around.

“What?” you sighed, showing your irritation in lieu of your heartbreak.

He took a quick breath, collecting himself before he spoke again. “I don’t mean to be invasive and I certainly don’t mean to be controlling,” he explained, “I just… I want to understand what you want. From me, specifically.”

“Okay,” you nodded, “that might be a more complicated question than you realize. With a complicated answer.”

“I have time, I have the rest of the weekend," he decided. “Just tell me that this isn’t only fun for you. If it is, then… then I’m glad you had your fun, and we can have fun together here, and then when we get back to the city… we can go our separate ways.”

“And if it’s not?”

He swallowed, looking away briefly before stepping closer, reaching up to cradle your face in his palm. “If it’s not just fun, then… then we need to have a different conversation.”

You cleared your throat nervously. “What conversation?”

“I need to know first,” he insisted, “or it would be wrong for me to tell you. I don’t want you to spare my feelings, draga, I just want the truth.”

What you really wanted was to know his feelings first so you could spare your own, but he was so adamant on making you speak first, his gaze desperately searching your face as you tried to avoid the heat of it. “I…” you began, not sure what to say. You knew what you wanted to say, you just didn’t know how, exactly. Looking up into his eyes again, you took a quick breath and started over, trying to ignore your heart racing inside your chest. “It’s not just fun, Helmut, or a bucket list thing or a ‘trying something wild and crazy while I’m still young’ thing. I’m serious about this… but, you know, if you just wanna stay casual I understand—”

He cut you off with a kiss, sudden but not quite desperate; rather relaxed, actually, and you melted into it as his arm snaked around your waist and pulled you close.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips.

“You— what?” you gasped, pushing back slightly against his chest.

“I love you,” he repeated. “It’s not just fun, it’s not a bucket list thing or a midlife crisis thing— I love you, I’ve been in love with you for weeks and couldn’t think of what to say… I was afraid to smother you, you wouldn’t be wrong to want more freedom than you can have with me.”

A shaky breath moved in and out of your lungs as you looked away from his gaze— it was too wonderfully all-encompassing for you to be able to process this with his eyes on you.

“I hope it doesn’t bother you,” he mumbled nervously, “but I can’t change how I feel.”

“No, it doesn’t… it’s good,” you smiled, starting to laugh. Your heart was beating so heavy you could hear it in your ears, you could barely even hear yourself speak as you answered him. “Helmut, it’s— I love you too, of course.”

“Really?” he beamed.

“Really.”

He kissed you again, harder, and neither of you could stop smiling through it. "Say it again," he pleaded softly.

"I love you," you repeated. "I love you, Helmut."

“Mm, one more time,” he encouraged with a soft laugh as he lifted you into his arms and began to carry you down a familiar path to the cabin’s bedroom.

“I love you I love you I love you I—” you had to stop to gasp when he bit down on your neck, not too hard but still quite surprising, before he tossed you down onto the bed and pounced on top of you.

“Is it fair to say that we’re dating now?” he presumed, making you laugh.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“So it’s just us, you and me, girlfriend and boyfriend?” he continued. “Nobody else?”

“There was never anybody else,” you promised.

“I know, and now there never will be,” he cooed, placing a kiss right on your ear. “You’re all mine now.”

A shiver ran up your spine instantly. “God, how do you do that? Go from sweet to filthy in a split-second?”

“Mm, a habit of mine,” he hummed, “because it makes you all cute and whiny.”

You frowned as he kissed your nose. “Hey!” you, proving him right, whined; he laughed and held the back of your neck as he kissed you again.

Just the sex that followed that conversation would’ve been enough to make this an amazing weekend, but it was even better to leave the vacation as a couple when that wasn’t even how you’d started it.

Afterwards, you laid together in bed and commiserated how silly you both had been to assume the other didn't want more, deciding from now on to be open and honest as much as possible. That was what inspired you the next day to spend the morning trading secrets over the breakfast he'd made.

"I cheated on my eighth grade Spanish exam," you admitted, making him put down his fork in pretend shock.

"¡Chica traviesa!" he gasped.

"Maybe if I'd actually studied, I would know what that means…"

"Truthfully, I can't judge you. I did something similar in my primary studies,” he recalled. “I broke into the teachers' desk and stole an early copy of the exam. But I didn't use it myself, I used it to impress a girl in my class."

You smiled trying to imagine that. "I can see you as the romantic type when you were a kid," you hummed.

"I was more the rebellious type, with girls being one of the more reliable ways to rebel."

That piqued your interest, and you gave him an excited grin of anticipation. "Did you have a punk phase?"

"It was Eastern Europe in the early 90s: of course I had a punk phase," he chuckled. "How else do you celebrate the end of a brutal capitalist revolution but by importing every Western record you can find and dying your hair black in a petrol station's bathroom sink?"

"Oh my god!" you giggled.

"But it was rather minimalist, I wasn't permitted much stylistic freedom so it was little things like that… I wanted an ear piercing, but my mother would've truly had a heart attack."

"I guess you're better than I was,” you shrugged, “my rebellious phase was brief but with a much stronger willingness to sacrifice my mother's sanity."

"Yes, that's more typical," he nodded. "I suppose my real secret was that I didn't want to rebel from my parents nearly as much as I thought I did… I just wanted to make them happy."

You smiled at him as he stared down at his plate. "You sound like a sweet kid."

"Horrifically stupid and a bit self-involved but sure, sweet," he agreed with a chuckle.

"So, all our secrets are out, huh?" you grinned.

"Perhaps I have a few left," he smirked as he leaned across the table to kiss you softly. "I'm saving them for a rainy day."

The weekend went by much too quickly, but you couldn’t begrudge the return to daily life now that you were returning to it together— so far, you’d found that together was the best way to experience life.

Almost as fast as the vacation, so went the seasons as well: you both had classes through summer, and you enjoyed the freedom that came with a much more empty campus; fall, as always, was damp and chilly yet comforting— sometimes the leaves turned just the right color of brown before they fell to remind you of his eyes; winter sent you back home to see your family for the holidays, just for a few days, and you told them you’d bring your mysterious boyfriend next time even though it made your heart race to imagine that.

Your birthday passed at some point during the year, and he took you out to one of those slightly-hipstery barcades where he revealed his secret talent for skeeball— you were glad he felt comfortable completely annihilating your high score even on your birthday. He invited your friends, too, and it went significantly less horribly than you imagined; they only asked him weird questions about being a professor a few times, but otherwise everyone got along oddly well.

And soon it was another spring again, one of your last ones before you graduated, and you let yourself focus on things other than what might happen when you left the university and he almost certainly stayed. For now, you just needed to worry about how you’d ever find time for each other during finals season when both of you were busy for different reasons.

Dinner tonight? I have a reservation at 7 for a place in the museum district. They have a dress code so wear something evening ready if possible. -Z

you don’t have to sign your texts you know. I know it’s you. it says your name right above the text.

It’s more formal this way. -Z

it’s a text message, it will never be formal??

Will I see you at dinner tonight or am I in trouble for asking over text? -Z

I’ll be there

I look forward to your company, draga

hey, you didn’t sign it! progress!

-Z

goddamn it

“This place is… really nice,” you noticed sheepishly, glancing around at the minimalist-yet-luxurious decor of the restaurant while you took your seat across the white-linen-covered table from him. “Like, significantly nicer than I’ve ever been to before.”

“Well, you look like you fit right in,” he assured, and you almost believed him— it was the nicest thing in your closet, but still seemed like the wrong energy compared to how him and everyone else seemed so casually flawless. “I took the liberty of ordering for you,” he explained as he poured water into your glass for you from the basin at the table, “I was going to make you order the salmon anyways, it’s really impeccable.”

“What’s the occasion? I’m still feeling spoiled from the anniversary celebrations last month.”

You two had decided to celebrate a year since the day you’d met (and had sex for the first time; it was an action-packed day) instead of the day you had officially began your relationship, since there was no reason to commemorate months of pretending to be casual while you were both quietly devoted to each other.

“I just want to have a nice date with my girlfriend, is that so terrible?” he smiled.

“No,” you answered quickly, “but that’s a load of bullshit.”

He chuckled a little. “You’re right. I wanted to do something nice with you before I go.”

“Yeah, that’s not ominous at all,” you frowned. “Care to elaborate, international man of mystery?”

The conversation paused briefly as the server came by with your meals, and you gave him a little nod of appreciation before he left; the salmon did look pretty amazing, and you trusted your boyfriend’s taste even if it was often more refined than your own.

“I need to make a trip home in the next few months,” Helmut finally clarified. “Nothing particularly interesting, and thankfully all very temporary— boring estate management stuff, comes up every once in a while,” he shrugged.

“How long will you be gone?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound as needy as you felt.

“No more than three weeks.”

“Three weeks?!” you yelped.

“You know I’d never leave your side if I had the choice,” he smiled. “It’ll go by in a moment, you might not even notice I’m gone.”

“Are you kidding? I practically live at your apartment. We probably haven’t spent three days apart since we met. Hell, we have sex, like, five times a week!”

You heard the chatter of nearby restaurant-goers die down, and you awkwardly looked around to find some of them staring at you as Helmut tried to suppress his laugh.

“I… may or may not have forgotten we’re in public,” you whispered harshly as most of them seemed to get back to their own conversations. “Let’s not eat here again.”

“Oh, would you like to announce our sexual frequency anywhere else?” he joked, though his tone remained as serious as ever, and it made you laugh even though you were the butt of the joke. “Olive Garden, maybe?”

“Shut up,” you demanded between hiccups of laughter.

“The Texas Roadhouse? I’m sure they would love that,” he continued. “They seem like a real liberal crowd.”

“Stop,” you snorted, trying to catch your breath and not laugh too loud in front of all these people who already had a poor impression of you.

“Or we can go to the drive-through at Taco Bell and you can tell them through the little speaker thing,” he offered, and you hid your burning face behind your cloth napkin.

“You’re mean, I was just trying to say that I’m gonna miss you if you’re gone for so long!”

He leaned across the table to grab the napkin and slowly pull it down from your face, smiling at you when he could see you again. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised. “We’ll have sex fifteen times when I get back, for lost time.”

“That’s not really my issue,” you sighed. “I mean, yeah, we’re still definitely gonna do that, but that’s not what I’m gonna miss most.”

“I know,” he nodded, “don’t think I’m going to do anything but miss you terribly the whole trip. In fact, that brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about tonight.”

“Telling me you’re leaving for three weeks isn’t the main topic of discussion?” you realized.

“It was, but now I’m here with you and it has me thinking all sorts of things,” he explained.

“Okay… what are you thinking about?” you asked quietly.

“Well, I was just thinking that I don’t want to keep you from living your youth while you can,” he answered, looking back at you as you took a sip of your drink, “but that I’d like to marry you.”

Just like that, you inhaled some water and began coughing and choking.

“Hypothetically!” he blurted out, leaning forward to make sure you were okay but you waved him back into his seat.

“I, uh,” you began, coughing one more time before you started again, “I didn’t think that was what you were thinking about.”

“Well, clearly,” he mumbled.

“I mean, I didn’t know you were thinking about that at all,” you explained, “like, I wasn’t sure that we were there yet.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice when I told you not so long ago that this year with you had been the best of my life,” he recalled, making you smile a bit to yourself at the memory. “I’m there. I’m just asking where you are.”

“I guess I need to think about that,” you lied. You didn’t need to think about it, you knew that he was talking about exactly what you wanted, but you needed to convince him you were taking this question seriously— god knows he was constantly worrying that you shouldn’t be tied down to him when you were so young, and although you typically handled that by making a bondage joke (and he typically handled that by making a non-joke bondage offer), you didn’t want him to worry about this.

“Maybe you can think while I’m on my trip,” he decided, “and when I come back, we can talk about the future.”

“I just meant for, like, a few minutes,” you admitted. “I don’t need that long, Helmut. I know what I want.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“To be with you, whatever that looks like,” you said, sounding more confident than you thought possible. “That’s what I want. And I don’t wanna hear you saying anything about how you think I might be too young for marriage or that I might change my mind later… I have a right to love just as much as you, and to know what’s right for me.”

“And it’s me?”

You smiled as you reached for his hand where it rested on the table, squeezing his fingers in yours. “It’s you. Obviously.”

He looked at your hands held together before he smiled back at you— but it faded suddenly, and he pulled his hand away to lean back in his chair. “There’s something else I should tell you, before I let you say too much...”

You swallowed thickly. Oh god, here it comes. Secret family in Canada, glue-sniffing addiction, absurdly specific and disturbing fetish… the wheel of misfortune was already spinning in your head, and you took a bite of your fish to try to look natural.

“You should know the truth about my family, back in Sokovia? We’re, in a certain sense of the word… royalty.”

You started choking again; why did he keep telling you this stuff while you had something in your mouth??

“Shit, are you alright?” he asked nervously, and you nodded in spite of your fit of coughs.

“Are you a prince?!” you spat out as you started to catch your breath again.

“A baron. A little less romantic, I know,” he smirked.

“And if… if what you’re talking about, actually happened, then that would make me…” you trailed off, raising your eyebrow expectantly.

“My baroness,” he finished for you. Funny enough, the word my was doing more for you than the royal title. “Hypothetically.”

“You keep saying that word,” you noticed. “I hope we think it means the same thing.”

“Maybe a better word would be ‘eventually,’” he decided, and your back straightened because oh shit, this is really going to happen. “Maybe an even better word would be ‘soon.’”

You almost choked again, with no excuse this time as there was nothing in your mouth to actually choke on. “H-how soon?” you whispered, and his lips curled into a mischievous grin as he lifted his drink.

“Sorry darling, I don’t think I can tell you that,” he decided as he took a sip slowly, still staring you down over the rim of the glass.

You shifted nervously in your seat, trying to imagine how you were supposed to be anything but jittery after this conversation.

“Can I ask an inappropriate question?”

He raised his eyebrow. “Let’s try not to scare the other patrons again, but sure.”

“How rich are you?” you blurted out, and he laughed a little.

“Somewhere between ‘outrageously’ and ‘ludicrously,’” he decided. “It might seem a little far-fetched considering I prefer not to live extravagantly here in the States… but we’ve made good use of the last dozen-or-so generations of wealth.”

“And you let me pay for lunch last week!” you remembered, leaning forward to smack him on the shoulder with a scowl.

“That’s all you have to say about that?” he realized bewilderedly.

“It’s all that I can process right now!”

“I should apologize for not telling you sooner,” he nodded.

You paused as you stared back at him. “I sorta thought you’d continue with that by explaining why you didn’t.”

He sighed, looking away. “I spent so much time worrying you were only with me in pursuit of a new experience with an older man. And then if you knew how much money was involved… I didn’t want to jump from one insecurity to the next with you, if I could avoid it.”

“You’re insecure about being rich? Next you’re gonna start crying ‘cause your cock’s too big,” you rolled your eyes.

Again, other diners turned to you and this time you looked back at them.

“What are you looking at, huh?” you snapped, and they all stared back down at their plates quickly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“If you could stop antagonizing the public, that would be ideal,” Helmut hissed.

“I don’t think I’m handling this very well,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “I wish you would’ve told me before.”

“So do I, but believe me that I had my reasons,” he sighed.

You lowered your hands from your face to rest them on your elbows as you crossed your arms. “I think if we are going to talk seriously about this next step, then you’re gonna have to tell me those reasons,” you decided.

“Right, of course,” he nodded, clearing his throat as he looked to the side. “Well, I guess I should start from the beginning. As good a place to start as any, yes?”

You wrinkled your brow; you weren’t sure why he was so clearly nervous.

“As you can imagine, I was born into the royal life, I didn’t have much of a say in it all. From the time I was eighteen I was the 13th Baron in a line of Sokovian royals who controlled a certain amount of land. In retrospect, I understand how incredibly fortunate I was, especially compared to the poorest people in my country, but at the time all I could appreciate was that it was stuffy and boring and allowed for none of the adventure I longed for. Hence the aforementioned punk phase, but that didn’t satisfy for long. I suppose that was why I enlisted.”

“You were in the military?”

He nodded. “Briefly. I liked the idea of being a part of something that had nothing to do with my name. And I was two years into my contract when my unit was stationed in a little border town, mostly farmland, but Sokovian borders are always contentious places… anyhow, one night, while another Lieutenant and I were on patrol, there was an ambush. They shot at us, we shot back, but we were just firing into the dark so we went down rather quickly… I assumed that was the end, everything went black in an instant before I could even think…”

You shuddered, appreciating how traumatic this was for him as he looked down at his lap, stoic but in that way that clearly held more underneath.

“I woke up in a bed, in a cottage,” he recalled. “A farmgirl heard the gunfire and waited until the enemy forces moved on to render aid. She told me I was nearly dead when she found me but that her uncle was the local doctor and had been able to remove the bullets and stitch me up.”

“You told me those scars were from being attacked by a dog as a child,” you remembered.

“Yes, I didn’t forget the lies I told you,” he frowned. “I think that one should be understandable.”

You swallowed, regretting saying anything. “O-of course, I’m sorry.”

“The important thing is that she told me my partner was dead when she got there, and she couldn’t do anything for him. I was in shock— keep in mind I was young and dumb and thought of myself as some kind of invincible— but for the next month she delicately nursed me into… at least decent health, and helped me cope with it all.” He took a deep breath, a soft and somber smile crossing his face. “I suppose you can imagine what happened next.”

He looked at you again and you gave him a shrug, unsure what he expected you to guess.

“We fell in love,” he finished flatly.

“Oh,” you nodded, “right. It sounds pretty romantic.”

“Yeah, the wounded infantryman and the rural farmgirl… it was all very pastoral,” he sighed, “but anyways, my family was more than hesitant to allow me to marry a poor girl, which obviously only made me want to do it more. I even told her that I’d leave the title for her, and she gave me some pitiful monologue about how she’d never forgive herself if she was responsible for me being disinherited, she pleaded with me to find a way to gain my parents’ approval… but I knew that we were in love and that nothing could stop us, so I didn’t think much of it.”

You tried to imagine him as a young, hopeless romantic, and some part of you was a bit jealous that others got the opportunity to experience that side of him when you didn’t; but it wasn’t like he was exactly cold and hardened now, at least not with you. Just wiser, with more experience and more scars.

“My parents had put their foot down and demanded I call off the engagement. And, oddly enough, they told me that it wasn’t her social standing that bothered them but that they simply didn’t trust her. That they thought I was being rash and had only known her a few months— that I was too young, I would change my mind. I was incensed; I mean, not only do they dare to insult my foresight, but this was the love of my life they were talking about like she was some conniving witch. So I said some things I regret to this day, and I told them to keep their title and their properties and have me formally disowned at their earliest convenience.”

“Wow,” you breathed.

“Well, the truth, as it often does, came out sooner or later. That all along, her love was for the money and not the man. When I told her I’d left my title behind for her, she… didn’t take it very well. And by that I mean she slapped me so hard I saw white for a second.”

Your heart hurt to imagine him being treated like that.

“I told her that we would be poor but we would be happy together, she told me that she never wanted to be poor again, that the reason she did all this was to get out of this hellish farming town and live in a castle in Novi Grad. I suppose I could’ve forgiven all that, after all I imagine she struggled greatly for a long time living that way. But then she started ranting about how she didn’t drag some dying Baron through the mud that night on the patrolway just to marry a poor man. I was heartbroken just realizing that she knew who I was when she saved me— that she might not have if I were anyone else. Like, say, my partner that night.”

Your chest was too tight to gasp properly. “You don’t mean…”

“She held out on me for a minute but I finally got her to admit it… the other man was alive when she found us, but she left him to die while she saved me, apparently planning from the very beginning to seduce me and escape to Novi Grad like she always dreamed of. His name was Miroslav Pavlović, and he was a good man… a boy, really, only twenty when he died. Alone. In the dirt.”

Hot tears on your cheeks made you realize you were crying, and you awkwardly wiped them away in hopes that he wouldn’t notice.

He took another deep breath and seemed to reorient his mind, away from the mourning and back to his story. “Of course, I, being a young man with all my pride, told my parents that I ended it in respect of their wishes, but I think my mother suspected what really happened. Especially when the girl went ahead and married my cousin.”

“She what?!”

“An industrious young woman, I have to give her that,” he nodded. “She didn’t need a Baron, she just needed somebody who could get her out of the farm and into whatever her idea was of a luxurious life. And yes, it is exactly as wonderful as you’re imagining to see her on those rare occasions where the extended family all has to gather.”

“Yikes,” you mumbled. “That’s… cold.”

“I suppose it all worked out for the best— I dodged a bullet much worse than the ones that hit me before I met her, she got her riches and noble husband, and my parents were free to arrange a marriage for me with a woman of more adequate social standing. I was so convinced I was terminally unlovable that I actually went along with it.”

“You married her?”

“No, I just agreed to, on the condition that we meet a few times first, at least. It was the second time we met when she confided in me that she was actually a lesbian.”

“Oh!” you chuckled, hoping it wasn’t inappropriate to laugh a bit. Not as his misfortune, per se, or at the idea of a lesbian in general, but just the way this story seemed to get more complex at evey turn.

“Yes, well, my family was more liberal but hers were not the sort who would respond well to that news… I considered going through with the marriage to give her an alibi, so to speak, and the both of us would quietly have affairs with women— ideally different women— to keep up appearances for our families. She and I actually got along alright, we thought maybe we could be good friends, which some husbands and wives aren’t even when they marry for more genuine reasons.”

You scoffed as you nodded, “yeah, true that…”

“But,” he shrugged, “I got cold feet, I just couldn’t bring myself to resign to an entire relationship built on a lie again, so, I decided to leave it all behind and study at a German university— I chose history because I’d consumed historical nonfiction voraciously throughout most of my life and it seemed like a good fit, and I suppose it was the right choice… because here I am.”

You took a long, deep breath, but you didn’t feel that much more stabilized afterwards. “Okay, a lot to unpack with that,” you announced. “I understand why you didn’t tell me about the money, with everything that happened before… but you lived this entire life that I knew nothing about. You already know everything about me.”

“I couldn’t tell you much more than I did without burdening you with it.”

“Sure, but you can appreciate that this puts me in a sort of vulnerable position,” you offered.

“Right,” he agreed. “That was, of course, never my intention. I don’t tell anyone the things I’m telling you now, understand that. Everyone at the university thinks I came from much more humble beginnings and has no idea about my military service— well, except for that one royal historian who unfortunately recognized my name, but I’ve been bribing him into silence from my first day.”

“Wait, you pay him off?!”

“Oh, god no— I just grade his final term papers,” Helmut shrugged. “But still, I got pretty comfortable with my reinvention, weeks go by without me thinking about my life before this. Especially with you… sometimes I thought maybe it would be better to quietly abandon it all and become the person you thought I was.”

You smiled a little; maybe you wished that you knew how to be angry with him even in times like this, but you just couldn’t do it. “You’re still the person I think you are,” you assured. “Where you come from is not who you are, it’s just one of those things that help make you who you are. It’s up to you to decide what you do with it… and I think you’ve done something pretty great with it. Plenty of people who didn’t need to work for a living just wouldn’t.”

“I know it sounds nice, and I won’t pretend it isn’t an invaluable resource, but I find it much more fulfilling to work. I really love what I do, so that helps.”

Nodding a little to yourself, you reflected on how true that really was; after all, this all began in a classroom where you were enchanted by his passion.

“I suppose the moral of the story is… I’m sorry that I hid things from you,” he concluded firmly. “I’ve learned that I can’t protect myself from heartache and love you properly at once— I have to pick one. I want to choose to love you, I want to choose that every day for… well, forever. If you’ll let me. But if the secrets are too insurmountable, I won’t judge you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “That’s the dilemma of love, isn’t it? You have to be willing to get hurt. But the last thing I want is to hurt you, I promise. And in the end, it really doesn’t matter if you’re rich or poor or a fugitive from the law or an alien from space: I love you, really.”

For the first time since he started telling you everything, he seemed to relax. “I love you too, I hope that much is obvious.”

You nodded, reaching across the table to hold his hand. “Yeah, it is. I’m still getting used to that, honestly.”

“Not that I don’t mind being the first,” he tilted his head, “but it’s a shame no one ever cherished you before, in the way that you deserve.”

“You do seem to mind it a little bit, when you always go on about ‘keeping me from my youth’ or ‘restricting me when I should be free’ or whatever,” you recalled, putting on a poor imitation of his accent when you quoted him.

“Well, I guess it’s that I never desired to be the first,” he clarified, staring you down suddenly, “but that I intend to be the last.”

That look… you were already biting your lip and you didn’t even notice it. “Okay,” you sighed.

“Hm?”

“You can be the last, just take me home,” you whispered, crossing your legs to hold your thighs together as your tongue ran over your teeth.

He could only bear to tear his eyes from you for a second as he called out, “The check, please!”

wanna come over later? I can’t focus enough to study

You stared down at the text you’d sent Kacey, wondering if it made you sound pathetic. You didn’t want to seem like the sort of girl who made her boyfriend her whole life, and therefore had no idea what to do with herself while he was gone. And to be clear, it wasn’t loneliness itself that made you so listless; of course, you missed him plenty, but your inability to get anything done or even enjoy some alone time was disrupted by that sort of numb, shocked feeling you got every time you remembered that he wanted to get married.

Even more shocking: you wanted to get married.

It didn’t feel too soon, it didn’t feel all that sudden, but it felt like it should feel too soon, if that makes any sense. Maybe you could try to explain it to Kacey if she ever checked her damn phone.

You groaned as you tossed the device away, knowing staring down the screen wouldn’t make her answer any faster. Having already watched everything good on every streaming service ever, you figured your next step was to move on to the mediocre things on streaming, but you couldn’t decide between a show about renovating tiny-houses or cooking using only leftovers.

It was hard to focus on your choices when you kept playing the moment before he left in your mind over and over.

You nestled in under his arm around your shoulders, tightening your grip around his torso until you caught a glance of his watch.

“Don’t you need to leave soon? There will be traffic on the way to the airport.”

“No, there shouldn’t be, it’s only a ten minute drive.”

“What? It’s at least half an hour.”

He laughed a little as he realized the misunderstanding. “Darling, I’m not going to the airport. I’m going to a private airport. For a private plane.”

You cleared your throat. “Oh… right. Still getting used to the exorbitantly rich thing.”

“But I suppose I should finish my packing, I think I’ve put off the last of it long enough,” he sighed, sitting up and tearing himself out of your arms even though you were pouting about it.

Before he left he gave you a long kiss at the door, just meant to say goodbye, but then your knees went weak and he had to hold you and it all started to lead from one thing to another very quickly.

“Fuck, Helmut, your flight,” you reminded him breathlessly, holding onto his biceps as he kissed down your neck.

“They’ll wait for me, it’s my fucking plane,” he growled, grabbing your hips hard. “I need to be inside you one more time before I go.”

Just as the best parts of the memory started to flood back, your phone rang and you jumped up instantly; the sound of 99 Luftballons, your custom ringtone for him that started as a joke but stuck for some reason, told you it was your boyfriend calling and it barely rang for a second before you answered.

“Hi!” you greeted instantly. You looked at the clock on the wall and did some quick math to realize it was probably almost time for dinner there, when it was still before noon where you were.

“Hello, darling,” he answered back, his voice instantly soothing you as you leaned back against the headboard of your (his) bed.

“Your accent is stronger than when you left,” you noticed.

“This is the first time I’ve spoken English in days,” he explained.

“How does it feel to be home?”

“Do you mean being in Sokovia, or talking to you?”

“Baaaabe,” you whined playfully, “you’re gonna make me all needy…”

“I just wish I was there to see the effect I was having on you,” he cooed. “It’s been a bit boring without you— I’m going to bring you with me next time, I assure you. Not just because I miss you so much, but so you can see the country. I want you to see my homeland and there’s no one better to show you around than myself.”

“You really love it, don’t you?” you hummed.

“More than almost anything,” he answered, and you knew what he was implying he loved most. “I know it has… struggled, it isn’t considered exactly a vacation spot by many, but it means everything to me. I don’t have much family left for you to meet, but I’m sure I’ll find some people to show you off to.”

“I’d love to come with you,” you agreed, “you know I’d go with you anywhere, though.”

“And you need to try the ćevapi!” he added, and you could hear his beaming smile through the phone. “Sokovian food is very different from Western dishes but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Yeah,” you agreed dreamily, laying back on the pillow as you heard him sigh from the other end.

“God, I miss you,” he breathed, making you hum proudly.

“Miss you too,” you agreed. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot…”

“Yeah? I bet I can guess what you were thinking about.”

“Such as?”

“Things I can’t say right now, in case someone hears me,” he chuckled. “We may not speak English much but they still understand it.”

“Well, I’m all alone,” you purred, “and I’ve been thinking about everything I’m gonna do to you when you get back.”

“Oh fuck, baby, don’t—” he pleaded weakly.

“I really wanna ride you,” you continued in a sultry voice you didn’t even mean to put on, “even though you’re probably too big for that, I just want you so deep in me I can’t fucking breathe—”

“You’re cruel,” he hissed, a low whisper, and you loved his helplessness.

“It’s been so lonely without you, Helmut, I’ve been fucking myself with every toy I can find but nothing fills me up like you do, god I just need your cock.”

“I should’ve had something custom made,” he decided, still whispering but you could hear him smirk, too. “So it’s only ever me inside you.”

“Even then, it’s not the same… it has to be you, the way you fuck me is just impossible to recreate, nothing’s as good as you, professor.”

He made a strained noise and you giggled happily. “How long has it been since you’ve called me that?”

“Too long,” you hummed, “I still think it’s pretty hot.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” he chuckled breathlessly, “listen, I have to return to my meeting, and you’ve made it impossible to focus on boring legal things now but I need to try my best. Alright? I’ll call you tonight, if you’re still awake.”

Of course, your tonight was his tomorrow morning; you decided not to make him worry by admitting you would stay up all night to be able to talk to him. “Okay,” you sighed, “good luck in your boring legal meeting.”

He gave one last whispered ‘goodbye’ and the line beeped as the call ended; you sighed and flopped back onto the bed, staring up at your ceiling blankly.

He’d only been gone four days. How were you supposed to make it to three weeks?

When his plane landed, you were waiting for him in the car, parked on the runway; it was a much quicker process than picking someone up from a traditional airport, plus you got to run to him the second he was off the plane and it made you feel like you were in an old movie or something.

Throwing dignity to the wind, you jumped into his arms and let him spin you around, setting you down to kiss you hard as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I missed you so much,” he mumbled against your lips, hands gripping your waist, and you’d been trying to imagine this moment ever since he left but you couldn’t have ever come close to how perfect it was.

“Missed you more,” you promised with a smile. “Let’s go home, Helmut.”

“Or…” he trailed off, and you raised an eyebrow as you sank back down onto your heels and looked up at him.

“Or?”

“Or we could get back on the plane and tell them to take us wherever we want.”

“I-I have finals!” you gasped. “So do you!”

“Not until next week,” he dismissed, “this is just for a few days.”

“I haven’t packed any of my stuff!”

“You have your phone, everything else can be bought when we get there,” he shrugged.

“What’s gotten into you?!” you giggled, looking back up at him wildly and wondering how he could seem so calm.

“I’m rich and in love and a little bit impulsive, is that so bad?” he smirked. “Where do you wanna go, draga? Rome? Sydney? Jakarta? Nairobi?”

“...Luxembourg,” you blurted out.

He chuckled a little, eyes sparkling. “Why there?”

“First place I thought of. Is that a good enough reason to want to go someplace?”

“It is to me,” he grinned. “You get on the plane and get comfortable, I’ll tell the pilot where we’re going.”

“Okay,” you laughed. “This is crazy, you know.”

“I know,” he nodded, taking your hand and guiding you up the stairs back onto the jet.

It wasn’t like you’d never experienced the concept of travel before, but it was still blowing your mind that you’d woken up in your (his) bed this morning and now, in the same day, you were spending your evening in box seats at the Luxembourg National Opera. He picked out the gown you were wearing (only fair since he was picking up the tab) and at first you had worried you couldn’t pull it off, but the way he kept glancing over at you made you confident you looked just fine.

“You’re not watching the performance,” you whispered to him, leaning closer to his shoulder.

“You don’t really need to see an opera, do you?” he frowned. “Can’t I just look at you?”

“These tickets cost an arm and a leg, you can look at me for free!” you hissed, but you softened a bit when his hand moved to rest on yours and he kissed your temple softly.

The two of you stayed that way for the rest of the performance, leaning on each other and holding hands. Even when you'd been together this long, you still felt butterflies when he interlaced his fingers with yours.

When the show was over and the lights came up to a wave of applause, he looked at you with bright eyes and took your hand.

"Let's walk to the hotel, yes?" he suggested. "Explore the proper way instead of a cab."

"I can't walk that far in these shoes," you frowned.

"I'll carry them for you!"

"I can't walk that far barefoot," you laughed.

"Then I'll carry you," he offered, extending his hand for you to take.

And that was how you ended up being carried piggyback through the streets of Luxembourg, across cobblestone that reflected the soft yellow glow of the street lamps and sconces, in the most expensive dress you'd ever worn.

Life is crazy like that, sometimes.

"You know, this place is a bit like Sokovia," he decided, "but with a better GDP and fewer churches."

"As I understand it, most of the world has a better GDP and fewer churches than Sokovia," you quipped.

"Hey!" he yelped in defense. "Just because it's completely true doesn't mean you have any right to say it!"

You laughed, holding onto his neck tighter but trying your best not to inadvertently choke him.

"Typical of a Westerner to have something snarky to say while standing on the backs of hard-working Sokovians," he scoffed, "or, in this case, riding on the back of one hard-working Sokovian."

"Hard-working? What exactly does a Baron do for work?" you interrogated.

"Uh, carry spoiled girlfriends around tiny European countries, for one," he enumerated, "and when we're not casually becoming distinguished professors in America, we have to manage the various projects of the estate… the Zemo family— which is just me, at this point— runs eleven orphanages. I visit those sometimes and make sure they have everything they need."

"Okay, I don't know that I'd call that hard work, but it's very important so you get a pass," you decided.

"This is us," he announced he stopped walking.

"What's us?" you asked, looking around.

"This building, this is where we're staying," he explained as he set you down and made sure you were balancing right on your heels.

You let your jaw drop as you looked up at the building, admiring the carved stone face with its intricate detail, designs that evoked a certain prestige that just couldn't be found on American buildings.

"Wow," you nodded, "you really don't skimp on your last-minute random vacations, huh?"

"Not if I can avoid it," he shrugged, leading you inside.

For an exterior so gothic, the hotel’s lobby was modern and clean, though certainly not lacking in extravagant touches; you were a bit too tired to properly appreciate that, though, leaning up against his shoulder as he conversed with the front desk clerk in German in order to finish the check-in process.

The hotel had one of those elevators with mirrors on the walls, and a more energetic version of yourself might have noticed the fooling-around potential of the space, but instead you just let your eyes fall shut until you reached the correct floor. Being an incredibly fancy place, the rooms had actual keys and not just RFID keycards— you thought Helmut looked quite regal in his opera tux, unlocking a mahogany door with a golden key. Hard to imagine him in a windowless office and a messenger bag on his shoulder now, but you could remember falling for him in that state just the same.

He let you in first— a true gentleman, of course— and the moment the door to the room shut behind him, you groaned and flopped down onto the bed unceremoniously. He, meanwhile, undid his bowtie and unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt before he laid down on his side by you, running his fingers over your back left exposed by the dress for a few moments before he pulled away.

“Darling?” he called to you softly, but you were too lazy to lift your head from where they were buried in the pillows.

“Mhmm?” you answered back, muffled.

“I…” he began, sighing before he started over. “Well, nevermind.”

“What is it?” you pressed, turning your head over to see him— but then you saw his face, and the conflicted look it wore, and you sat up to lay closer to him. “What’s wrong?” you asked gently, watched the way his hair fell into his face when he combed his fingers through it and glanced away from you.

“Draga, I must admit that I lied to you before about why I was returning home,” he spoke, and you were confused but said nothing. You would’ve worried if it weren’t for the look on his face— calm, yet with something brewing in his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe. But you trusted him. When your brain would normally fill the silence with a thousand awful ideas of his real reason for his visit to Novi Grad, it was suddenly quiet. “It wasn’t just for management of the estate… I had to retrieve something.”

He reached into his coat pocket, fishing out a small velvety box with red and gold along the edges. Your heart either stopped, or beat harder than it ever had before; at a certain point the difference was irrelevant.

“I know I should wait longer, for the perfect time, or even just any other time than when you’re not jet-lagged and I’m not so nervous I can’t even think, but…”

A sudden sigh fell from your lips when he opened the box and showed you the ornate ring inside— you couldn’t tell if it was aquamarine or blue diamonds but they shined brilliantly nonetheless.

“My mother wore this ring from the day my father gave it to her until the day she died,” he explained. “I would like for you to wear it.”

Too stunned to do much else, you looked up at him blankly.

“I want you to be my wife,” he clarified, like he thought you didn’t understand what he was asking, and finally you snapped back to reality (as overwhelming as that reality was). You smiled, even nearly laughing, as you leaned in to almost press your lips to his— but when he leaned closer you kept him at bay with a hand on his collar.

“Say it again,” you requested coyly.

“You’re going to make me propose twice?” he realized, and you nodded as you bit your lip. “I’ll say it a thousand times, draga: be my wife.”

“Two down, 998 to go,” you grinned, laughing when he growled and pulled you closer to bury his face in your neck. You definitely noticed the longer beard when it tickled your skin with every kiss to your pulse.

“Be my wife, be my wife, my wife,” he cooed, casually starting to slip the ring on your finger before you dodged him.

“No no no, you haven’t said it a thousand times yet,” you chided him, “and I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet.”

“Oh, darling, don’t dare me to make you say ‘yes’ as if I don’t make you scream it out every night.”

And that’s exactly what he did: make you say yes a thousand times to a thousand proposals, pinning you down and showering you in love relentlessly. For once you just accepted it; for once he didn’t feel guilty.

In a certain sense it was sort of hasty, half-dressed and unexpected with him fumbling to hold your dress out of the way while you clung to his shirt and kissed him hungrily: but still, it was nothing less than sensual, due in part to every beautiful thing he whispered to you until you were too far gone to understand them. He still kept going after that, even, just to feel the weight of his words on his tongue. Just to promise himself to you whether you could hear him or not.

Who could say how far into the night it went? That was the magical thing about it all— neither of you cared, neither of you worried or even thought twice about what time it was or if the sun would rise soon or if it would never rise at all and this was actually the beginning of the apocalypse. It didn’t make a difference; because whether the world ended now or in a decade or in a billion years, you would be together for the rest of your lives.

We were young and in love and I knew nothing could stop us, you remembered something he said. He said it like it was ridiculous, just a frivolous dream; and in retrospect, he may have been right about that specific situation, but now you understood why he had felt that way— you too felt that euphoric glow of knowing you were on the edge of something amazing. Maybe not something perfect, but something that would work out for the best in the end.

When he was finally satisfied with how many times he had satisfied you and you fell asleep on his chest, he took the opportunity to slip the ring on your finger, admiring how beautiful your hand looked wearing it before he kissed the top of your head.

“Fits perfectly,” he whispered to you in spite of your unconsciousness. “We’ll be so happy, draga… I promise.”

#helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo au #professor!baron zemo x reader #professor!zemo x reader

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katherynshoward · 3 years

Text

𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞; { 𝐝.𝐦. 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 }

SYNOPSIS; you catch draco eyeing pansy parkinson at a party despite him insisting he has no eyes for her. no one likes a liar. all characters are aged up to 20 in their 6th year and it’s the early 2000s. i repeat, there are NO underage characters in this. hogwarts functions as a college.

RESTRICTIONS; 18+ only. i don’t consent to minors viewing this content.

WORD COUNT; 4.9k

WARNINGS; smut, edging, bondage, name-calling, degradation, blow jobs, hand jobs, rough sex, size kink, sex toys, alcohol, drugs

The night was growing old, but yours was far from over. Three drinks down and another in your grasp, you could feel the effects of intoxication overwhelming you by now. You were never much of a drinker, but this was a Slytherin party. It would be considered nearly an insult to not finish what was supplied. And as much as it was a Slytherin gathering, it was also your birthday celebration. Of course, the birthday girl was expected to indulge in the night more than anyone. You felt special as this event was already contesting with one of the better Gryffindor House parties of the year.

You hadn’t expected your boyfriend to make an appearance this evening. He thought himself above parties as his arrogance would lead him to believe. Yet when Draco emerged from the men’s dormitories so late into the festivities, Theodore Nott could be heard howling his excitement and rooting Draco on. The young man quickly thrusted a drink into Draco’s hand and began urging him to ‘loosen up’ over several other hoarse voices that were worn out from yelling over the music. You turned away and smiled to yourself, taking another sip from your goblet.

The commotion over Draco’s appearance would draw more attention to him than he cared to receive. If he was truly here to enjoy himself, it was unlikely he would ever partake again after the spectacle Theo put on.

But by Draco’s protest you could faintly hear, it became obvious Draco did not come to celebrate. He was irate. A soft tap on your shoulder a moment later alerted you and you spun back around.

“Break this up. It’s four in the morning.” He said.

“Don’t be a party pooper.” You frowned. “I see you have a drink. I think Nott was on the right idea.”

“I’m tired. Silencing charms aren’t working.”

“One drink and I’ll break it up. For me? You may even thank me later.” You winked and Draco subtly rolled his eyes.

Pushing his free hand into his pocket, he began drinking away at his beverage and walked away. You sniggered to yourself, bemused by your own wit. You were the only person in the world Draco would yield to at this point and it felt vigorous. Knowing you had the solidity to command Draco by sex appeal alone. He could hardly resist how tempting you were and obeyed without resistance.

You knew you would marry him one day.

It could have been predictable Draco was a lightweight and Nott gave him a particularly strong drink. Theo himself was a heavy partier and could take as many drinks as a 7 foot three hundred and fifty pound man and still feel fine enough to play beer pong efficiently. Draco was never the type to drink or engage in any kind of activity involving impairment. He seemed to think it stunted his magic. Something he wasn’t keen on for reasons you couldn’t identify. But after thirty minutes had passed, Draco was visibly impaired. He was trying to conceal it which only made it more obvious.

You purposely hid yourself away when he came looking for you, having held up his half of the deal. You giggled with another Slytherin girl, watching as Draco was clearly looking for you without much success. Yet when his eyes fell onto Pansy Parkinson, his gaze seemed to act a little too familiar with her. His eyes rested on her backside, lingering far too long to be an accident. You shot a look of malice to the girl beside you. She looked at you and shrugged her shoulders.

When you looked back at Draco, he was now observing his surroundings to make sure no one saw that. He was still aware enough to be mindful of consequences. It occurred to you then that he wasn’t that drunk. That excuse wouldn’t hold to defend his wandering eyes.

You’d have to remind him that his eyes were meant only for you.

Walking towards him, his eyes widened a bit as though you startled him. But he quickly relaxed again.

“I was looking for you.” He held the goblet upside down, showing there was nothing left in it.

“How do I know you didn’t just dump it?” You said.

He huffed out a vexed sigh.

“Maybe you should have been watching me if that was a concern.”

“I was watching you. I saw everything.” You smirked and quickly flicked your eyes towards Pansy.

Draco began massaging the bridge of his nose in a visually exasperated gesture. How he would dig himself out of this one, he seemed unsure. You crossed your arms over your chest and smiled.

“Fine. I’ll just deal with it.” He grimaced and nearly began walking away.

“Excuse me. You think I’d let you off the hook that easily?” You half chuckled. “I catch you burning holes into Pansy’s arse with your eyes and you think you can just go about your night?”

“I’m sorry, darling. Truly, I feel a bit fuzzy.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, honestly. You know how I feel towards Parkinson. That was highly uncharacteristic of me. I do only have eyes for you.”

“Prove it.” You challenged him.

“What do you want?” He sounded skeptical.

“Hm, it depends. Whatever might satisfy me.”

As you said this, you wrapped his tie around your hand and pulled him closer to you. Your lips met with his. He did taste like alcohol. You knew he wasn’t a cheater, you just wanted to give him a hard time. He was the most fun to peeve of anyone as he always took everything so seriously.

Maybe if he made it less fun, he wouldn’t always be at the butt end of every joke.

You used your tongue to part his lips and leaned in closer to him, pressing your chest into his as you stood on the tips of your toes to better level yourself with him. He was still taller, but Draco leaned down into you to deepen the surprisingly erotic moment. Which was also unlike him. A benefit of the drink.

He pressed one hand gently against the nape of your back, traveling lower until his hand would rest directly over the curve where your back met your ass. He pulled you closer into him with the same hand and returned your kiss tenfold. Your pussy began throbbing already, taking you a little off guard. Draco never kissed you in such a venereal way to elicit this kind of response from your body. Maybe you would encourage him to drink a little more. He was more relaxed. Even the devil’s lettuce could do him some favors.

Draco typically preferred to keep this intimacy between the two of you. But now, the heat of his breath and the way he pressed his pelvis into you signaled that for once, he was a bit looser. You loved every moment of it. Of course, he still pulled away from you first with dazed eyes.

“You can show me your proof in the dormitory. If I broke up this party now, we wouldn’t have our privacy. Would we?” You stared up at him with big eyes.

Draco swallowed hard and modestly nodded, setting the goblet down on a table beside him.

You signaled for him to follow you by gesturing your head forward. When you took a left up the stairs, you made sure to sway your hips more than usual with each step. Halfway up the set of stairs, you glanced back to see if his attention was fixated where you intended. Just as you hoped, his watchful gaze was lingering on the curvature of your hips and bottom. He looked up at you. You bent forward a little to expose more of your panties beneath your skirt and continued up the stairs.

“Like the view?” You joked, giggling a little.

Though you couldn’t see him, your mind’s eye already pictured Draco shaking his head to himself.

You reached the room you shared with a few other girls first and pulled him inside by his collar, slamming the door behind him by shoving him into the door with such force, the foundation shook. You pressed yourself into him and sunk into his lips with ardent force. Draco forcibly grabbed onto your buttocks, squeezing hard. You pushed his hands away and planted a firm smack on his cheek that cause his hair to fall over his face. It actually looked better that way.

A soft breathy chuckle escaped your lips and Draco quickly grabbed hold of your wrists, making you spin around so that your back was now pressed against him. He pushed you onto the nearest bed and mounted you, grinding himself against you. You could feel him growing harder with each passing moment.

“Watch it, Malfoy. You’re biting off more than you can chew.” You warned him, already having an idea of how this wanted to go.

He began undressing himself quickly, getting rid of his button up shirt and tie first. You could hear him fumbling with his buckle now.

“Try me.” He sounded almost angry, but in a lustful way.

As he always did, he placed two fingers into your mouth to pull your head back while he unzipped his trousers. But this time, you bit down. He hissed and pulled away. You promptly kicked him away while he was distracted and reached for your wand in your waistband.

“Accio!” A chair came hurling towards you.

With another flick of your wand, you pushed Draco into the chair and acted quickly to bind his hands behind him with a temporary binding hex.

“What exactly are you doing here?” He sounded annoyed again and you laughed.

“What satisfies me.”

You shrugged and got up. Getting on your knees in front of him, you took his belt off for him and teasingly snapped it in front of him. You got back up and tied his hands behind the chair, careful to not cut off any circulation. But to be certain it would be difficult for him to escape, you placed a sticky charm on the belt.

“Too tight?” You asked, peeking your head over his shoulder.

Much to your surprise, he chuckled and shook his head.

“I didn’t know you were into bondage.” He observed. “You know your knots. It’s not too tight.”

“Maybe next time, I’ll let you tie me up. But I think you deserve this.”

You circled back around in front of him.

“Now, your punishment. You can’t touch me. Or yourself.”

“That’s it?” He asked.

“Oh, love. I’m not going to make this easy. Not even a little.”

His eyes narrowed on you and you returned the same look. You used your wand again to lock the door behind him and began circling around him. First, you traced your fingertips along his clavicle. He felt hot from the alcohol around his neck. His head followed you, looking around to the other side when you emerged from behind him. Casually, you ran your hand over his hair before grabbing a fistful and snapping his head back to expose his adam’s apple. You placed a sweet kiss on his lips.

“Safe word is baboons.” You whispered against him.

“That bad?” He asked with a smile. “I might act out again.”

Again, you placed another firm smack on his other cheek. He was aroused by this as you noted his pants move a little.

“Don’t be a pig. If you want something, you don’t resort to childish antics. You take them like a man.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He snarled back when you brought his head forward and let go of his hair roughly.

You walked away and positioned yourself in front of the bed. Still turned away from him, you began to strip off your skirt first. He loved your ass the most. The creaking of the chair told you he was either shifting uncomfortably or already attempting to work himself out of his restraints. You made sure to struggle with getting the skirt past the girth of your thick bottom, bending over slightly to make it appear even bigger. Draco sighed at the sight of your panties finally peaking through. A designer pair he bought you as part of an early birthday gift a week ago. Again, the chair creaked. Your skirt finally hit the floor.

You took no time to remove your top, already braless. Turning around to face him, he immediately looked at your breasts

“You weren’t wearing a bra?” Draco quickly observed.

“What? You must hate the idea of other men looking at my hard nipples. Don’t you? Maybe I wanted them to stare. It’s my birthday, after all.”

You shrugged and sat on the bed, which made your thighs appear wider. Relaxing onto your elbows, you kept your eyes on Draco who remained just as fixated on your figure.

“They know better.” Draco said, referring to the men of his house having a certain moral code. Specifically when it came to significant others and staring.

“You didn’t.” You retorted, a little pleased with your quick response that would have angered him. It’s not like he could do anything now.

You lifted your legs up to gently pulled off your panties and wiggled them up your legs, removing them from your ankles. Now your slit was exposed to Draco. Teasingly, you opened your legs before quickly shutting them again with a laugh of mockery. He angled himself down slightly, almost as if to get a better look.

“I can tell you want to touch me already and I’ve barely started.” You swung your panties around your pointer finger before slingshotting it at Draco. “This is gonna be fun.”

“You have no idea.” He said.

You propped your heels up on the bed while keeping balance on your elbows to make sure he was still watching you. But it seemed as though he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. With your legs now spread open, you used one hand to trail gently down your navel to meet with your nether lips. Draco squirmed again, this time flexing his arms. He was maneuvering an attempt to escape. But the sticky charm he was unaware of would make that process much more difficult. Slowly, you began massaging yourself where your clit would be while he watched. His pants appeared to subtly move again.

Draco groaned out.

“Are you already about to cum in your trousers?” You giggled out.

“My pants are killing me. It’s — I’m hard.”

“Obviously. Maybe you shouldn’t wear such tight pants all the time. Although I do like how it accentuates your bulge.”

“What? People can see that?”

You tossed your head back and laughed. Getting up from the bed, you quickly moved onto his lap to straddle him. The heat between your legs caused him to tense even more. Draco tossed his head back and gently groaned again, already physically quelled by the influence of your tempting body. He was going to be easy to break. Only to you.

Your slit met with the outline of his erection. You began grinding against it and Draco’s breathing sped up, growing deeper with each breath. He was now squeezing his eyes shut, attempting to calm his arousal. It would be embarrassing to cum now.

“Are you alright, love? If you say pretty please, I might be kind and let you out of these painful restraints.”

Draco nodded, his eyes still shut tight.

“Please, for the love of god. I’m fucking dying.”

You got back up off his lap and spread his legs apart sensually, running your hands up and down his thighs. This elicited another involuntary response from his body. Close up, you could see his v line flex with the straining of his abdomen. It was arousing you now. The heaving of his chest and the outline of his neck tightening. Observing how his body naturally responded to you without sex was extremely lubricious. Inciting sexual desire in you. Your nipples were now painfully hard in a satisfying way.

You finished unzipping and unbuttoning his pants, slowly pulling him out of his boxers. It was true, he was completely solid. He was enjoying this even more than you were. The thought started to make you wet.

“Wow, you’re kind of a whore.” You smiled up at him, resting your hand around the base of his cock. “You love being tied up and helpless, don’t you?”

“You better hope you tied this belt tight enough.” He warned.

“Or what?” You teased, licking up his shaft. His arms moved again to release himself.

Draco snapped his head back up now to look directly down on you.

“I will fuck the absolute shit out of you.” He pressed through gritted teeth.

“I’d like to see you try.” You smiled up at him and winked, starting to squeeze the base of his cock as you moved up and down with your hand.

Using your other hand, you began massaging deeply into his pelvis while jerking him off. You used a little spit to lubricate him which only seemed to deepen his arousal. You began speeding up in slow increments, using your hand to stimulate the area beneath the head of his cock every time you moved up. He leaned back into the chair once again, somewhat straightening out his body. Again, he was attempting to get out.

Now moving fast, you focused your attention closer to his head. Every time you felt him contract in your hand, you’d let go. This frustrated him visibly.

“Fuck you.” He mumbled out a few times.

With this, you began using your mouth to stimulate the base of his cock while still jerking his head. Draco moved up in a sharp movement that told you he was now close. When you felt that familiar pulsating sensation, you immediately pulled away and walked off.

“You fucking bitch.” He breathed out heavily.

“You love me.” You cooed out while looking through your panty drawer.

“And you’re so god damn lucky I do.”

“Ah, here it is. I think I’ll go first. And then you. I’m not done with you” You pulled out a vibrating toy.

It was a simple muggle toy and relatively small, but it was effective. Of course, there were many magical toys, but you somehow preferred these ones. With five different settings based on speed and frequency, you really couldn’t go wrong with these little guys. They were simplistic and nearly comforting.

You positioned yourself back on the bed the same way you had before, certain Draco could see everything. You switched on the middle vibrational setting and moved it gently against your clit. Immediately, you gasped out before relaxing into it. It was slightly cold due to the make of it, but your warmth would immediately change that and it would become comfortable.

This time, you didn’t care to watch Draco. You were far more invested in pleasing yourself now. Making yourself cum while leaving him high and dry would be the sweetest punishment. Laying your head back onto the bed and closing your eyes, you began using your other hand to insert two fingers inside of you and stimulate your g spot by curling your fingers up while the vibration of your toy continued to hum against your clit.

You heard something, although you figured it was merely Draco once again enjoying himself too much. That was fine. If he could cum without being touched, it wasn’t as though you could prevent that. You squirmed beneath your toy, feeling heat rising in your core.

Time passed, although you weren’t sure how much. But you could now see the horizon turning a deep blue color and morning was almost upon you. And with each passing moment, you felt yourself getting closer. Your abdomen tightened and small little shocks throughout your body indicated you were now closer than ever. Easing into your climax, you cried out with ecstasy. And even though the quivers of your orgasm pulsing through your body were intense, they weren’t enough to satisfy you the way Draco’s cock did.

You wondered if he was worth quenching that thirst right now. But remembering how he could slide into you as though you were made for him, there was no second guessing. You needed him inside of you.

Slowly, you got back up and looked at Draco who was still hard, his large cock resting against his abdomen. It twitched slightly when you looked at him and your lips pulled up into half of a grin.

“Shall I go again or is it your turn?”

“I quite enjoyed the show.” Draco said.

You began walking back towards him and tossed the vibrator into the air a few times, catching it each time it fell back down. When you knelt in front of Draco again, he visibly tensed.

“I think we should try the strongest setting. What do you think?” You asked him while holding up the toy for him to see.

“I guess that would depend on what you already believe I deserve.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “I would think you’ve already made up your mind.”

“You know me so well.”

Switching the setting up to the highest vibrational speed with a fast frequency, you didn’t hesitant to trace the vibrator up his shaft and tease it around his tip. This was exactly the response you had been yearning for. Draco nearly cried out which was an accomplishment in and of itself. While his body leaned away from it, his pelvis gravitated into the touch of the vibrator. His body was communicating all green lights and his words didn’t protest.

He fucking loved it.

All you could think of now was having him inside of you. Watching him break beneath the weight of his carnal lust was so painfully arousing, you could feel your wetness traveling down your thigh. It was becoming more torture for you to refrain from having him. His legs were tensing so hard, the muscle in them was now clearly visible. He was practically shaking now.

This was all for you. Not Pansy. Not anybody. He was yours.

You angled the vibrator against his shaft and began sucking on just the tip of his cock. Again, a few subtle whimpers escaped his lips as he was attempting to control himself. You swirled your tongue around this part of him, focusing again on the area just beneath the tip where it met with the rest of his cock. He was absolutely reeling with the intoxication of you.

And just as you had hoped, you finally felt his hand close around your neck. He had worked himself out.

Knowing what was to come, you let go of the vibrator. Not a moment of hesitation and Draco had one hand wrapped around your neck and the other, tangled roughly in your hair. He began fucking your face, forcing you to gag on him as you took his full length down your throat. You wondered if this is where he would decidedly cum. Mentally, you’d prepare yourself for the warm liquid that always caught you a bit off guard.

You braced yourself on his legs, feeling him invest a lot of strength into using your mouth. He was raging with lust and that was just how you wanted him. It was difficult to get him this way, but when he was, it was all you ever wanted.

He pulled you off of his cock by your hair and smacked your face more gently than the treatment you recently subjected him to. But he knew you loved being treated this way. It just took effort to be able to get him to act upon it.

He lifted you to your feet and quickly picked you up, throwing you onto the bed. It took you a moment to gather yourself, the impact startling you. But when you did, you were feeling pain from your arousal. You needed him to fuck you. And it seemed that was what he was readying to do.

“I already warned you I would fuck you silly if I got out. So now we can see who the whore is.”

Lifting you back up, he forced you into a straddling position against him as he held you up by your ass. He didn’t hesitate to start slamming his erect cock into your pussy that was already dripping wet. Your preparation had made this part simple. It felt as though you were already gaping, ready to receive him. And just as promised, he fucked you mercilessly.

You cried his name out loudly, assuring anyone in close proximity would know Draco was pounding into you. The clapping of your thighs against him also presented loud enough to issue a noise complaint.

Holding onto him to keep yourself supported up, you bit into his shoulder to stifle your cries that only grew louder. The way he felt inside you was perfect. Your pussy fit over his cock like a glove and the slight curve of him made it so he scraped frequently against the nerve endings of your g-spot. It wouldn’t take long to make you see stars this way.

The way his strength was able to hold the full weight of your body while simultaneously fucking you meant you were now his to do with as he pleased. You were completely at his disposal. He was much stronger, taller and more agile. The only advantage you had over him previously was having him tied up. And he even managed to undo those difficult binds.

Again, he pulled you off of him and set you back down on the bed. Quickly, he removed the rest of his trousers and climbed on top of your trembling body. He placed an endearing kiss on your forehead and wiped tears away on both of your cheeks. You often cried with overstimulation and now was a perfect example.

“Now, I’m going to fill you up and I don’t ever want to hear you doubt my devotion to you ever again.” He spoke gently, seeming to mock what was to come.

“No woman in this world can hold a candle to the riches of your sweet cunt.”

“Then take it.” You taunted him through a few shallow breaths.

He flipped you over onto your stomach and angled you so that your ass was now in the air. You could hear him pump himself a few times before thrusting his cock back inside of you. Gasping out, you grabbed hold of the bed sheets and took all of him into you.

Draco loved this position because he could feel you deeper. On the seldom occasion he would cum inside of you, he preferred to be as deep as possible. Sometimes, due to his length, he would go a little too far. But he had more recently acquainted himself with a healthy medium he was able to maintain. You also felt more of every inch in this position. And because of leverage, he could move much faster and harder. This was perfect for the times either of you wanted rough sex as simple as it was.

Each thrust was mind numbingly pleasurable. Draco eventually placed his hand over your head to keep you against the mattress. The precise angle felt better for both of you. But the idea that he only did this for his own pleasure made you wetter. It was the idea of your only purpose here being to please him. You loved it.

Your core tightened when you felt that familiar sensation that indicated Draco was ready to cum. His hips tensed and jerked more upwards while his cock would start pulsating. And when you felt his warm liquid fill you up, you nearly cried with elation. It was your favorite place for him to cum. You had been on birth control for awhile and never risked pregnancy, but the thought of him claiming you in such an intimate way made you happier than words could say. You sighed out when he pulled out of you, quickly followed by his cum dripping from your cunt. Quietly, you let your body collapse onto the bed. It was a good thing this was your bed. Your roommates may not have taken kindly to all the body fluid on their sheets.

Draco laid himself down behind you and hugged you close to him, burying his nose into your shoulder. You began caressing his soft cheek with your knuckles.

“I love you. I love only you.” He whispered.

His arm moved up between your breasts so that his hand could cradle your chin. Despite his callouses, he had the most gentle touch you had ever known.

“I just hope you’re prepared to be my wife once we graduate.”

With large eyes, you gazed back onto him with a soft smile.

A loud knock on the door alerted both of you.

“Draco, lad! We know you’re in there fuckin’ the lovely birthday gal, but there’s been a bit of an accident, mate!” Theo’s voice sounded through the door. “I think someone stopped up all the toilets and it’s leaking from the pipes when anyone tries to flush!”

“It’s your fault, you prick.” Blaise could now be heard talking to Theo.

“Shut it, bell end.” Theo whispered back. “I’d really appreciate if ya could help me out, friend!”

“You better go handle that.” You joked at Draco as he rolled his eyes.

Draco started getting up and fetched his clothes with sophisticated poise.

“I don’t suppose this is over?” He asked you while pulling his boxers and trousers back on.

You shook your head with a coy grin.

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solemnly-mischievous · 3 years

Note

HOLY SHIT RIVALRY WAS SOOOO F@&KIMG GOOD OH MY 😮‍💨😮‍💨 I was wondering you would be open to doing a jealous draco smut with breeding kink? Maybe you’re wearing a short sundress that’s riding up and getting looks from the guys and he pulls you aside 🥵

very glad to hear you enjoyed rivalry! read this request and wrote it in like two hours. here you go, anon, hope you like it too ;)

Contains: Breeding kink, jealousy, possessiveness (like... kind of a lot of that), large amounts of dirty talk, themes of exhibitionism (only mentioned)

Word count: 1.6K

-----

Of course you didn't purposely choose the smallest sundress you owned to wear that day. It was the only sundress you packed to bring to Malfoy Manor for the summer. You'd never intentionally wound up Draco—you aren't a brat or anything... on most days.

But maybe. Just maybe. You enjoyed seeing how his eyes had widened when you'd revealed your outfit. Maybe you liked how his eyes were constantly on you, your exposed skin, the deeper-than-necessary neckline. Your thighs.

And, alright, maybe this sundress was less a dress than a gratuitously long shirt.

But still. You never meant to get him so bothered.

You're also decidedly not complaining.

The day is truly hot and bright in the "backyard" of Malfoy Manor, the sun heating up your skin so much you're coated in a light sheen of sweat, despite your lack of clothing. You, Draco, and a couple other friends are about a three-minute walk away from the Manor, lounging by the beach.

You weren't even aware the Malfoy Manor was near a beach, but the more you know.

The other boys have unbuttoned their shirts in the heat, currently in various stages of modest undress—Blaise Zabini has his shirt fully off, while Theo Nott's is unbuttoned but stayed, reluctantly, on his body. It's soaked, though—you don't count on it staying on for much longer.

Draco, on the other hand, has his shirt fully buttoned, and his black outfit cuts a stark, imposing figure in the bright day. His gaze lingers on you as you stretch in the sun, the sundress riding up with your movements until they barely reach mid-thigh.

He hasn't said much since you emerged from your room in that dress, but he looks as though he's about to say something now.

"Hey!" Theo calls your name and you turn, the Slytherin boy tossing you a chilled glass bottle filled with lemonade. "I brought some along. You look parched."

"I am," you say gratefully, taking the lemonade and uncorking it. It's delightfully cold, and the lemonade tastes heavenly, sweet and sour perfectly balanced. "Bloody hell, Theo, what'd you put in these?"

"It's so bloody good, isn't it," Blaise says, chugging his own bottle before giving a satisfied sigh. "I'm telling you: Drugs."

"A dash of magic," Theo replies to you, grinning. You laugh. Beside you, Draco tenses.

"C'mon, Draco, try some," you urge him, holding the glass bottle out. "It's so good."

"I'm good, thanks," Draco declines, and you shrug.

"More for me, then." You tip the lemonade back, exposing your neck and collarbones as you lift your head, and you finish the whole small bottle in a few large gulps. Your throat bobs as you swallow, and you feel Draco's unrelenting stare on you.

Lowering the empty bottle, you feel a rush of euphoria as the sugar hits your system. Combined with the relief from the pressing heat, you can't help but let out a groan of pleasure.

Draco stiffens next to you, but you only turn to offer Theo a large pleading smile. "Tell me you brought more."

Theo looks like he's been caught in headlights, and takes a moment to unfreeze before he can register the sentence. His gaze trails down your body playfully, lingering at your neckline, how you're breathing harder than usual from drinking. "I might've. What's in it for me, doll?"

"Huh?" You blink in confusion.

"I could be persuaded to give you more," Theo says suggestively, winking, and then Draco is grabbing your arm and Apparating away from the beachside.

"Going to grab sunscreen!" is the only explanation he yells at his friends before the two of you vanish.

The two of you appear in Draco's room, you stumbling with the force of the arrival.

"Draco, what—"

"Don't," he warns, and kisses you without warning. The force of it takes you by surprise, and you fall backwards onto his bed, bringing him with you.

Draco nips at your bottom lip and trails down your neck, biting into the delicate skin there. You yelp, then moan, and your fingers clutch desperately at his shirt.

"Gonna hex him," Draco mutters, before sucking another hickey into the skin around your collarbone. You whimper from the feeling.

"What—what do you mean—Theo?"

"No, bloody Hagrid," he drawls, and pushes you into his mattress. He pins you down, and there's a light in his eyes that's almost—possessive. "Yes, Theo."

"Why?" And then you realize. "Oh—no, Draco, he was just joking."

"I don't bloody care." The blond tugs at your sundress, almost too harshly. "He wanted you. I could tell. Blaise did too. I can't blame them, with you looking like this. Bet they wanted to rip this dress off your pretty body and fuck you in the sand."

"I—"

"I'm still wondering what to do with it," Draco continues, cutting you off. "Should I let you keep it on while I fuck you? So we can get it all dirtied and wrinkled, for when we return to the beach?"

Your face flushes at the idea of Theo and Blaise seeing you in freshly-fucked apparel, dress all uneven and stained with sweat and Merlin knows what else. They'd know—oh, they'd know, alright.

"Or," Draco muses, his voice darkening, "should I tear it off of you? You could wear one of my shirts back. Just the shirt, though."

"Draco," you whine, clamping your thighs together to get some friction. He's talking too much, not touching you enough, and you grind upwards into his leg to try and get his attention.

"Slow down now, or I'll tear this dress off you and not let you dress properly before I Apparate us back," Draco warns, and you still your motions. "There we go. Good girl."

He seems to be impatient as well, though, as he shrugs off his shirt hurriedly and kicks off his trousers. "I think I'll fuck you with the dress on. Let it be a reminder, hm?"

"Yes, please, just—" And then he's pushing your sundress up roughly, exposing much of your abdomen and a sliver of your bra, and tugging your panties to the side roughly. He doesn't even have the patience to take them off.

"Gonna show them you're mine," Draco growls, sinking two fingers in at once deep into your cunt, and you let out a loud, surprised moan. "Good thing no one's home, love. I'm going to make you scream."

He thrusts in and out, fucking you roughly with his fingers, until he's deemed you loose enough to curl his fingers in. They brush against the spot that makes you see stars and you moan his name loudly, the end of the moan tapering off into a desperate whine.

"Draco, fuck, fuck me," you babble, and he seems to agree, kicking his boxers off and giving his cock a few rough tugs with his free hand before drawing out his fingers.

You don't even have time to process the loss before Draco's pressing in, your cunt tight and wet around him. He groans out a stifled curse, bottoming out and bumping against your cervix, and you whimper from the stretch.

"After I'm done with you, love, no one will touch you," he murmurs, and then he starts to move. He fucks into you slowly at first, keeping a steady rhythm, and then he's pounding into you with a vengeance, hitting your sweet spot with every few thrusts. "They'll know you're mine. Mine to love and fuck and keep."

"Yours," you repeat, although he could've said anything in that moment and you would've agreed wholeheartedly.

"I'm gonna fill you up, love," Draco pants, his rhythm unrelenting. He has a hand on your bared abdomen, and he grips you so tight you think you might bruise. "Gonna fill you up with my cum 'till you're dripping, gonna fucking breed you so you'll always be mine—"

You clench involuntarily around him at his words, a fresh wave of arousal making you drip around his cock. "Oh, bloody hell—Draco!"

"Yeah? You like the sound of that?" You can hear the smirk in his voice as he fucks you fast and rough. "Good."

"Please," you whisper, "please, fuck, come in me, fill me up, make me yours—"

"Mine," Draco echoes, and one of his hands reaches to your clit, circling it playfully, flicking it occasionally so you lurch and clench around him in pleasure. "I'll fuck you over and over until we get there, love, don't think I won't—gonna make you carry my heirs, then you'll wholly be mine."

"Fuck, Draco!" you moan as you come, and Draco groans lowly when you clench and tighten around him in your orgasm. "Oh, fuck, yes, please, make me all yours, pump me full and claim me—"

With a strangled moan, Draco comes inside of you, and you feel him filling you up as he'd promised—painting your insides with his release and pulling out after he's emptied himself. He admires his work: You, well-fucked and blissed out, the sundress rumpled and soaked in sweat.

"Good girl," he praises, Summoning a washcloth from his bathroom and pressing the cold, soothing fabric to your face. "You did so good."

"'m yours," you murmur, smiling delightedly at him. "Aren't I?"

"Yes, love." Draco's eyes gleam with a sudden idea, and instead of leaning over to clean your oversensitive, dripping cunt, he tugs your panties back into place. Your brows furrow in confusion.

"So we can make sure you're truly filled up, hm?" He tilts his head, as if to ask if it's alright with you, and you nod, heat pooling in your abdomen at the idea of walking around all day with Draco's release still inside of you, dripping into your panties, maybe even soaking through them.

A thought occurs to you. "But—they might see!"

Draco smirks at you lazily, raising an eyebrow.

"So?"

-----

Requests & asks are open! Here is the guide on requests, if you’d like to check that out first. Hope you enjoyed!

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco x reader #draco smut #draco fanfiction #draco imagine #harry potter #hp #golden era #draco malfoy x reader smut #draco malfoy imagine #theo nott #blaise zabini

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yandere-sins · 3 years

Text

One More

Genshin makes my imagination vibrate pleasantly. I just want to give Kaeya a reason to make me go “Oh?” cause he’s not even my one of my favs. But the sheer sex appeal coming from that man is dangerous.

Characters: Kaeya Alberich (Genshin Impact) x Reader Warnings: Yandere, Groping, Innuendos, Alcohol, Aphrodisiacs, Insults

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

“Hey there, Sweetheart. What’s bringing you to the tavern so late at night?”

You had barely entered Angel’s Share and sat down at the bar before hearing the ever-so chipper voice of the cavalry captain drawing closer. There was nothing strange about meeting Kaeya here after a long day of work, but you and Charles exchanged a glance, the bartender sighing deeply. “I’ve only served him two drinks so far,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but think that was already one too many.

But who were you to say no to the Kaeya?

Perhaps better than anyone, Kaeya knew about the little game you two were playing. The always so icy shoulder you gave him as he continued to pressure you with his flirts was only making him want you so much more. You couldn’t count the number of times he had stopped you in the headquarters, pinned you between him and the wall - in broad daylight nonetheless - asking how you’re doing and if you need help with anything. You. Were. Sick of it! If he wanted a child to play father for, he could ask Klee to hang out with him! You, on the other hand, were a remarkable knight, trusted enough with complicated orders that - luckily! - kept you out of the city for a prolonged time so you could avoid him.

It only was hard when you weren’t on duty. Or in the city. Or close to him.

That’s when he became frisky, rather needy too.

Kaeya brushed his face from the left side of your head to the right, taking a deep breath. If it wasn’t known that you two reached back all the way to your training days, anyone would have raised an eyebrow. But most of the other guards were able to brush off his weirdness for affectionate friendship. It was almost like only you could see behind the farce, and perhaps his estranged brother. Not like Diluc had been any help to you, though, aside from breaking Kaeya off you once or twice when he was around and noticing your discomfort.

Taking up the stool beside you, there was no prior question if the seat was taken. A rather empty keg arrived with Kaeya at the bar, and he briefly tapped the rim until Charles fished for another bottle of alcohol to fill it up with. One could say Kaeya and a drink were a good mix, but to you, they were a terrible combination. Drinking made him bold. Unrestrained even.

Even though he offered his keg to you, you merely looked away, sipping at your own glass, one you much rather preferred to the brew he drank his night away with. Grinning, he instead took a hearty sip, leaning against the counter leisurely as he watched the bards perform near the entrance, but you didn’t miss even a single glance he sent your way every few seconds.

It was very unfortunate that you liked Angel’s Share for its drinks best; otherwise, you’d have had a good reason to avoid the establishment. But at the same time, you couldn’t let Kaeya direct all of your life. It was no state that you shouldn’t do what you enjoyed just because he could be there, and yet, you considered it.

“So, how was your mission? I’ve been missing your skills at training.”

“It was fine,” you answered curtly, uninterested in the conversation he initiated. There weren’t many people you talked to when you came back to Mondstadt. Somehow… it had always been hard for you to make friends with the other knights. Part of you suspected Kaeya being a reason why no one seemed to want to hang around, forcing you to spend most of your training with him since no one was willing to spar with you. Then again, you never had any evidence to confirm your suspicion, just like with many other phenomena you experienced over the years.

More than once had there been instances where your orders had been withdrawn just when you came close to solving the problems, often with the excuses that you were still too inexperienced or needed somewhere else. It had been so hard to raise in the ranks while Kaeya seemed to make leaps forward without a worry, but at least, you managed to secure your place now--one far away from the cavalry captain.

Sighing, Kaeya turned around to face the counter again, plopping his arm around your shoulders. Uncomfortably, you rolled your joints, but he instead pulled you closer to him, the smell of alcohol drafting off his lips as he spoke. “No need to play coy. You know you can tell me the truth. Didn’t you miss being home? I’m sure cleaning up those camps must have been exhausting!”

Missed being with me? seemed to be the words he wanted to say, but he packaged them in a way he knew they’d actually affect you. Kaeya had always been clever enough to poke the places that hurt. Of course, you missed home. You’d miss it more if not for him, but you had your family here, your siblings and parents that you’d like to see more often. But there was no chance with how much Kaeya liked to interfere in it. As if he was already part of your family, inviting himself and always showing up unannounced to hang out.

“‘Twas okay,” you replied after a moment of thought.

“Well, I missed you,” he chuckled before taking another sip of his keg. “I missed you sooo much!”

That was enough for you, brushing his arm off roughly before turning on your stool to leave. You knew even finding another space to sit wouldn’t spare you from him, and if you ended up in a less crowded area, you didn’t want to imagine what he’d do. “Aw, come on,” you heard behind you as he gripped your arm, making you stop. “I get it, I get it, you’re tired. But you can’t be tired enough not to drink one more with your old pal, right?”

With his voice rising in volume, you two finally gained some attention, and you instantly felt a rush of embarrassment as you stared into quite a few pairs of perplex eyes. Kaeya might have been eccentric, but he was well-liked nonetheless. Causing a scene had never worked well for you, and since you were already deemed an outsider, you’d only catapult yourself more into the shadows if any rumors spread after you left.

Clicking your tongue, you tore yourself out of his grip before sitting back on your chair again, holding up your finger. “One more. Only one more.”

“Of course,” Kaeya grinned, getting his will once again. “Only one.”

»»————— ♡

Hot lips brushing against each other, you had no better way to describe your state of being other than burning. For someone so cool and with an icy skill, Kaeya was not even close to being cold and reserved when it came to touching you. With a smile displayed on his mouth whenever he wasn’t using it to tease you, you could barely remember how you two ended up making out in one of the backstreets of Mondstadt. His hands were seemingly everywhere, and at the same time, lingered at the spots that created an audible cue from you when he squeezed them.

“You’re so sensitive,” he noted as you hung in his arms, hands currently squeezing your ass from your thighs upwards. “That’s good, I like that.”

“Fucker,” you merely cursed back. “You only said one more drink! I feel like shit! What the hell was that?”

“On the contrary, you feel amazing,” he ignored your questions, pushing his leg between yours as he pressed you closer to the cold stone wall behind you. A welcome sensation, giving you back some of your senses as the chill helped to calm your heated body. “I fucking hate you, Kaeya,” you confessed drunkenly, but the time was as good as any to say it.

“Ouch,” he brushed it off with a chuckle. “Are you sure? Your body grinding against mine is giving me very different vibes, Darling.”

Next thing, he was back in your mouth, his tongue roaming and keeping yours busy as you slung your arms around him. “You’re so stupid and mean, always testing everyone. You’re probably the reason everyone is avoiding me too, and you don’t let off no matter how much I tell you to leave me alone!”

“Mhm,” he hummed as his lips wandered down your neck, making you stretch it out for him so he could reach better. “And now... I don’t even know! You drugged me?!”

A soft laugh escaped him before you felt a suck at your collarbone, followed by the wet sensation of a tongue tasting your skin. “Bingo, Baby. Lisa really wanted to know what would happen if someone drank this potion and you were all too eager to get it down your throat-”

“To get away from you!” you interrupted him.

“Whatever.”

Finally, Kaeya came up on eye level again, the two of you staring at each other for a moment in silence.

“Whatever?” you questioned, confused by his reaction.

“Yeah, whatever. I think kissing you made me swallow at least, hm... half of it too. Even if we wanted to, we wouldn’t be able to stop now, don’t you think?”

One of the most disgusting grins you had ever seen on the face of a person played around his lips as he pressed up to you, uniting you two in another kiss. Of course, you could stop it! You could, and you would right now. After all, you had allowed it to go on for far too long now! Pressing your hands into his shoulders, Kaeya let out a soft sigh against your lips, his uncovered eye closed as he enjoyed the affection. “One more,” he mumbled as he kissed you again and again, feverishly and impatiently. “I’ve been waiting forever to do this.”

With the excitement of a teenage boy, his hands roamed your body, pulling out the shirt from your trousers to lodge themselves beneath it. Skillful fingertips drew patterns over your skin, up your spine, and down your sides until you were gasping and shivering in his grasp. “Good,” he sighed against your lips, unbothered by you still trying to push him away, only ever flinching as he groped you. “Don’t you already know it? How much you drive me crazy? It’s only fair I drive you crazy too.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about--” you tried to contradict him. But Kaeya was quick to muffle your voice with another deep kiss. Intentionally or not, he met one of your sensitive spots as he explored you, causing a hitched moan to escape you, followed by a satisfied grunt from him. “I’ve been waiting for so long, I can’t have you take it from me now,” he breathed out huskily.

“I’ll scream!” you threatened him. “Let me go now, Kaeya!”

“Ah-ah,” he rebuked you, one of his hands being freed of groping-duty to cover your mouth. “No one’s going to take you away from me now either. Come one, be good, okay?”

Waiting for the right moment, Kaeya couldn’t endure your angry stare for very long before falling into soft laughter. “All right, all right,” he chuckled before leaning forward brushing his lips against his hand. “One more kiss, okay? I will leave you alone after that.”

Furrowing your brows even more, he interpreted you shaking your head as a ‘no’, letting out a long, “Aww…”

“Only one more, pretty please?”

You had to give it to him: persistency was something he didn’t lack. It felt like shooting into your own foot, but part of you just wanted it to be over. You two had kissed so much up till now; how much worse would one more be? And if he let you go afterwards, you could definitely endure it. Lifting up your hand to yank his from your mouth, Kaeya didn’t expect you to take the initiative, looking at you perplexed as you leaned forward to kiss him. No one ever taught you how to kiss, and without his directions, you weren’t actually sure on how any of it worked, but he didn’t seem to mind, humming a pleased tune before returning your awkward smooches.

When was a kiss one kiss? When the lips parted? After the first initial touch? Kaeya’s definition was two minutes of continuous connection between you two, only briefly drawing back for air but never without upholding the contact by biting and pulling on your lip or having your tongue following his out of your mouth into the cold night. He gripped your head tightly in his palms, not allowing you to get away. Only when he let go did you fall back hard against the wall as you two finally broke apart, and you hadn’t noticed how much he had held you up.

The rich flavor of alcohol on your tongue and his scent in your nose didn’t help with getting a clear mind, but nothing about you made sense anymore. Now that he had let you fall back and away from him, you felt even hotter than before, your body clearly bothered by the lack of stimulation. What part of ‘I wanted none of this’ did you not understand yourself? At least by the throbbing in your abdomen, you could tell that whatever kind of potion he had given to you definitely wasn’t a fun experience, but all the more potent.

“Hurts, huh?” he laughed across from you. “Oh, fuck off,” you mustered to say, but the pain was obvious by your expression. You were barely able to keep yourself up properly.

“I’d offer my help, but you made it clear you didn’t want it.” The situation must have been really funny to him, only agitating you more. If it at least hadn’t been Kaeya, you might have accepted help, but you knew you’d have to get yourself home now all by yourself in a state of constant heat with no way to resolve it.

“You caused all of this! You should at least take responsibility without taking advantage of the situation!”

Pushing yourself away from the wall, you decided it was time to step away. There was no use in talking with Kaeya, but the moment your support dwindled, you noticed how wobbly your legs felt, barely capable of holding you up. What had you trained all these years for if a mere potion could make you so incredibly weak? Before you could get back to the wall, one knee gave away, making you sink to the ground where you could barely catch yourself with your hands.

“It’s really working you hard, isn’t it?” you heard him speak down from above. Squatting to your level, you felt his hand slide through your hair before gripping and lifting your head to face him. “Tell you what: If you ask nicely, I’ll help you. Can’t promise you’ll wake up in your bed tomorrow morning, but a bed nonetheless, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Fuck you,” you hissed back, and he shook his head, disappointed.

“Try again.”

What choices did you have? Risk the little bit of reputation you still had by being found in the morning, disheveled and drunk from the night before? The knights absolutely hated anything that would ruin their pristine prestige, so much even you knew. You had worked so hard to get where you were, could you really risk all of it? “... please,” escaped you before you could think it through further.

“What was that?” he teased you, and you wondered why he could still be so clear even after drinking much more than you did and having had a taste of the potion from your lips. “Please help me get home.”

This time, he laughed out loud, obviously amused by how pitiful you had to behave to please him. “One more time. Say it one more time, and say it nice.”

Frustrated, you wished you could have punched him in the face, but you only bit your lip, taking a deep breath before complying. “Please, Kaeya. I need your help to get home. Please help me home!”

Embarrassment was all you could think about as he conditioned you to do as he wanted, but finally, after you did what Kaeya demanded, he petted your head, leaning forward to kiss your forehead before reaching under your arms to pull you up. “Look at you, all cute and begging me for help.”

Quickly being lifted from the ground, you found your new halt by gripping into his shoulders tightly and wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you in front of him. “You’re so adorable!” he chuckled as you clung to him much more in fear of him letting you fall than because you wanted it. He seemed to have similar thoughts, giving you a bit of a scare as he let go of you, having you hang from him by only your own strength, which you didn’t trust anymore. But just as quickly, your horrified expression made him laugh, and he gave your rear a teasing slap. Lucky for you, Kaeya didn’t make you fear any longer, embracing you back and allowing you to sink against him more as he started to make his way through the streets of Mondstadt. From an onlooker’s point of view, it might have seemed like you jumped him out of joy, but really, you clung on as if your life depended on it while Kaeya seemingly enjoyed the hug.

“Just get me home, you Asshole,” you grumbled, but your insults didn’t do any damage to his good mood. “Sure, I’ll get you home,” he replied chipper, but you already had bad thoughts as you heard that.

“At least, the place I call ‘home’,” he confirmed your suspicion, and inwardly, you already admitted defeat even as you punched your fist into his shoulder.

“You know how it is,” he brushed it off lightly, patting your backside while he climbed the stairs towards the headquarters with seemingly no effort.

“I can never refuse you or leave you be. I adore you way too much.”

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2goth2moth · 3 years

Note

Any sort of smut with a naga or feral mothman like creature please and thank you

Anon, you said "naga" and my lil scaly heart got so happy. I have no idea if this is even remotely in the realm of what you were looking for, but I just couldn't shake the idea of a human prince with a harem full of monsters. I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Prince's Favour (M!Naga x M!Reader, NSFW)

For reference: Enéas is a Brazilian rainbow boa. I was 100% going to have a blowjob scene in this but rainbow boas have backwards hooked teeth (think fishhooks) that are designed to not let things back out, and having that near your dick sounds like a very bad time.

Word count: 3514

Includes: Power dynamics (prince x concubine), non-human genitalia, rough sex, double penetration, a little bit of crying

Being the youngest prince in a kingdom with a still-living king could be overwhelmingly boring. Matters of state were passed to your parents and eldest sister, matters of security to your next oldest sibling, infrastructure and agriculture to the next oldest, twin brothers. Your bloodline was long and vital, which was very good for the kingdom’s longevity. It was not so good for keeping you occupied. Your role, as well as your youngest sister’s, ended up being almost completely performative, with official duties being limited to keeping up a royal education and looking pretty beside your family during public appearances. The whole arrangement left you with a lot of free time to eat and draw and lounge about.

And have sex.

It was normal for royalty to have lovers or harems, if they wanted to and their spouses were okay with it. You yourself had several lovers, all of whom you enjoyed and cared about deeply. One of whom was currently lounging invitingly on your bed as you did your best to capture his likeness in paint.

“Enéas, beloved, can you hold still for me?”

The naga groaned, the muscular coils of his body shifting slightly as he did. “I’ve been sitting for hours now. When you called me, I didn’t think it would be for this.”

“Ten minutes, then we can do something else. I swear.”

The look that he shot you was long-suffering, but he settled back into the purposefully relaxed position you had directed him into earlier after taking a sip from the goblet beside him.The whole thing was mostly an act. You had been summoning him to your chambers to sit for this painting on a regular basis for the past month, and no matter where the sessions ended (often with you wrapped firmly in his powerful body), you never put on any airs about what those first few hours would entail.

Golden sunlight shone through gauzy curtains and spilled onto Enéas’ skin, setting the scales ablaze. The round black marks that lay over red scales the colour of baked clay were already beautiful, but under the sun’s rays he was cast in a rainbow sheen, every scale shimmering like an oil slick. The creamy scales of his underbelly flowed from his face all the way down, flashing like pale moonlight between his darker coils. Naga rarely wore clothing, they had no real need to, but Enéas had certainly developed a taste for finery during his time in the palace. Fine, sheer cotton, dyed snowy white and rich yellow, draped around him like woven light, held in place by gold clasps. Cuffs set with precious stones circled on his wrists and biceps, and a beautiful metal collar engraved with intricate patterns lay flat against his throat.

“You’re staring, little prince.”

The rasping taunt broke you out of your stupor, and you realized that your eyes had been locked on him, paintbrush unmoving on your canvas. You finished the stroke you had started with a careful flick. Stepping back a little, you surveyed what you had done so far. The hours spent on the portrait had been worth it, and even though it wasn’t done, you could stand to be finished for the day.

“I was distracted,” you said. “You were distracting me.”

A cheeky grin split Enéas’s face. It was hard-edged and full of sharp, hooked teeth, stretching far past what it would have on a human face, but managed to be as lovely and charming as it was frightening. “I have no idea what you mean. I was only sitting here, just like you asked me to.”

“Sitting there in a very distracting way.” You wiped your hands on the sturdy apron you wore before untying it and discarding it messily to the side. “We’re done for today, you can relax now.”

“Finally.” He stretched his arms above his head and groaned loudly before flopping back and letting his eyes close. The movement sent his whole body rippling in the sunlight, and the sight made your mouth go dry.

You strode towards the bed, closing the distance quickly to sit beside Enéas on your plush bedspread. He didn’t even open his eyes when the mattress dipped under your weight. With a feather-light touch, you traced the features of his face with a thumb. The transition from red to white around what would be a hairline was first, the gradient of the small scales dipping low on his forehead and contouring under his eye sockets, the way it pulled back on his temples. The flat bridge of his nose, his sharp jaw, the mouth stretching almost the entire way along the hollows of his cheeks. He just barely leaned into every touch, doing a very good job of pretending like he didn’t care about you sitting next to him and touching him like he was something precious. Each one of his breaths fanned upwards, over your face, and it smelled like the sweet lime cordial he drank moments before.

Your thumb continued its path around his face until it caught on the center on his bottom lip. One of his eyes drifted open, pupil an inky slit on yellow-green sclera, and he parted his lips just enough for his long, forked tongue to flicker out. It wound around the digit, brushing against your knuckles and the sensitive skin between your fingers. Cold spit cooled even further on your skin as Enéas licked over your hand. In a single swift movement he dipped his head forward to take your thumb fully in his mouth. You froze. His lips tightened around it and he sucked, tongue still working you over. You could feel your cock start to fill and you pressed in and down, putting the slightest amount of pressure on the floor of Enéas’ mouth. A low, raspy moan rumbled through him, eyes fluttering closed and back arching prettily.

Putting more pressure on his mouth, you hooked your thumb behind the bone of his lower jaw and forced it down, exposing hooked teeth and making his tongue loll. “Get me ready, beloved, and be thorough.” You leaned down to press a sweet kiss to the edge of his scaly jaw. “I want both of them today.”

Enéas’s eyes snapped open. His pupils were blown wide in excitement and arousal, and he flickered his tongue out over your skin again before pulling you down next to him with firm hands. Those same hands didn’t hesitate to begin roaming over your body, making quick work of the fastenings keeping your tunic and trousers closed before pulling his own scant clothing off.

“It would be my pleasure, Your Highness,” he said. The sound was already breathless, and sounded so beautiful that it hurt.

He stripped you of your clothing with an impossible combination of speed and reverence, each touch against your skin burning with affection. Pushing you fully onto your back, he slithered around you, smooth scales dragging against your increasingly bare skin until you lay cradled in his strong coils. A heavy tail coaxed your legs apart as large hands began mapping a path down your body. They skimmed over your throat and chest, pausing to tease each of your nipples to full hardness, and drifted lower, caressing your waist and stomach, scratching soft patterns onto your hips and buttocks, before landing on your thighs. His cool, clever mouth soon followed. A sloppy, open-mouthed kiss landed above your pulse, then the base of your neck, trailing cold saliva over your shoulders and down your breastbone. You moaned quietly, unbidden, and your back arched up off the bed, eyes fluttering closed. Your world narrowed to sensation: the chill on your skin, the plush mattress underneath you, the smooth rasp of scales around you. Enéas’ hands lovingly massaging your thighs.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp when you felt his mouth close around one of your nipples. You could feel his smile against your skin as he suckled on the hardened nub. A little jolt went through you as those wicked teeth grazed over the delicate skin, your cock twitching where it now lay fully erect on your belly. One of his hands wandered up to play with the flushed head, dipping into the pre-cum pooling under it before raising his hand and licking his fingers clean.

Gripping his chin, you dragged his face up to meet yours. “I believe I told you to prepare me, Enéas.” The way you said his name managed to land somewhere between sweetly teasing and bitterly displeased. “We may be lovers, but I am still a prince. This may have been my mistake, though, maybe I wasn’t clear enough for you.” You pulled him up further, tucking your mouth beside his ear so that you could whisper directly to him. “Prepare me, my love, and do it nice and thorough. After you’re done, you will fuck me, with both cocks, until I can’t speak or until you fill me with your cum. Whichever comes later. Am I understood?”

Enéas smiled, pupils completely dilated, and dipped his head down to kiss you. It was salty and bitter from your pre-cum, with the barest hint of the lime cordial underneath. “As you wish, my prince.”

He sat back and lowered himself so that he was lying on his front between your legs. The coil of his body that had been pressing one of your legs open dug in harder, pulling your thigh even further out, and he threw your other leg over his shoulder to get better access between your cheeks. His big hands dug in and pulled them apart, exposing your tight hole to the air of the room. He breathed over it, pressing wet, biting kisses onto the supple flesh of your ass before slipping his tongue out and running it all the way from your hole to your balls. The long, slender fork in the muscle wrapped around you, almost delicately, spreading cold saliva over your balls and the base of your shaft. The chill was a brief shock against your skin that sent sparks zipping through you, making you drop your head back onto the mattress and forcing your breaths out in stuttering pants.

Enéas continued alternating between licking at your rim, just barely breaching the ring of muscle with the tips of his tongue, and suckling gently at your sac, each motion drawing desperate little noises out of you. It felt wonderful, but it was nowhere near enough. Somewhere in your mind you had a brief argument with yourself about whether it would be worth it to abandon all semblance of power and control that you had in order to grind your hips back on his face. On one hand, you were royalty, even splayed naked on your bed, and you liked to hold onto that for as long as you could. On the other, the feeling of his cool scales and wet, fluttering tongue was very rapidly driving that particular thing down your list of concerns.

All of that was wiped from your mind when you felt the blunt tip of one of Enéas’ fingers, slicked with oil from a vial he must have hidden somewhere on him when he started moving. It circled your hole slowly, deliberately, pressing just inside every so often, coaxing the muscle to loosen with practiced care. You wanted to squirm, to tense up under the teasing touches, but you forced yourself to breathe through it and relax as much as possible. This earned you a raspy noise of approval and a kiss to your sensitive inner thigh from your naga lover.

Seconds later, it also earned you one of his gloriously thick fingers carefully worked all the way inside you. Your back curved off the bed, a quiet moan spilling from your lips. He pumped it in and out a few times, just starting to open you up enough for him to continue. As soon as you relaxed, unconscious fists unclenching from the bedspread, a second finger, thick and wet with oil, joined the first. He twisted the two about inside you. Each motion dragged the subtle ridges of his scales along your inner walls, and when he crooked his knuckles deep inside you, you arched up with a breathless moan.

“Ohhhh, fuck.”

Enéas’ head emerged from between your legs, and he smirked at you as he began scissoring his fingers, stretching your rim, brushing up against the spot of blinding pleasure on every thrust. “Well, Your Royal Highness? Am I pleasing you now?”

“You would be pleasing me more if you got on with it,” you snarked at him. He grinned back at you, the tremor in your voice and the way that your whole body had begun quivering betrayed your pleasure too much for him to ever believe that you were honestly upset.

“As my prince wishes.”

He raised himself so that he was braced overtop of you, and he rubbed the head of his upper dick over your entrance. You hadn’t even noticed him teasing his cocks erect and out of the slit that usually kept them hidden, but it wouldn’t surprise you if that was what he had been doing with his other hand while prepping you. A sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth was the only warning you got before he pushed into you with near-maddening gentleness. His cocks were more slender than the average human’s, but they were longer, and were covered with nubby barbs of flexible cartilage that caught deliciously inside you whenever he pulled back. He started rocking his hips into yours, getting deeper and deeper with each stroke, dick not close to filling you up but the barbs stimulating you plenty all on their own. You moaned slightly each time he drew back, cock leaking even more pre-cum between your bodies. Waiting until he was fully seated inside you, body flush against your ass, he began gently massaging your hole, the muscle already stretched tight around him. He moved his fingers in sync with his shallow thrusts, slowly but surely opening your hole enough for him to slip his second cock inside.

You were moaning even more loudly now, shuddering noises of pleasure leaving your lips every time Enéas fucked into you or pressed in on your entrance. His finger disappeared from your skin briefly after a particularly rough thrust left you panting and teary-eyed. You whined at the loss, wriggling further back on his dick. Another rough drive of his hips sent your back arching painfully, mouth dropping open as his index finger slipped into you alongside his shaft.

“Nngg, ah-- fuck, so-oo good,” you mewled.

Enéas started fucking into you with even more ferocity, making your whole body move every single time his hips slammed into your ass. Your cock slapped up onto your stomach with an obscenely wet sound, and left wet smears of clear fluid on your skin each time it hit you. The sounds coming out of you were starting to sound desperate, morphing from regular moans of pleasure to pitiful little whimpers and gasps. You were so overwhelmed by the way that his cock reached so deep inside you and caught so gloriously coming back out that you didn’t even notice a second fingertip tease your rim. You didn’t notice it until the smoothly scaled digit thrust into you alongside his first one. The feeling of it, the stretch of your rim definitely painful now, ripped a shattered cry from you.

Your whole body was tensed up, chest heaving with panting breaths. “Oh shit. Enéas, I’m going to…”

The hand he had been using to hold himself above you darted downwards and locked in a tight ring around the base of your steadily leaking cock. The crescendo quickly building in the pit of your stomach was stopped in its tracks, and you wailed at the blocking of your orgasm. Enéas smirked wickedly at you before lowering his mouth to graze lightly over one of your nipples.

“Patience, little prince,” he chided, “Just hold on a little longer, and you can cum on both of my cocks.”

Each word he spoke was punctuated by him driving his barbed shaft into you and scissoring his fingers wider and wider. Somewhere in the haze of your almost-climax he had stuck a third finger into your hole, and all of them were now stretching you out as far as you could go. His big arms wrapped around your back and he aggressively hoisted you upwards, forcing you to wrap your legs around his body. He slipped his fingers out of you, and almost immediately his lower cock replaced it. The shaft was thicker, the head a little more bulbous, and it filled you up so wonderfully next to his other one. Once he was fully seated, he went still to let you get used to the intense stretch inside of you. You tried to wriggle about in his arm to get him even deeper inside of you, but he used both arms to grip you tight to his body, keeping you still. That mouth of his kept lovingly licking over your chest, going slack to let saliva leak out over his lips and onto your skin.

With a firm grip on your hips and an almost painful amount of care, Enéas lifted you up until only the heads of his dicks remained inside of you. Realizing what he was about to do, you stopped writhing in his grasp, relaxing as much as the position allowed. He hissed a thanks into the thin skin above your breastbone. A slight shift of his weight so that all of his coils lay firmly beneath him, and he lowered you almost all the way down onto him. He pressed sweet kisses to the base of your sternum, then each of your nipples, then to the side of your throat. Settling his face into the warm crook of your neck, he began to raise and lower your along his shafts, using your body to fuck himself to completion.

This new position made his cocks reach impossibly deeper inside of you, spines rubbing against that sweet spot with each stroke. You dropped your head forward against Enéas’ shoulder, moaning loudly. With his previous fierce grip on your tortured cock gone, you felt your orgasm begin to build again. Clear pre-cum dripped out of your slick head and smeared between your bodies. He kept bouncing you on him, breath coming out ragged against your neck as he chased after his own climax.

“Holy shit-- that’s so good…”

Your mouth hung open as heat bubbled up in your gut. You tried to warn Enéas again, but all that came out was a strangled gasp of his name before you were cumming between your bodies with a cry. His sharp mouth curved into a grin pressed into the skin of your shoulder as you went boneless in his arms. He kept driving your body down onto himself mercilessly, paying no mind to your limp form. Your eyes filled with tears and drool leaked from your slackened jaw as you were driven to complete overstimulation from him using your body.

“Mmmmhh-hngg....AH!” You moaned desperately, squirming in his arms, trying to get away from the feeling of his cocks inside you that was quickly starting to get painful. Your hole was fluttering erratically around him, and the grip that Enéas had on your hips stuttered, betraying how close he was.

“My prince, I’m…” he managed to grunt out before he pulled you all the way onto his cocks and came inside of you, clutching your body close to his.

His twin dicks twitched against your sensitive walls as thick white cum spilled inside of you. You wailed at the sensation, your own spent cock trying fruitlessly to twitch erect again. Enéas held you against him for several minutes, catching his breath, before he carefully lifted you off of him and laid you down on the now-soiled sheets. The spines on his shafts caught on your puffy rim as he pulled out, making you wince. Your belly was still sticky from your own orgasm, and gobs of Enéas’s cum leaked from your hole, making you feel even filthier. You were completely and utterly fucked-out and content as you lay there in a warm stupor. Cold lips kissed away tears that you hadn’t noticed had fallen, and a hand rubbed comforting circles into the back of your neck. He shifted his body to wrap around you in heavy coils that felt safe and warm, despite his cold blood. You stayed there, cradled against his familiar body, being covered in soft kisses and soothing caresses, until the shaky aftershocks of both of your climaxes dissipated. Once they had, you curled onto your side so that you could nuzzle your face into his scaly neck,

“So?” Enéas whispered into your ear, peppering the side of your face with affectionate pecks. “Did I please you, my prince?”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nibbling on his jaw slightly. “You absolutely did, beloved.”

#monster fucker #monster lover #exophilia #terato #monster x human #naga #tw crying #smut #nsft #minors do not interact #terfs dont fucking touch #seriously if i see a fucking terf i'll fight you #bigots dni

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fandom-puff · 4 years

Text

Mating

Pairing: Remus Lupin X Reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve done a good enough job of covering up your attraction to your new colleague... that is until the moon cycle heightens his senses...

AN: I’m getting there with these requests! I’ve been going through them at my own pace- sorry if I’ve rejected your request though- id rather not write it if I don’t have the inspiration to do so 💖💖💖

Also I went to TOWN on this one, so feedback is greatly appreciated !!

Gif creds to owner as usual x

Warnings: rough, possessive sex, swearing, breeding kink , werewolf tricks (scents, mating, knotting)

Drawing your robe tighter around yourself, silently cursing Severus for putting people in detention. You had agreed to take over his patrols for the night, when in reality, you wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Sighing, you held your lit wand out in front of you, walking up the corridor, occasionally nodding at a passing ghost, telling Peeves to bugger off, greeting snoozing portraits...

The silence of the dark corridors allowed you to mull over your thoughts, figure out some lesson plans, what you would get people for christmas the next time you visited Hogsmeade, but as usual, your train of thought wandered, soon landing on a particular Professor. Smiling dumbly to yourself, you pictures him in your mind, from his grey-flecked hair to his shabby, patched robes; his kind, tired eyes to his light stubble and moustache; his trim chest to his long, elegant fingers...

Shuddering slightly, you tugged your lip between your teeth. What that man could do with his fingers, you mused, remembering at dinner earlier that evening, watching as he wrapped his hands around his goblet- you came to the conclusion that those fingers would look much better wrapped around your throat...

You were so lost in your thoughts that you bumped headlong into the object of your desires. How did you know it was him? Was it his gentle hands grasping your arms to stop you falling backwards? Was it the gentle words he uttered asking if you were okay? No. It was his scent, of all things, which lingered on his comfy knitted jumper- tea and books and... the forbidden forest... you couldn’t help but inhale a few gulps before mumbling your apology, making to move past him. Those hands grabbed your arm again, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“Why not walk with me, YN? Your patrol won’t be as lonely,” he said kindly, smiling down at you. You could see a slight glint of his white teeth in the wandlight as you nodded. Together and in relative silence, you strolled the corridors, occasionally murmuring to one another- yes the weather had been a bit rubbish lately, that book is excellent, no I didn’t know it’s the full moon in three days...

You knew about remus’s condition, as everyone on the staff did. Why was he bringing it up? Did he think you were scared? Did he think you would run away once it clicked? You didn’t care that he was a werewolf, of course you didn’t. If anything, it often made you wonder what he was like in bed before the Full moon. He seemed tired all the time, but you had read about mating- would mild-mannered Remus Lupin evolve into a primal beast? Would he dig his nails into your skin as he got carried away? Would he fuck you from behind like an animal? Did he have a deep-rooted urge to fill you with his seed and watch you swell with his pups...?

“YN? You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Remus’s voice shook you from your depraved thoughts.

“Hmm?” You asked, letting out a shaky breath. Your knees were wobbly and you could feel heat and wetness pooling in your knickers. You would most certainly be fucking yourself tonight thinking of him.

“I said we’re at my rooms. You’re very welcome to come in for a cup of tea if you like? Might have something stronger in a cupboard somewhere for a nightcap,” he said, smirking slightly. Were your eyes deceiving you or did he just lick his lips?

“I... Er... yes please?” You said, nibbling your lip. Your midnight masturbation would have to wait tonight it seemed. You took a seat on one of Lupin’s armchairs as he pottered about the kitchenette, fixing tea for you both. He soon carried it over and sat opposite you as you sipped at your drinks, once again silent. Remus inhaled deeply through his nose and leg out a soft sigh, before fixing you with a stare, his eyes flashing amber- or was that just the firelight playing tricks?

“God, I wish I was a legilimens,” he hummed. You frowned, cocking up your eye brow and setting your teacup down.

“Why’s that?” You asked, leaning forward, your lips slightly parted.

“Because I’d be able to figure out what’s got you so aroused,” he murmured. You gulped, biting your lip hard as you stared at one another before your lips were smashed together in a messy, desperate kiss. Your teeth clashed and you were both grabbing handfuls of the other’s hair as Remus pulled you into his lap, moaning lowly. “I guess that answers that question,” he grunted as you tipped your head back and sighed.

“H-how did you know?” You gasped as his teeth scraped right over your pulse point.

“Your eyes glaze over when you daydream,” he grinned, nibbling your earlobe. “And do you want to know a lesser-known fact about werewolves?” You nodded eagerly, your nails scraping over his scalp. “Around and on the full moon, our senses peak. Touch, hearing, sight, taste... smell... I could smell your arousal before we were even on the same corridor, YN... now tell me... was that all for me?”

You shuddered as his growl vibrates through your throat. “Yes!” You whimpered, trying to grind on him, but there were too many layers between you both and you whined out dejectedly. “A-all for you, Remus, f-for ages now!” Remus grunted and licked at the blood vessel at the side of your neck, you pulse throbbing against his tongue.

“I know, darling. Moony knows...” you sighed softly, eyes rolling back as you felt gentle hands on your waist, stilling your movements. “If we carry on, YN... Moony will take over. He will claim you as his mate, eternally. If that is what you want, I am more than happy to oblige, but if you are even a shred unsure, please leave my chambers. We can discuss this after the moon when it is safe-”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips, pulling away and resting your forehead against his. “I want this. I’ve wanted this for ages... please, remus, I’m yours. I’ve felt... drawn to you since we met. It makes sense,”

He smiled weakly. “You understand what you are getting yourself into, this close to the moon? Our first coupling together will not be tender. Passionate, most certainly, but by no means gentle,” you could feel his hands trembling from the effort of keeping control.

“I’m yours, remus,” you whispered, bringing one of his hands down to cup your soaked, clothed heat, biting your lip hard. “I want this. Please, remus, mate with me,”

It was as if something snapped inside him. Without the aid of your hand, he pressed his hand into your heat, feeling how slick you were even through your knickers, attacking your neck with feverish kisses as you rutted against his hand, the heel of his palm mashing into your clit in the most deliciously searing way. Reluctantly, remus pulled his hand away, kissing away your whimpers of protest as he carried you to his bedroom, flinging you down on the bed and hovering over you, his thumb and forefinger tracing the hem of your shirt. “Take it off, remus,” you begged, and he was all too happy to oblige, soon stripping you to your underwear. Gulping, he looked you in the eye as he trailed one finger up your navel, grinning as you shivered and arched your back. “Need to feel you, Remus, please!” You pleaded. Normally, remus would be unwilling to undress fully, ashamed of his scars, but this close to the Moon, he had only one thing on his mind. Almost comically quickly, he tugged his jumper, shirt and trousers off, kicking them aside, practically pouncing on you to kiss you again. You pouted at not being quite able to see his erection straining at his boxers, but were quickly consoled when you felt it pressing hard against your thighs.

“Remus!” You moaned, trailing your hands up his strong back, your fingertips dancing over the silvery ridges of his scars, clutching onto him as though your life depended on it. You could feel the heat radiating off him, hear his pulse quickening just like your own, hear him panting above you. You were so close to him, yet so far, your underwear providing an unbearably wide wall between you both as you longed to feel him against your most sensitive parts. As if reading your mind, remus briefly pulled away and with a flick of his wand, you were both completely bare. Mouth ajar, you eyed up his cock, feeling your cunt clench around nothing at just the thought of accommodating his throbbing length and girth. Sensing your worry, remus nuzzled his face into your neck and kissed your pulse point gently. “I won’t hurt you, darling,” he whispered. “Nor will Moony,” nodding, you spread your legs. Remus groaned as he inhaled, already getting drunk off the scent of your soaked nether region. “Another time, my dear, I am going to drink from your cunt until you can’t come any more,”

You shivered and nodded, biting your lip. “That had best be a promise,” you moaned out, pushing his hair out of his face, breathy gasps and moans escaping you as you felt the bulbous head of his cock tapping against your throbbing clit. “Please, remus,” you begged, your legs moving instinctively to wrap around him.

Your begging was all he needed. He pushed his thick cock into you, stretching you out, grasping your hips to stop your wiggling as he revelled in the soaking heat of your clenching channel, soon moving his hands to grasp your thighs and hold them further apart. “I am going to mate with you, yn,” he growled. “I am going to claim you as mine, and I will be yours. I will fill you with my seed until your swollen with my pups. And when I come, you will feel my cock swell inside you to make sure my seed takes root,”

The filth spewing from his lips had your head reeling, and you bucked your hips up eagerly, begging him to do all of those things as he began fucking you relentlessly, the sounds of skin slapping and the wet noises of your coupling filling the small room as you gripped onto eachother. Remus’s lips found yours and you moaned loudly into his mouth as his tongue collided with yours before he sucked on it gently, sending jolts of pleasure sizzling through your every nerve. You had never felt more alive, more full, more worshiped than you did in that moment, your nails dug into remus’s arms as his thrusting became sloppy as he neared his end. “P-please don’t stop, Remus! Don’t pull out, please! Need to feel you fill me up properly!” You cried, your head resting on his shoulder. Remus grunted and nodded, his hips snapping hard against yours as he neared his peak.

“Bite my neck, YN, love!” He grunted. “Mark me as your mate while I do the same to- Ah! Fuck! Good girl!” You sunk your teeth into his pulse point, sucking harshly. Instinctively, you knew just where to bite, and you gently licked over the wound, moaning lowly as you felt the base of his cock begin to swell as he stilled inside you, the first spurt of cum painting your walls as his groaned out lowly. He basked in his orgasm for a brief moment, before leaning down to suck and bite your neck the same way you had.

You screamed.

The bite to your neck caused a white-hot surge of pleasure to rip through you as you felt your trembling body come undone, your stretched walls clenching tight around Remus’s swollen cock, milking every last drop out of him as you panted, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overwhelming pleasure and the rush of hormones your mating had caused.

Cooing gently, remus lowered you carefully onto your side, facing him, his cock still swollen inside you for the time being. The slight movement had you whimpering and Reaching up to kiss him messily. “I love you,” you moaned, hiding your face in his neck as your body relaxed.

Remus smiled gently and kissed your head and face over and over, pushing your hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry it was so intense, darling. It’s not always like that, I promise,” he whispered.

“N-no... I loved that. The connection, both emotional and... physical,” you reached up and stroked the tender bite at your throat, shuddering as it twinged. “I am yours,” you murmured, reaching to kiss him gently.

“And I am yours,” he responded, stroking your hair. “My beautiful, beautiful mate, I love you,”

Soon, his cock softened enough to slip out of you, and you groaned softly, already very achey from your coupling. Remus smiled apologetically and spelled away the remnants of your pleasure, tugging the covers up around you. Instinctively, you massaged your lower belly, although you knew it was unlikely that he had knocked you up so soon, especially as you were on wizarding contraceptives. You frowned slightly, a sad twinge rattling your innermost instincts. Remus laughed gently.

“Soon, sweetheart. Soon you will swell with my pups. Just not quite yet,” he said gently, knowing that your mating would have unlocked something deep rooted in your instincts, something rather maternal. You pouted a little but nodded, curling into his side. He was right. There would be plenty of time for breeding later. Before then, you and your mate had some catching up to do before the full moon...

Tags: @a-hopeless-fan @lotsoffandomrecs @justanotherwildstar @rai-strangebr @zodiyack @haphazardhufflepuff @dumbfuckinslytherin @severuslovebot @darkthought15 @rabeccablake @sambucky8 @eleven-times-lively @talksoprettyjjx @extra-trash77 @rangerelik @dracosbbygorl

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mrs-gucci · 3 years

Text

Subliminal Pleasures {anesthesiologist!Kylo Ren x Reader}

author’s notes: hellooo! thanks to my good friend @safarigirlsp, I finally wrote my first darkfic. thanks for ruining me a little bit, Shannon! ;) I’ll warn you now, this is honestly the darkest thing I’ve ever written before, and at first I was a little nervous, but I’m surprisingly pleased with how it turned out. and hey, it’s called fanFICTION for a reason, right?

**THIS IS A DARKFIC THAT CONTAINS DARK THEMES/CONTENT!! please read the warnings and tw’s before proceeding!!**

warnings: smut. non-existent medical practice ethics. kylo’s a bad doctor, but damn, he looks good doing it. mentions of a medical procedure. some fingering. light dirty talk. masturbation. praise.

tw’s: noncon (but it’s not unpleasant, if that makes sense?). somnophilia.

word count: a touch over 2k

When you came into the hospital today for your dental surgery, no makeup and clad in baggy sweats, you weren’t prepared to meet anyone even remotely interesting or attractive, much less the anesthesiologist.

And, when he walked into the room, your heart immediately skipped a beat, maybe even two.

He was one of the most handsome men you’d ever seen before. Handsome seemed like an insult and injustice to his beauty when it came to the broad, raven-haired god. He wore a very stern expression as he sat over in the corner of the room in a stool much too small for his great size, gathering his tools.

“Hmm,” His eyes scan the file. “Miss Y/N?”

You nod over at him.

“That’s me.”

He turns back to preparing himself for surgery. “I’m Dr. Ren, the anesthesiologist.”

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Ren.”

A silence stretched between the two of you, the only sounds coming from his movements or your adjusting positions on the paper-covered seat. Then, he speaks again, voice even deeper and somewhat huskier than before. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“Have you ever previously been put under for a medical procedure, or otherwise?”

“I have.” You reply. “Although I didn’t think that I’d need it for this type of procedure?”

He turns around in the stool, a small smirk on his expression.

“Would you like to be awake when your teeth are hammered into pieces and pulled from your mouth?”

Normally, you would’ve laughed at this joking question, but his delivery and sinister demeanor chilled you to the bone. “N-No, not really.”

“Then you’ll be put under.” He simply states, pulling on a pair of latex gloves before handing you a fabric gown. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Strip and put this on. The snaps should be on your left shoulder, otherwise you’ve put it on incorrectly.”

Looking into his eyes takes your breath away, out of captivation or a bit of fear, you were unsure. He holds onto the gown a bit too long before releasing his grip, eyes lingering over your face before walking out of the room with commanding footsteps.

Despite his chilling intensity and seemingly emotionless demeanor, you still found yourself incredibly attracted to him. There was something...magnetic about him, like the mysterious aura surrounding him draws you in. The warm tingle between your thighs was undeniable as you stood and removed your clothes, tucking them in your bag off to the side before slipping the gown on over your mostly nude body.

Dr. Ren comes back in as soon as you lay back on the chair once again, his timing impeccable. He puts on a surgical mask and rolls the equipment over on a small cart, parking it next to your head.

“We’ll put you under now.”

“W-What?” Your eyes widen. “But the doctor hasn’t even come in yet.”

He glares down at you.

“Must I remind you who the medical professional in the room is?”

“No, sir.” You shake your head, lips pursing as your eyes dart away.

The mask is placed over your nose and mouth.

“Breathe in and out deeply, count to ten.”

Your eyelids grow heavy almost immediately as you begin taking deep breaths, letting the invisible medication into your lungs.

“One...two...three...four...five...s-six...sev-seven...eigh...t...”

Kylo grins when you’re finally under, body limp as you sleep peacefully under his influence. He loved his job, loved having complete control over someone’s consciousness, loved having the power between life and death.

His cock hardens in his pants as he reclines the chair so that you’re now laying flat. You don’t move a muscle, and he quickly removes his latex gloves along with his mask, tossing them into the bin.

He’s never had a patient like you before, so beautiful, so docile and obedient, so...seemingly innocent. He wants nothing more and would take great pleasure in absolutely ruining you, turning you into his pretty little slut.

The doctor wasn’t even here yet, as you were his first surgery patient today, but Kylo knew without doubt that he needed time alone with you. He needed to have his way with you.

With one last flicker to the locked door, he brings his hand down beneath his trousers and wraps it around his hardened cock, groaning under his breath with the first pump. Your vitals are stable as his other hand begins popping the snaps of your medical gown.

He pulls it open and lets it hang down over the side of the table, exposing your body to him. All you’re wearing is your undergarments, and yet, Kylo’s length pulses in his hand at the sight. You’re truly a sight to behold, even with your intimate areas covered.

You squirm just a bit when the doctor’s large hand grazes over your ankle, but he knows he won’t wake you, not completely anyways. His hand trails up over your calf, then over your thigh, climbing until he reaches the underwire of your flimsy bra.

There’s not enough time to remove it, to expose your pebbled nipples to his hungry gaze, but he spreads his large hand over the mound, squeezing it gently. In your unconscious state, your back arches slightly and a soft sigh escapes your lips under his touch.

His hand pumps his cock faster as he bends down and presses a few kisses to the fabric over your nipple, walking around to give your other breast a similar treatment. Then, he walks to the foot of the table and mounts it, kneeling between your legs.

Both his hands spread out on your inner thighs, gently spreading them apart before tracing his thick, calloused digits across the crotch of your panties. You squirm again, hips subconsciously rocking up to meet his touch.

“That’s a good girl.” He purrs, rubbing small, lazy circles on your clit over the fabric. “Even like this, you still want it. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Kylo dips his fingers beneath your panties, cock twitching under his pants as his fingers swipe through the considerable amount of slick there. He finds your clit, rubbing it gently, enough to stimulate but not disturb you.

“Look at this...you’re absolutely soaked for me, little dove, and you don’t even know it.”

His hands grip your hips and lift them up as he slides your panties down, revealing the glistening treasure that lay below. He lines a single finger up with your entrance, then pushes it in, growling softly when your cunt clenches.

You stir just a bit, but not nearly enough for him to worry. He lifts his digit up inside you, enjoying the way your hips suddenly jerk as he rubs over the spongy surface of that special spot. Then, he pushes another one of his fingers inside of you, hearing a soft whine from beneath the mask.

He begins fingering you gently, just enough to prepare you, making sure not to force you back into consciousness. Soon, it became too much for him, and he pulled his digits out gently, observing the slick that coats the two fingers. He brings them up and takes a quick whiff, cupping his clothed erection and squeezing as his tongue pokes out to lick some of the substance off, hips bucking forward at the semi-sweet taste.

“Oh, little one, you’ve got such a tight little pussy. And you taste so good, just as I knew you would.”

The young doctor wipes the rest off on the paper below, then makes quick work of his pants and underwear, pulling them down just enough to expose his aching length. It bobs in response, desperate for attention as another bead of precum forms over the slit. His finger spreads the semi-transparent substance over the fat mushroom head, groaning breathily.

After giving his thick length a few strokes, he brings it down to rub through your slick. They buck forward out of instinct when he slides over your puckered entrance, wanting so badly to be buried inside of you.

His body leans over you, one hand next to your head as the other lines himself up, aiding in direction as he presses his hips forward, burying himself inside your wet welcoming walls. His eyes flutter shut as he bottoms out, but quickly snap open when you moan.

Luckily, you hadn’t woken up with his intrusion, and he takes a long sigh of relief before drawing back and pressing forward again slowly. The table trembles on its legs, bolts creaking as he fucks you steadily but gently, extra cautious of your vital signs and level of alertness.

Part of him wishes that you were awake, that you could see what he was doing to you and enjoy him, but the feeling of knowing that even unconsciously, you were still wet and tight for him was one too good to resist. It was all so arousing; an ego feeding greater than his regular days work could ever offer.

Your face scrunches in pleasure with more rolls of his hips, moaning and whimpering each time he buries himself inside you. They’re all so gentle, your noises, and Kylo finds himself lost in each quiet breath.

“Good girl--fuck--oh, good girl.” He says quietly, using every bit of his willpower to keep from pounding into you. “Such a good little cunt, taking my cock so well.”

You tighten around him, then, and he growls, fists clenching next to your head. His teeth grind together as he picks up the pace ever so slightly, feeling his climax approaching quickly.

“T-That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

His head hangs, eyes squeezing shut. He’s close, now, and his own noises get a little bit louder and a lot more frequent as his balls begin to pull and tighten.

“Gonna cum, little dove, you’re g-gonna make me cum so hard with this tight pussy.”

Unbenounced to him, you wake up slightly, eyes opening just a crack. You see him on top of you, body flexing with each thrust, and you feel the obvious intrusion in your lower half. You’re surprisingly not bothered by it, nor do you feel uncomfortable with it. Before you can think on it further, you slip back into the blackness.

He can’t cum inside you, he knows that, so just as he teeters on orgasm, he pulls out as gently as he can and drags his pulsing cock against your lower stomach as thick white ropes paint your soft skin.

“O-Oh y-yes...so good, d-dove.”

Kylo takes himself through orgasm and right into oversensitivity, pulling away and sitting up when this happens. His length softens, the extra skin re-covering his head as it does so. He tucks himself back into his pants, prepares a wet cloth and wipes the cum from your abdomen before pulling your panties back up over your used cunt.

His fingers quickly re-button your gown and he runs a quick hand through his hair before the doctor comes in, completely oblivious as to what’s just happened. Kylo greets him nonchalantly and takes his place off to the side as the doctor begins the surgery.

Your eyes flutter open lazily, grogginess hitting as you awaken a couple of hours later. Immediately, you feel the pain in your mouth, but more noticeably, you feel a certain ache in your lower half. You have no recollection of what you saw, as this memory is now trapped in your subconscious, but somehow you just sort of knew what’d happened.

You’re disgusted at yourself that you don’t mind the idea, that you don’t feel violated or like you’d been assaulted. You should feel those things, he did those things without your express permission, but...you don’t.

In fact, you feel as if your feelings for the mysterious doctor have grown even stronger. The gaping hole he’d left, the orgasm he’d robbed you of, just ached to be fulfilled. It was an itch you couldn’t scratch, sensations you couldn’t recreate on your own.

Only he could satisfy this desire, this need.

And, as you sit up slowly and the doctor debriefs you, you know that you must fulfill this new destiny: Find Dr. Ren and make him yours once again.

#adamdriverwriter #adam driver #adam driver character #adam driver smut #kylo ren darkfic #kylo ren #darkfic #tw: noncon #tw: somnophilia #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren x reader smut #anesthesiologist!Kylo Ren #dr. kylo ren au #dr. ren

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 39, NSFW Nessian)

Notes: Well, over a year you've had to wait for these two to seal the deal... BUT NO LONGER. And because I'm thankful to you all for sticking with this story, I've granted you with over 16k of sinful naughtiness. I think it's safe to say this is NSFW but you guys have read my smut before, you know the drill.

Embers & Light has always very much been the alternative story to Habits, but I couldn’t help but write in some crossover moments here to highlight the differences in events--timeline is a fascinating thing! Lemme know if you spot the moments :)

Please let me know what you think :) Comment and kudos will make my day!

I won't be able to write much of August (wedding & mini-moon) but I'll be doing my best to get you guys something as soon as possible. Hopefully by the end of the month, anyways <3

Oh! And I got a bookstagram. Find me at bookships.and.fandoms (and bear with me, I cba to take pretty pics atm)

Chapter 39 Cassian POV

Cassian stared at the doorway and the staircase beyond it, his gaze fixed and unwavering. Nesta had slipped out of the living room to follow Feyre up the stairs over ten minutes ago and he was already consumed with the biting sort of worry that gnawed at your insides.

He wasn’t concerned about what Nesta might be discussing with Feyre—that was her business—but because he couldn’t help but fret when it came to Nesta’s wellbeing.

It was a myriad of concerns that trampled through his mind like a herd of cattle. Had she slept enough? Had she recovered from being caught in the crowds the day before? Was her conversation with Feyre going to have her take three steps back rather than one forward? Cassian had spied the book of fairytales she’d slipped into her bag. Had guessed what she’d intended to do with it.

And then there was the fact that Nesta had left the bed before he’d woken again. Cassian couldn’t help but feel disappointed that she’d not been there when he’d opened his eyes, especially after the night before.

But that was how it was with he and Nesta. When the sun dipped below the horizon, Cassian often felt as if they were on the right path; as if once the world shut its eyes, the pressure was off and their play could continue. But as soon as light bled back into the sky, things weren’t the same. They weren’t cold… but Cassian felt suspended in a limbo of flirtatious banter and respectful distance. Which was hard, when all Cassian wanted to do was be as close to her as possible: to hold her hand and wind a hand through her hair. To kiss her brow and mouth and sink his teeth into her neck—

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He wanted to do wicked things. He wanted to make her moan and shatter. Wanted to know how she felt wrapped around him. Wanted to see if she’d gasp awake as he pushed inside of her.

Their trip home was going to be a turning point. Or at the very least it would be a milestone—a hammered notch as they progressed towards something. Yet, Cassian wasn’t naive: he wasn’t expecting Nesta to fall into his arms and never leave. But he hoped that it might make Nesta see their connection—not the tie between them, but the chemistry that Cassian knew would forever exist even if the mating bond was severed.

From the very first moment his gaze had settled on the haughty, vicious sister Cassian had known. Had nearly been brought to his knees—the heart-stopping moment so powerful, it suspended time as he felt something turn inside of him, as if something that had lain dormant had finally snapped open an eye.

And because of that Cassian would willingly allow Nesta to forge the reigns when it came to whatever it was between them. He could go slow. He would take the chance that Nesta might grow to accept him, even as he was seized by the terror that she might grow bored and draw a line under things before he had the chance to prove that he was worthy.

Cassian took a deep, steadying breath that made his ribcage heave. Thought of the lullaby that sat in his room at the House. Used that to ground himself and banish the painful thoughts.

Nesta had cared enough to gift him a piece of his past that nobody else had ever gone to the effort to find for him. And that was… everything. It was everything to him.

“I can hear the worry grinding gears in your brain.”

Rhys was standing where Mor had been a few moments earlier, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, his eyebrows raised. Cassian hadn’t noticed Mor slip away. Couldn’t even recall what she'd been saying to him. Had he ignored her? He didn’t know. Didn’t really care. They all knew he was head over heels when it came to Nesta anyway.

Cassian blinked. It took him a moment to process Rhys’s words, but his body finally caught up. An instinctive grin tugged at the corners of his mouth and he commanded his eyes to sparkle, even though it was all fake. “I was under the impression you didn’t think I had one.”

Rhys didn’t chuckle or retort with something dry. Sometimes his brother allowed him to indulge in his self-deprecating behaviour, but it didn’t seem like today was one of those days. Instead, he cut to the chase. “They’re fine.”

Cassian bristled. Didn’t bother to pretend his mind wasn't solely on what was happening upstairs. “Feyre’s speaking with you now?”

Nesta would hate that. Would know if her sister was communicating to her mate whilst they were talking.

His brother’s laugh was as smooth as velvet. “No, she locked me out. It’s a habit she’s started recently and it’s usually coupled with the mental finger.”

This time, Cassian’s smile was genuine, as was the chuckle that chased it. “Feisty.”

“You have no idea,” Rhys responded with a wink.

Mor, who had breezed back to Cassian’s side with a new cup of coffee, rolled her eyes. “We do actually, you two are like rabbits.”

“We’re mated,” Rhys replied with a wave of his hand. “It’s to be expected.”

Mor lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “Cauldron, I need to bed someone rather than hearing about my cousin’s exploits with my best friend.”

“Head to Rita’s and find yourself a pretty fae,” Cassian drawled, tugging Mor into a one armed hug.

“Mmm,” Mor hummed, but she chewed on her lip again. Glanced nervously at Azriel, who was in deep conversation with Elain. His shadows were tucked in neatly to his frame rather than trailing, ever-moving and loose around his body, but Cassian knew he could hear them.

Cassian dropped a friendly kiss to Mor’s head before he let her go. Tussled her hair, grinning mischievously when she squawked in disapproval.

As if sensing that his cousin wanted a change of subject, Rhys looked square at Cassian. “Azriel will come over later to update you on the latest movements.”

Cassian sobered as if someone had poured icy water down his back. “Not later,” Cassian corrected firmly.

Tomorrow. No the day after that. Cassian couldn’t guarantee that he’d be able to stop once he’d had his first proper taste of Nesta.

But of course they couldn’t do that—wouldn’t. The situation in Illyria was too dire for them to be so selfish as to lock themselves away for days.

It didn’t mean Cassian didn’t want to, though.

“You’ve got plans?” Rhys asked lightly and Mor froze.

You’ve got no idea, Cassian thought. But then realised his brother knew. Of course he did. Surely everyone in this room knew how desperate he was to get back to Illyria. To have Nesta in his bed again, writhing and moaning, their bodies slick with sweat as they moved in unison.

Clenching his jaw, Cassian grounded that desire between his teeth, until it was nothing but broken, delicious shards that scraped down his throat. His blood coiled. “Yes. Maybe.”

If she doesn’t change her mind.

“It has to be tomorrow, Cass.”

Biting back a sigh, Cassian nodded. “I know. Come at noon. I suppose I’ll be camped out in Illyria for the foreseeable future.” He cast a stern look at Mor. “Send me letters.”

“You have a housemate,” Rhys reminded him. “You’re not going to be entirely alone.”

Mor grinned slyly. “A very beautiful housemate.”

Cassian was more than aware of that.

He grunted and unable to stop himself, he voiced the fear that always niggled away at the back of his mind. “For now.”

But Rhys just loosed another manicured shrug, that was at odds with the ground-breaking revelation that followed it. “For a long while. Nesta has expressed her desire to remain in Illyria long-term despite the discontent. Assuming you don’t mind sharing your bungalow.”

It felt as if an iron band of hope was clamped around Cassian’s chest. He stared at his brother. Tried not to blink. Crossed his arms firmly over his chest, protecting his heart. “And you know this how?”

“Nesta spoke with me. We have arrived at a truce, of sorts.”

That must have been what they’d spoken about yesterday on the balcony. He wanted to know more—everything—but Cassian would not press Rhys. If Nesta wanted to tell him, she would. He had to respect that.

So, he bit back his curiosity and grumbled, “About time.”

Rhys clapped his hand on Cassian’s back, but there was something wary in his expression, as if there was something he wanted to say but wouldn’t. Finally, he said, “Patience is a virtue, brother.”

“I’m not the patient sort.”

“You are when it counts,” Rhys countered, and Cassian didn’t say anything because they both knew what he was referring to. Rhys had been the first to know. Had witnessed Cassian in a tangled web of despair and longing and unwanted visions. His brother had immediately put two and two together. Because he’d been there, too. Knew what it was to want someone you thought you couldn’t have. To hope that someone might finally grow to see you in colour rather than in black and white.

Cassian cast another look towards the empty doorway and the quiet hallway beyond it.

A shiver of anticipation ran through him. It was time for them to go home.

***

In the end, Cassian folded to his worry and had Elain fetch Nesta from upstairs. It was time to go, he’d insisted, even though there was no true reason as to why they needed to leave quite so quickly.

“No guesses required to identify why you want to head back to Illyria,” Mor muttered out the side of her mouth, as the creak of the stairs a few flights above heralded the sisters return. Cassian jabbed his elbow into his friend’s ribs and Mor yelped through her grin, even as she had to sidestep, the nudge throwing her off balance. “What? It’s all over your face. You think I can’t read you after five hundred years?”

“Don’t announce it to the room,” Cassian muttered darkly under his breath, “and you won’t find yourself torn to pieces.”

Mor briefly bumped against his arm, the jostle affectionate. Unfazed by his threat, she glanced sideways at him with rich chocolate eyes. “I won’t. We just want you to be happy, you know.”

Cassian’s mouth flattened into a thin line. “Now isn’t the time for a lecture about finding a more suitable mate.”

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t meant to voice what he’d kept inside for so long.

Mor’s eyes widened, but she wound her arms around his waist. Cassian allowed her to tuck herself under his arm. His friend scented of citrus and cinnamon. When she craned her neck to look up at him, her expression was glowing with sincerity and Cassian realised that she hadn’t been insinuating that Nesta wasn’t right for him at all. “We’re all cheering you on from the sidelines, Cass, I promise.”

The muscle in Cassian’s jaw flexed. He looked away from her, towards the doorway again, unable to help himself. “Don’t say anything.”

She tightened her grip on his waist. “I won’t. I promise.”

“She doesn’t want it.”

Mor untangled herself from him. Shook her head in disagreement. “She does. She just isn’t ready to admit it yet.”

They both fell quiet as Nesta walked through the door with Elain and Feyre. The first thing Cassian noticed was that she scented of water and salt—tears.

Heart pattering with concern, Cassian quickly scanned Nesta’s expression and body language, searching for clues. But Nesta remained close to her sisters rather than apart, her fingers snagged in Feyre’s, her expression not in tatters but smooth and calm, like still waters.

“Ready to go?” Mor chirped from beside him. “I can winnow you back when Sala arrives.”

Nesta’s grey-blue eyes slid to Mor. “I called her on my way down.”

“Then you have time to see the snowdrops you gave me before you leave,” Elain responded eagerly, tugging at Nesta’s arm. “The cuttings took well to the soil. I planted them beneath the shade of the birch trees near the river.”

Cassian watched Nesta disappear into the garden. Surveyed the way a strand of golden brown hair that had escaped her loose braid floated on the breeze, as if it was part of the element rather than separate, as Elain bent to show her the snowdrops.

Yet despite the clear ease to Nesta’s movements, Cassian couldn’t help but ask Feyre whether everything was okay when she came over to hug him goodbye.

“We’re fine,” Feyre assured him, as together they watched Mor tentatively sit beside Azriel on the couch. For once the Shadowsinger’s shadows didn’t lighten, but Azriel still turned to her, drawn by some magnetism as she began to speak with him.

Slim fingers closed around his. Squeezed. “Thank you for fetching the book of fairytales for Nesta.”

The strand of ebony hair that had wrangled free of Cassian’s hair tie tickled the side of his forehead as he inclined his head. That had been a long time ago, when Nesta was a viper that he dared to poke with a stick, just so he could get a reaction. “Of course.”

“You travelled all that way on barely healed wings just to fetch a book.”

It wasn’t just a book, but Cassian knew Feyre understood that, so he only grunted, “Az took me most of the way. He waited to winnow me back.”

But Feyre’s eyes were burnished, as she asked, “Is there anything you won’t do for my sister?”

“It depends,” Cassian replied honestly. Because although he’d rather die than see Nesta hurt, Cassian wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to her when her fire was ill-wrought. And that’s what he liked about the both of them: if he was an ass Nesta told him straight, and he did the same for her. A grin slashed across his face. “Your sister has claws and teeth when she’s angry.”

It wasn’t long before Sala landed on her four large paws in the garden, prompting goodbyes. Mor winnowed Nesta and Sala, whilst Az’s scarred hand closed around Cassian’s arm.

Together, Cassian and his brother passed through realms of shadows and light and raging wings. Then Illyria was taking shape before Cassian bit by bit: there was the sting of winter on his cheeks, the crunch of snow beneath his feet, the scent of pine and untamed air. It felt like that wonderful first heave of your lungs after being starved from air. It alerted Cassian senses—woke him up.

Not bothering to say goodbye for the second time, Azriel bled straight back into shadow, but Mor raised a hand in a parting wave from where she stood beside Nesta and Sala. Her long golden hair caught on the breeze. It tussled behind her like its own puff of wind, before she vanished into nothing.

When Cassian’s eyes snapped to Nesta, he found her standing with her eyes closed, breathing in the wilderness of their surroundings. After a few beats, Sala jumped onto her hind legs, climbing up Nesta’s body with her snow-crusted paws to knock her head impatiently against Nesta’s.

A breath of laughter clouded in front of her as Nesta ruffled Sala’s ears. She murmured something Cassian couldn't identify in the manticore’s ear, before Sala dropped onto all fours and padded through the snow in the direction of the main camp.

Cassian watched the manticore go. He suspected Sala was going to seek out the widows camp and check everything was in order. It was the kind of thing Nesta would fret about—that whilst she was warm and fed, others might not be extended the same courtesy.

Or, the dark part of his mind whispered, she wants Sala out of the house.

You can fuck me wherever you like in the bungalow, Cassian.

The many needles of thrill pierced through him just as Nesta met his stare from across the snow. Suddenly, Cassian didn’t know what to say. His tongue felt swollen and thick in his mouth, words suddenly as viscous as tar. The atmosphere had altered—the aura surrounding them despite the distance suddenly heavy with promise: a change that pointed to something new.

The siphons on the back of Cassian’s hands glowed in anticipation. Nesta merely raised an eyebrow at him. Turned. Walked towards the house just as he caught the thick scent of jasmine and vanilla on the wind.

Cassian’s nostrils flared as it wound around him; invisible ropes of arousal. And then he was moving, following Nesta’s footprints.

His friends had winnowed them to the back of the house, halfway between the small stone outhouse and the backdoor. They weren’t far from the bungalow, but it felt like miles as Cassian stomped noisily after Nesta, his boots compacting the snow as if they were grinding shards of glass into powder.

When Cassian drew up behind Nesta, she already had a hand half-raised towards the door. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was a whirlpool of warmth. It sucked him in, begging him to line his torso against her back, so when she cursed, realising she hadn’t taken her gloves off, Cassian didn’t hesitate to reach over her shoulder and rest his palm against the wood, encasing her.

The touch of his bare skin—or Nesta’s—was the key to the magical lock. A thunk sounded as the bolt released but Cassian didn’t push open the door—was too preoccupied with the female before him—who had twisted to stare up at him.

As soon as their gazes snagged, history began to knit together in a rush of thread, until it was a tangible, living thing. Because this moment had been written in the stars as soon as Cassian had seen Nesta in her amethyst dress in the human realm; her hair wielded into a mighty crown, her expression haughty and defiant, yet burning with the potential of a life not yet lived. They’d denied that history, even as it waited patiently in the wings. It had watched as they danced around each other, fumbling and snarling their way to this very moment—

They moved in unison. Cassian’s head bowing just as Nesta reached upwards; her body bowing to his, her palms sliding across his jaw until they were around his neck. Their lips met with a force that rattled Cassian’s bones. This wasn't a brush of a kiss. This was immediate and awakening: Nesta tasted like life and breath, like destiny. And yet again, Cassian knew with startling clarity that they were meant for this, he and Nesta. They were meant for each other and nobody could tell him otherwise, including her.

A soft breath whooshed out of Nesta as her back hit the door, but then Cassian was pushing it open, guiding her inside in a whirlwind of noise and wreckage.

The scrape of wood on the flagstone tiles sounded as Nesta’s back knocked against the table before Cassian turned them, his wings grazing against cupboards and the cool walls. Items clattered and shattered, but Cassian used his wings to keep a check on his surroundings, the touch guiding him to the left-hand wall where he could press her against the wall and devour.

Because Cassian could not tear his mouth from Nesta’s. Couldn’t stop tasting her. Couldn’t stop craving the roll of her tongue and the sound of her guttural moans. It fuelled a fireball inside of him; it roared into life in the centre of his heart, before spreading throughout his limbs, rushing through his body until it settled deep in his groin, aching and burning—screaming for relief.

When they finally hit the wall, the thud of their bodies shook the cabinets and the porcelain within it. Without thinking, Cassian took the brunt of it, his hand flying to cup Nesta's lower back and head to purposefully shield her from the hurt.

Because he was coarse and rippling, galloping towards a primal sort of wilderness that Cassian wasn’t sure he could control.

If Nesta was ignorant to the fact or wholly aware Cassian didn’t know. All he knew was that her hands were scrabbling at his leather like dancing flames, tugging him closer.

When he pressed his body over hers, aligning every inch of her to every inch of him, she whined.

Cassian swallowed it. Slanted his mouth across hers. Tucked his wings in tight as every muscle in him tensed in anticipation.

Nesta tasted of chai and vanilla and embers with a destiny to roar.

Another strangled noise came from her throat as Cassian sank his hands deep into the hair at her scalp, coaxing strands free from her braid as his fingers threading through her hair, just as he had done the night prior when he’d coaxed her to sleep. But this wasn’t a soothing touch. This was a touch to startle every nerve ending to life.

Time began to bleed around them, but Cassian only registered the fluidity of the frantic dance they had not learnt. The way Nesta arched into him as his palm slid back to span her waist. The pant of her breath against his skin. His heaving chest. The way his wings began to spread again of their own volition, like a fan unfolding to reveal a secret pattern—as if they were controlled by nothing but the ache of his cock as it strained against the leather of his pants.

As if in acknowledgement that his body was no longer ruled by him, his hips slanted upwards of their own accord. It was a desperate bid to relieve the ache, and his throat vibrated with a thunderous growl as Nesta dug her nails deeper into the leather of his jacket, using it for leverage as she arched into him.

Something turned further inside of Cassian, like a lock beginning to grind as a key turned. And then it felt as if he were plunging beneath water; ducking into the depths and travelling beneath an invisible barrier before emerging on the other side buoyant and surging with power.

Ruby crashed through his veins, like the walls of a dam broken free and… singing light. Magic roared so loudly in Cassian’s ears that he no longer heard the galloping beat of his heart or the sawing of their breath.

Reeling, he tore his mouth from Nesta’s. Her eyes were just as wide, puddles of startled moonlight—endless mercury—and Cassian didn’t need to look down to know that her hands were wreathed in silver.

For a moment they stared at one another. Time slowed until it was sluggish around them and then the feeling receded, as if Cassian was being carried by a wave as it was dragged unwillingly from the shore on thundering feet.

Sound bled back into Cassian’s ears, like raindrops slowly blotting paper. A moan whispered on a wind carried through him, the words fleeting—her name three times, like always—before they dispersed into nothing and ragged breathing filled the hole.

Fuck, they needed to be careful. He needed to be careful if just kissing her led to some transcendental experience. Cassian knew Nesta became open during sex—had seen tumbled images of tangled limbs and heard her moans—and he couldn’t afford to lose her when she had finally let him in. Couldn’t let her down, even though he wanted nothing more than to finally be found worthy by someone.

That twisted rope between them couldn’t widen and strengthen. Couldn’t finally open and click into place with a consensual snap.

Because Cassian had heard stories of mates who had gone to bed. Who had fleetingly accepted what they wanted in their hearts but not in their minds. And after they had both finished and life had been breathed into that bond, only death could sever their Cauldron-blessed connection.

Cassian would not have a mate with regrets, but he didn’t have the will-power to deny himself of her any longer. Not when he could scent how much Nests wanted him. When he could feel it like an unquenchable ache in his bones—an ache which made him tremble and shake. His rocky warrior exterior ground to nothing but sand.

As if Nesta could read his thoughts she tipped her head back, baring the column of her neck.

A resounding guttural sound dragged from his throat. The noise was animalistic and unchained. A booming crack ricocheted around the walls, the muscles in Cassian’s back burning as his wings snapped outward.

Something toppled from somewhere and crashed to the floor, but Cassian didn’t bother to raise his head to look at what it was.

And then time seemed to both slow and drive into a frenzy. Cassian launched at Nesta’s neck at the same time he tugged at her hair, urging her head to fall back even farther.

His lips were against the column of her throat in the blink of an eye; his teeth scraping, his mouth sucking until her blood pounded in his ears. Nesta’s knees buckled but Cassian quickly pinned her body to the wall, holding her up, his knee sliding firmly between her legs…

And… nothing. There was no panic or sensation of being trapped—no sudden fire launching him back thirty feet—but Cassian still tore his mouth from Nesta’s neck. Had to know she wasn’t panicking. “Ok?” he rasped.

A frown burrowed Nesta’s brows. Her swollen lips parted in confusion. Somehow it made her look more beautiful.

Cassian raised a shaking hand to trace it away. “Nesta. Are you ok?”

Understanding dawned like millions of unfurling petals.

When Nesta spoke she was short of breath, the words an exhale. “Don’t hold back.”

Cassian practically arched into her at the words but he made himself remain still, even as his body vibrated with tension. His bones creaked but he held fast.

That stubborn, beautiful chin lifted and Nesta’s eyes glinted wicked yet pure. Always an oxymoron, his Nesta.

“Don’t hold back,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time. She pushed her hips against his thigh and the friction had her lips parting, a shaky breath tumbling from her lungs. “I can take it.”

The words were like slashing knives of pleasure, severing the leash on any control Cassian thought he had.

The subsequent rush of air Cassian loosed was akin to a snorting horse.

Then he was moving and their mouths were fused together again, their tongues a delicious push and pull of control and pleasure before he yanked away.

“Thank fuck,” he gasped. His hands flew to her hips, guiding her to ride his thigh. “Thank fuck, Nesta.”

The friction had Nesta moaning, her fingernails digging so hard into the leather of his jacket Cassian was sure she had dented the material. But he didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything but the living fervour that clawed at them.

His hands were everywhere at once. Tangled in her hair. Sliding over her cheek. Cupping her ass. Attacking the buttons at the back of her dress, until they popped and scattered. Until he could pull the material down her arms, exposing tantalising creamy skin.

At the first sight of her breasts, Cassian growled. He bowed his head to capture a nipple sharply between his teeth before he laved over it with his tongue, smoothing over the wound. He relished the way Nesta cried out. Arched into him. She began to tear at his jacket. It snagged on his wings but Cassian shrugged it off until it hit the floor with a thud.

The first slide of Nesta’s palms beneath his tunic was like oil sizzling in a pan. Cassian hissed as the callouses of her palms scraped deliciously over his skin and scars and ink. Snarled as she made quick work of the stays and fastenings. Tried to focus on her other breast as she inched her hand beneath the tight leather fabric and eased him free.

Fingers wrapped sinfully around him, causing Cassian to snarl around a peaked nipple—to buck sharply—pressing them more firmly against the wall.

“Don’t bother,” Nesta moaned as Cassian wrenched desperately at the fabric of her dress, trying to coax it further down her body. She ground down onto his thigh as it to emphasise her point—her need—and the heat of her burned.

It was all Cassian needed to hear. He fumbled desperately with her skirts until a hand was under the material and sliding up her thigh. Until fabric ripped and her underwear fell away in what Cassian imagined to be a ripple of lace.

In one swift movement, Cassian lifted Nesta’s body upwards, until her legs were gripped tightly around his hips and her back was flush against the wall. Her hands flew to find purchase, grappling at the back of his neck, and when she was steady she raked her hand purposefully through the hair which had come loose from his tie. Tugged at the leather until his hair fell over his face. Whined. Tangled her fingers through the ebony strands as if they were her reigns.

Cassian splayed the hand that wasn’t supporting her body against the cold wall. Tried to catch his breath, but the position evened out the height between them. Just a slight movement would allow him to capture her lips with his, and Cassian couldn’t deny that demanding tug that drove him to devour. Nesta seemed to feel the same way. Moaned in relief as Cassian tasted her as if he couldn’t get enough, gave back as good as she got. Over and over they moved, until they were nothing but an undulating wave of tongue and teeth and groans. The pleasure was a surging, roiling entity. It was all consuming. It overtook Cassian’s body, demanding that his hand drag from her ass straight to her core.

When his fingers slid through wetness, Cassian’s groan sounded like thunderous defeat. He dropped his head to Nesta’s collarbone. Gently pressed his lips to her clavicle. To her shoulder. Tried to ground himself as he slid straight to the spot that made her keen—as pleasure ignited down the bond like a crashing wave. Brushed over it again and again and again. Relishing in the noises he coaxed from her. At the curling fists of desire that clenched agonisingly inside of him.

Cassian had to see Nesta fall. Had to look into her eyes as she broke.

But he wanted to be inside of her when it happened.

Cassian was reaching for his cock at the same time that Nesta let out a broken moan. “Do it,” she breathed. There was no bite of authority in her voice, as if all of the energy she had directed in the pursuit of pleasure had smoothed over the serrated edge of her personality he loved so much, leaving a softer version in its wake. “Please. Just—”

A satisfied snarl ripped from Cassian as he felt her want. And in that moment, Cassian knew there would be nothing gentle about how this was going to play out. It was going to be rough and frantic, riding a wave of pleasure that had been building for too long. Knew afterwards that they would sink to the cold floor in a mass of tangled limbs and mingled breath.

And Cassian wanted that. Had never wanted release so badly in his life.

Something clambered in the back of his mind. Something he needed to remember, but his limbs were moving of their own volition. He didn’t even bother to pump his cock or squeeze it to relieve the tension. Only cared about finally being inside of her.

The heat and slickness of her was sinful and divine when he lined himself up at her entrance. The hand he had braced against the wall came to span her cheek. It relied on Nesta clamping on tightly to his waist with her legs and the press of his torso against hers, but they managed it.

Shaking, Cassian raked back the hair that had fallen free from her braid back from Nesta’s face, just as she tugged him in for a bruising kiss.

There was a moment when everything paused and trembled. As Nesta pulled away and stared at him, her eyes swimming silver—glowing with it—her pupils obscured.

His magic surged at the sight of it. Crashed against his skin as if it was trying to escape. His siphons burned bloody.

“Cassian,” Nesta panted. Despite the keen desperation, there was cushion to his name. Gently, Nesta bowed her head until her forehead rested against his. The gesture was surprisingly tender. It tugged at his heartstrings, triggered his hips into movement as they finally pushed forward.

The tight heat that wrapped around him like velvet was so immediate that Cassian swore. Sweat trickled down his back and seeped into the tunic Nesta hadn’t gotten round to discarding. He trembled as Nesta’s breath stuttered and he felt the burning pain mixed with pleasure as he sunk in an inch. Felt the stretch of Nesta’s body as it strained to fit around him.

Claws dug into his back—Nesta’s nails—biting into his skin, until the metallic tang of blood infused the air.

Cassian’s body stilled before he even had a second to register that he needed to stop. That instinct buried deep to make sure she never hurt.

And then a knock rapped at the front door.

“No,” Nesta moaned. She shifted her hips and Cassian sank a little deeper. That pain flared again through the pleasure and Cassian grip on her turned vice like.

Sense stumbled into his desire addled brain, like a fawn on gangly legs.

But then it righted itself.

Another sharp rap at the door cleared his head completely.

He bowed to bury his face in the crook of her neck but Nesta whined. Tilted her hips again, urging him deeper. “Nesta, stop.”

“No.” Her whimper was doused in frustration, but all Cassian could feel was that sharp needle of pain.

He tried to pull back, but Nesta clamped down around him with that incredible strength of hers. The strength that only seemed to appear at times of desperation or anger.

Cassian’s jaw flexed, his features hardening. “I’m hurting you.”

“You’re not,” Nesta countered, defiance colouring her expression.

“I am,” Cassian retorted, not allowing for a passing beat of their hearts to pass before he replied. “I’m hurting you. Don’t pretend that I’m not.”

I can feel it, Cassian wanted to explain, but didn’t. Knew somehow that if he did they might not end up joining at all.

Desire fogged Nesta’s mind and it fuelled the punch to her next words. “I don’t care.”

Ire punched through Cassian’s desire enough for him to see red. “Well, I do,” he snapped.

Nesta’s nostrils flared at his tone and her eyes burned silver. Cassian wondered how everything had gone southward so quickly—they were on a sinking ship and he needed to patch it up. Knew she felt rejected. So, he kissed her and pushed back that unquenchable ache he felt for her. Knew it hit home because she gasped softly into his mouth, her surprise tart on his tongue.

He pulled out. As soon as his cock fell free that pain throbbed and ebbed. But Nesta moaned all the same.

Moaned again as he drew his head back to stare at her.

She surprised him when her eyes remained open rather than closed off. There was no hard shield. Nothing but want and a vulnerability that made his heart squeeze.

It gave him the courage to do the right thing.

He kissed her again. Trailed a thumb across her swollen lips, ignoring the desire that roared as Nesta sucked it into her mouth, her tongue darting across the top before the bit down lightly.

“This is how things are going to go,” Cassian murmured lowly, pulling his thumb out of her mouth and across her jawline, trailing the wetness all the way to the sensitive spot behind her ear. Nesta shuddered.

“I’m going to get the door and send whoever it is away,” Cassian continued. He paused to let the words sink in. Lowered his head to trace a path with his nose, up the slope of her shoulder, all the way up her neck until his lips were grazing the shell of her ear. “You will go to your bedroom. When they’re gone, I’ll find you.”

Another shiver coursed through Nesta’s body. Her fingers tightened around his neck.

When Nesta next spoke, Cassian knew he’d piqued her interest. “What then?” she demanded.

“Then I’m going to make you come until you see stars.”

Nesta’s entire body froze. For a long moment, she didn’t so much as breathe, but Cassian felt the throb of her blood and magic as it pounded against her skin.

Then, Nesta’s hands worked between them, until her small palms were splayed across his chest. She pushed firmly, indicating that she wanted to get her down. Her body slithered to the floor, her lean legs falling away from his body.

The sudden distance between them felt like miles.

Nesta lifted her chin. “Hurry or I’ll start without you.”

A breath heaved at Cassian’s lungs and he felt his pupils contract, pushing out his irises until they were swallowed by black. The image of Nesta sprawled on the bed wearing nothing but skin, her legs open, a hand moving between her legs had that coil within him tightening to the point of pain.

A growl spiked through the air as another knock sounded at the door.

Nesta must have known she’d wrangled back control, because she arched a cool eyebrow at him. “I thought you were going to answer the door?”

A dark chuckle forced its way out of his chest, but it was mechanical rather than true. Because there was nothing funny about resisting Nesta right now and his body seemed to know that.

Cassian reached for her before he knew what was happening. Rested his forehead against hers. Breathed once. Twice. “I need to calm down,” he confessed.

Nesta snickered, but the sound fell flat as her breath hitched upwards at the end. It betrayed the effect he had on her, even as she said silkily, “Did the image of me pleasuring myself get you hard?”

“I was already hard,” he growled. He pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth. “As you well know.”

A hand reached between them. Stroked over him—the touch feather light but tantalising enough that Cassian bucked into her touch.

And then cunning words, “Maybe I’ll let you watch.”

A string of swear words left Cassian’s mouth. He yanked back from Nesta, as if someone had tugged firmly on a leash. Tugged up his pants and jerked ruthlessly at the ties until they fastened, trapping his cock back into the leather.

With a growl, Cassian waved a hand towards the living room—to Nesta’s room to the right of it. “Leave before I fuck you against the wall, Nesta,” he barked.

Nesta’s sly laugh skittered over his skin, and without pulling her dress back up to cover herself, Nesta sashayed through the nearest arch and disappeared.

*** It had been Mas and Roksana at the door, laden with bags full of groceries and supplies from the market. With full access to the house, there was no reason why they shouldn’t have just come right in. Which meant Mas had suspected somehow, enough so that she had left the bags on the front step and remained standing with Roksana a few feet back.

“I am sorry Sinta, but the meat might spoil,” the housekeeper had apologised as soon as he’d opened the door, his hair a tangled mess from where Nesta had yanked it free of its tie. He hadn’t had the sense to recover it from the floor, but he had righted his tunic and fastened his pants.

And thank the Cauldron for that, because Roksana peeked up at Cassian with wide eyes from her position of safety behind Mas’s legs. He didn’t know when Lorrian had brought the youngling back to the camp, but Cassian guessed it hadn’t been easy on the two of them to take a little girl out of the warmth and back into the snow.

Cassian tried to soften the eyes that he knew were a little wild. He raked his hands through his hair and sent them his most disarming smile, but there was fuck all he could do about his scent. So he thanked her, trying to keep his voice light and conversational. Ordered her to take the rest of the day off.

To the housekeeper’s credit, she did not linger. Had merely nodded and rushed Roksana back into the snow, towards the main vein of the camp.

Yet, whilst the housekeeper’s interruption had been unwanted, it did grant Cassian some breathing space as he rammed perishables into the cool box. Because even though Cassian would allow Nesta to decide how this all played out, he needed to lay down a rule of his own: he could give her the space to decide what she wanted—for him to prove that he could be what she needed—but there was one thing he could not suffer through.

And if they had stormed ahead in a hurricane of lust; with Nesta’s back against the wall as Cassian pounded into her… Well, it would be too late for Cassian to lay down his one condition once they were sweaty and sated. Nesta was more likely to get up and walk away. To not look back.

Cassian found Nesta sitting at the dresser in her room re-braiding back her hair.

Leaning against the doorjamb, Cassian opened his mouth to explain who had been at the door, but an iron band closed fast around his chest, robbing him of breath.

“What are you wearing?” The words came out of him eventually, entirely uneven to the point of being choked.

Because Nesta was wearing his shirt. It was the same steel blue shirt she’d worn that first day in Illyria. The shirt that was an identical match to her eyes, purchased before Cassian had realising what his subconscious had done. A shirt he’d had to hide away in the spare room because Cassian hadn’t been able to bare seeing it in his closet—of being reminded that his mate was a ghost who had banished him away.

Go home, Cassian.

Nesta met Cassian's eyes in the mirror. Announced with cool simplicity, “You ripped my dress.”

“And this is your way of torturing me?”

An indifferent shrug. “Why wear my own clothing when I know what fate it will suffer?”

Cassian knew his nostrils billowed, but he remained propped up against the doorframe. Pretended he was stuck to it like glue because his body was trembling for him to launch across the distance and claim her mouth. Her neck. Her.

The silence seemed to unnerve Nesta. Cassian knew that from months of living with her. From months of studying her slight tells when her masks slipped.

Right on cue, Nesta reset her posture—a gesture that most people read as defiant. But Cassian knew it was also a sign of nerves. She shrugged with feigned indifference, even as her throat tightened and that damned pulse fluttered temptingly against her throat. “You liked it the last time I wore it.”

Cassian huffed a breath. He had liked it the last time she wore it, even if she’d been so gaunt that he’d worried she might wither away. But the shirt… it had put images in his mind that Cassian had long tried to store away, imprisoned in rock and flame: her in his clothing, not fucking other males but him, her lithe legs wrapping around his waist as he sank deep—

Which brought Cassian neatly to the point he needed to discuss with her…

Nesta’s eyes tracked Cassian in the mirror as he peeled himself out of the doorway and came to stand behind her. When their eyes locked into place, it felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. There was something deep in Nesta’s gaze that made it feel as if he was tumbling down a rabbit hole, that magnetism between them drawing him in like gravity.

When Cassian’s fingers brushed Nesta’s neck—ran down the braid she had draped over her shoulder—Nesta shivered. “You had your hair down then,” he rasped. Didn’t wait for her to protest, as he slowly coaxed the tie free from the end of her hair.

Nesta turned preternaturally still, watched him gently part her hair in the mirror until it fell free from her plait, his calloused fingers brushing over her skin as he coaxed her hair to fall down her back.

The pulse hammering at her throat and the warmth radiating from her skin were the only indications that Nesta was alive rather than stone.

Only when Cassian had finished and lifted his hands from her neck, did Nesta come back to life.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. But she cocked her head slightly to dissect him. “It’s a nuisance like this. It gets in the way.”

“It’s beautiful,” Cassian corrected, his voice rasping, like sand scraping against skin. He ran a hand through her hair as if to emphasise his point, his fingers running down, down, down until her waist.

When Nesta stood and turned into the warmth of him, Cassian scented what she wanted. But there was something else simmering in her expression—surprise. As if she’d caught the truth in his words and hadn’t expected someone to truly think her beautiful.

She stepped closer, until the lines of her torso ghosted his. Until Cassian’s heart pounded so hard he could hear the frantic tempo of it in his ears. Nesta tilted her head back so she could stare up at him and Cassian’s hand weaved through the mane of her hair before he could stop himself.

He was desperate to touch her again. Desperate.

But Cassian waited. Waited for Nesta to reach up on tiptoes and press her mouth to his.

The kiss was not like their bruised, desperate kisses from earlier. It was coaxing and unsure; the tentative beginning of something that was not merely fuelled by ardour. But it soon blossomed into something more, like a snowball rolling down a mountain blanketed white, gaining speed as it grew and grew—

Dragging his mouth away from hers, Cassian fought for breath. Battled to remember what he needed to do and say. But then Nesta was tugging his head back down again, her fingers tangled in his hair, the gesture indicative of an insistent need that Cassian knew would not go away.

As always, Nesta tasted divine. Addictive. He could taste the curl of her power on his tongue—silver and white, life and death—and he wondered if she could taste his. Knew his siphons were glowing scarlet—

“Nesta,” he murmured hoarsely, her name a caress against her lips. He couldn’t invoke a distance between them, couldn’t stop touching her. His nose brushed hers as her drew back an infinitesimal amount. Closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply, summoning courage. “You can dictate how this goes between us. But if we do this, I can’t—there’s no-one else. Just you and me.”

The subsequent pause was one of the worst of Cassian’s life. It was barely a breath. The blink of an eye. But it felt as if it was malleable and elastic, drawn out by the hands of fate as everything suspended in time.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, but in the end he managed it. Caught Nesta’s eyelashes flutter downwards, casting shadows on her skin. Her fists tightened in the fabric of his tunic, anchoring him to the moment.

She swallowed. Shook her head. Agreed with a conviction he had not been expecting, “No-one else.”

The relief that swooped through Cassian was so fierce it was painful. But he still didn’t dare to believe it.

He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger so Nesta could not look away. So he could look into the deep waters of her irises and know she was telling him the truth.

But her gaze was steady and unwavering, as he demanded, “Say it again.”

His voice cracked but Nesta didn’t appear to notice. Her grip on him tightened. “No-one else,” she repeated on an outward breath.

A low, ravaged moan sounded from Cassian’s throat. “Diyosa,” he murmured, slipping into Illyrian. Goddess.

“Bruha,” Nesta corrected. She fumbled over the pronunciation but Cassian felt as if he had been an ember that had burst into flame. Witch.

He let out a rough bark of laughter. Then he swore in a long, drawn out moan. “No Illyrian,” he ordered roughly. Pressed his mouth firmly against hers, the kiss searing. “Otherwise this will be over far too quickly.” Another kiss. “And I want to take my time.”

The smile Nesta painted against Cassian’s lips was feline. “You’ve made a lot of promises, General. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

Cassian snarled. Spun her body until her back was cradled against his chest. “I have, haven’t I?” he mused lightly, even though the hammering of his heart must have beat a betraying rhythm against her shoulder blade.

In the mirror, Nesta’s expression grew less poised and controlled. Delight mixed with anticipation clung to her features at this game they played; this tussle for control. She did not try to wrangle free from his hold or shift uncomfortably in his arms at having her back enclosed against his.

It thrilled him—that trust. Enough so that when he met her eyes in the mirror, Cassian found that his irises had been swallowed by his pupils until they were only a ring of chocolate gold.

Slowly, Cassian brushed Nesta’s hair over to one shoulder with his left hand. Traced his fingers down the arc of her neck to her collarbone. Continued a path down the centre of her chest, to the pyrite which glittered between her breasts.

When his fingers met the first button of his shirt, Cassian toyed with it. Purposefully grazed his nose against the shell of her ear. “Shall I start here?” he murmured. “Undress you in front of the mirror whilst you watch?”

Nesta suppressed a shudder, but Cassian caught it. Could swear he felt her blood boiling beneath her skin as he slipped the button free of its hole. Then another. And another. Until there were no more buttons and the material hung free.

Leaning back into his body, Nesta rested her head against his chest. Curved her back slightly so her chest thrust upwards, silently instructing him where she wanted his hands.

And Cassian couldn’t deny her. He turned his palm so it was face up and curled into a loose fist. Brushed his knuckles down her sternum all the way to her bared naval, before bringing it back up. His fingers ran up the side of the material free of buttons, until he was at her collarbone—her shoulder—leaving a litter of goosebumps in his wake.

This time, Cassian snickered when she shivered. Dropped a slow and deliberate kiss to her bare shoulder as he slowly, slowly inched the material down, down, down over her arm. Repeated the motion on the other, until the shirt pooled onto the floor, exposing her bare body to the mirror: endless creamy skin, divine curves, the luscious full weight of her bare breasts, and… lower.

Nesta’s eyes, which had been tracking the fabric as it fell away, snapped to his as a feral growl ripped from him. And she moaned at the expression on his face. Grabbed at his hands, pulling them to her body.

“Touch me,” Nesta hissed, but it came out strangled. Almost pleading. Another crack in her armour as it broke and fell away.

The sight was enough to threaten Cassian to his knees. He guided her body backwards, his hands splaying firmly across her stomach despite her whine, until his legs hit the edge of the mattress

Neither of them broke eye contact in the mirror. Not when Cassian coaxed Nesta down to sit on the bed with him. Not when he pulled her between his legs, her back firmly against his chest. Not when he bowed his head to kiss the slope between her neck and shoulder.

When Cassian finally brushed a thumb over her nipple, Nesta back bowed so fiercely Cassian was thankful he had an arm strapped across her stomach.

The small noise she loosed fuelled his fire and Cassian held on to her. Stroked over that peaked nipple again as Nesta careened into his touch. Followed it with a firmer roll with his thumb and forefinger. Used the fingertips of his other hand to draw slow, tantalising circles across the silken skin of her lower stomach, before he moved southwards…

The air around them hushed when Cassian’s fingers stilled. Anticipation built and only when it vibrated with tension did Cassian slide his hands to cradle Nesta’s hips.

A snarl of frustration, but Cassian paid the sound no heed. Only grazed his thumbs over Nesta’s hipbones. Watched her expression in the mirror—the way her face contorted as she squirmed into his touch as if she was a puppet on strings. Ground back onto him, pressing into that building ache that was bordering on painful.

Fuck, Nesta.

Cassian wasn’t sure if he had spoken out loud or in his head, all he knew was the blessed, fleeting relief he felt as he bucked into the small of Nesta’s back on instinct. He was rock hard and thirsting to be touched, but the thickening scent of Nesta’s arousal pulled his focus.

A groan rumbled from Cassian’s throat as Nesta’s hand darted between her legs. He caught her wrist just in the nick of time. Kissed the heart of her palm. Rumbled into her ear, “Not yet, sweetheart.”

His voice was coarse enough that Nesta shivered, the goosebumps travelling down her skin like a cresting wave. She didn’t struggle against him, nor did she move to disobey him as he dropped her wrist. Instead, she waited, trembling and shaking at every pass of his thumbs over her skin.

Cassian buried his nose behind the shell of her ear. Breathed Nesta in, steadying the drum of his pulse.

Not once did he take his eyes off of hers in the mirror, especially as he murmured, “Shall we find out if you’re wet for me?”

Nesta squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if the movement would steady her. Swallowed hard. It was so unlike her to take stock, to show any signs that she was rattled, that Cassian softened. He nuzzled at her neck, trailed a line of kisses instilled with promises. A hand flew up to tangle in Cassian’s hair, keeping him there.

“Yes.”

The word stuttered out of Nesta on several staccatos, but she forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror. Watched as he pulled her tighter against him and hooked her legs over his thighs so she was spread wide. Slipped his hand across and down…

The first ghost of a touch had Nesta panting through her nose. The second had her gritting her teeth. The third had her moaning, her back bowing so sharply as he skimmed straight over the place she wanted him the most.

Her head hit the centre of his chest with a resounding thud that had his bones creaking, but she did not look away from him. Seemed to know the game they were playing without him having to express it.

When Cassian brought his fingers lower and discovered just how wet Nesta was, he had to force his wings in tight to his back to hide his surprise. Growled, “You’re soaked.”

Pleasure and embarrassment twisted in Cassian’s stomach, and Cassian wanted to tell her that it was not something to be ashamed of, that he wanted her just as much as she clearly wanted his fingers between her legs.

Her eyes glinted steel, her stare commanding. “Make me come—“ she ordered, but Cassian chose that moment to roll his finger over that spot at the apex of her thighs.

The command bottomed out of Nesta as she inhaled sharply. Satisfaction bloomed inside of Cassian; because he may have done this countless times before but barely enough with her. And nothing seemed to matter apart from him seeking out her satisfaction. Of learning about what made her body freeze with pleasure and what made her come undone. “There?” he murmured into her ear, repeating the movement, before he passed his fingers down further. Until they were at her entrance, playing gently before he drew upwards and circled.

This time, Nesta groaned. Her hips jerked sharply beneath him, tilting, guiding him to just the right place.

Picking up on the cue, Cassian increased the tempo and friction until Nesta’s hips were rolling in a punishing rhythm against the hard length of him.

And Cassian snarled in satisfaction, his fingers tightening around her hip in a plea for her to keep moving—to not stop pushing back on him—because it was blissfully good. The rapid tightening in his groin was almost painful, the cord so tight that Cassian thought it might snap. But he couldn’t stop Nesta, not when she looked so bewitching, the arousal so stark on her face as he stroked and circled and pressed.

Burning pleasure clambered to its peak and Nesta’s eyes grew so heavy they fluttered closed. Something unintelligible left her lips, her head tipping back into the heart of his chest.

When Nesta’s arms wound around his neck, her knuckles accidentally grazing the leather of his wings, Cassian part-snarled, part-roared. Swore. Held her even tighter as his wings snapped out high and mighty behind him. They wrapped around Nesta’s body before Cassian’s pleasure-fogged mind could stop them curling towards her, starved for her touch.

Fuck, he was unhinged. So desperate for relief—in the scent and feel of his mate—that his control was barely there. Enough so that he didn’t react when Nesta reached out her hand—

Sense knocked Cassian for six only when Nesta’s fingers were millimetres from touching the membrane. He drew back his wings so fast the air around them stormed, but he swooped in before surprise could register on Nesta’s face. Dipped his chin and coaxed her head even further back so he could claim her mouth.

The taste of her lips was as vital as breathing, the scrape of her nails on his scalp grounding. He moaned into her mouth at the same time as she whimpered. His hand was still moving between her legs, interchanging the same three patterns over and over again, mixing things up as soon as Nesta’s moans grew too untamed: he wanted to draw out her pleasure, not sate it with a few choice strokes.

Pulling away, Cassian pressed a kiss to her forehead. Coaxed her to dip her chin until she was looking back at their reflection in the mirror: ebony and golden brown, tan and cream.

Nesta’s irises were wisps of silver, but when he traversed past that bundle of nerves so he could slip two fingers inside of her, they flickered into living flame.

That was indication enough that she liked what he was doing. Cassian had quickly learnt that Nesta became completely readable between the sheets, that mask slowly crumbling away until she broke completely.

Curving his fingers as much as he could, Cassian pressed upwards hard—again and again— revelling in the strangled sounds Nesta made. The way she writhed but tried her best to hold his gaze.

Cassian dropped a lingering kiss to the crown of Nesta’s head. Murmured into her hair, “Is that good, sweetheart?”

The only response Cassian received was a long moan which extended into a whine as he withdrew his fingers. Then a sharp cry as he swept them upwards, swirling them in a well-practiced motion that had Nesta’s lower half seizing in pleasure.

Cassian circled again. Again. Firmer. Faster. Nesta’s cries grew louder, her breathing became more laboured. A silver wreathed hand flew to his forearm—not to stop him, but to keep him there.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

The bond between them creaked and cracked as it expanded.

Nesta panted his name.

“Are you going to come for me, sweetheart?” Cassian scratched out.

In vain, Nesta attempted to burrow her head into his shoulder, but Cassian’s voice dropped out of soft and into the role of general within the fraction of a heartbeat. “Eyes on the mirror, Nesta, or I’ll stop.”

It seemed to take all of Nesta’s energy to fight her leaded eyelids and meet his dark eyes in their reflection. When she did, Cassian’s magic roared and pounded beneath his skin, as if it was trying to break free and join Nesta’s. There was a pressure and power fuelling the sensation that was separate to him. It was like the magnetic force which rules the relentless ebb and flow of the tide—that desperate crash followed by a scrabbling, thundering retreat.

That twisted rope between them grew corporeal, tugging at their ribcages as if it was clambering to remind them both of its existence. Of the cost of this exchange.

Something deepened in both of their gazes, but if Nesta had felt what Cassian had, she gave no indication. She only arched her hips back into his, grinding backwards.

Cassian loosed a rough groan that skittered across the shell of her ear. Her gaze was purposeful but hooded, as if she was in a continual battle with the pleasure weighting her eyelids.

“Good girl,” he praised as Nesta’s eyelashes fluttered from the strain of maintaining eye contact. And then his fingers were everywhere at once and Nesta’s moans fell away to short gasps that rose in volume.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his neck, scrabbling for purchase, for some sort of tether as her pleasure launched high into the air. The hand that had been at her hip, steadying her, encouraging her to roll back on him moved to her breast; cupping and pinching and rolling as she stuttered pants and words that Cassian couldn’t make out.

When Cassian slid two fingers inside of her again and pressed down firmly on her clit with his palm, Nesta’s cry was wild.

“Look at me,” Cassian ordered as Nesta’s eyes flew shut. His voice was resonant—startling—even to him. It punched through the bubble that had encased them—their entwined scent—and Nesta’s eyes snapped open.

For a beat, time seemed to stand still around them. Their gaze fastened back into place and for a moment, Cassian could see a conflict of thoughts swirl in the magic of Nesta’s irises.

He froze just as anguish crashed down that bond, right into the heart of his chest.

It knocked the breath from him. Confusion rattled inside of his head but he came up empty of answers. Had he gone too far? Had he hurt her somehow?

“Sweetheart—“ he started, but stopped. Unsure of what to say because he could still smell how much she wanted this. Could feel how soaked she was. But perhaps that was what the mating bond did. Fooled reason with an overwhelming drive to pleasure and claim.

Cassian went to draw his hand away but Nesta’s hand whipped out, her fingers curling around his wrist. Desperation flooded her next words—the plea in them stark. “Don’t stop.”

As if to punctuate her point, she rolled her hips. His fingers slid over her of her own accord and she stumbled a moan. Light barrelled down the bond and Cassian’s blood spiked, thrilled as he felt the truth of her words, as she ground back into him again.

“Fuck that feels good,” Cassian grunted into her ear. His hips pushed into the small of her back, accentuating his point. It chased the delicious reprieve from the ache in his cock, even as he knew this moment wasn’t about him. As he pulled her back into the solid muscle of his chest, steadying her movements so he could pick up where he left off: so he could watch the pleasure whip away her conflicted expression until her eyes were once again blazing with the promise of flame.

Silver mist climbed from Nesta’s fingertips into the air. It crawled over the glowing ruby siphons across the backs of his hands, past the corded muscle of his forearm and the rolled up sleeves of his tunic, to his chest, his neck…

A sheen of metal shone in Cassian’s eyes, flickering across his irises so they appeared to turn a metallic gold. The lick of Nesta’s magic didn’t burn. It was a rush of heat—the tender caress of a lover’s kiss instilled into his skin over and over again, ascending Cassian to another realm of pleasure, as if he’d climbed a staircase to an entirely new place.

It felt like an extended method of foreplay Cassian had never been privy to before, lighting up every nerve ending until he was so hard he could cut stone.

Gritting his teeth through the pain-cloaked pleasure, Cassian focussed instead on Nesta’s bare skin.

The tempting fullness of her breasts. The way desire had completely rewritten her countenance. The way she whimpered and then cried out.

Cassian sped up his movements. Until his fingers were no longer teasing, but dancing over her with sure, quick movements designed to thrust her towards a crescendo.

Nesta’s magic swirled into flame, the heat of it a licking promise down Cassian’s limbs. He groaned, swore at the exquisite pain on her face as she hung at the precipice, ready to plummet into rapture.

Her climax became a tangible, living thing and Cassian wanted to see it play out for as long as he possible could. Wanted to see her break for him again and again and again.

So, he waited until she reached the summit and when she was there he slowed down his movements. Ordered through her whimpering, “Look at me Nesta.”

Metallic irises met his, and then Nesta was trembling and shaking in fits and bursts as her release ripped out of her like a taut cord cut loose. Cassian drew her orgasm out as best he could, suspending that pleasure until finally Nesta slumped against him, spineless.

She turned her head to bury it in his shoulder and Cassian let her. Stroked her hair. Pressed a kiss to her sweaty head. Murmured, “Good?”

Slowly, Nesta nodded, but for a long while, that was the only communication he received. But Cassian let her recover. Watched the way her ribcage moved as she heaved for breath. Relished the way her body was splayed out over him, her legs held wide open from where they were hooked over his thighs.

Unable to help himself, Cassian brushed over her sex. Delighted in the way Nesta shuddered rather than batted him away. Fresh desire reignited across her expression and Cassian played gently for a few minutes, revelling in the wetness that had gathered from her release.

Finally, Nesta lifted her head to meet his gaze again. “Did I burn you?”

“No,” Cassian replied hoarsely, his heart squeezing at the genuine fear in her words. He let out a rough laugh, passed his fingers lightly over the knot at the apex of her legs for the last time before he withdrew them.

Nesta moaned softly, even as her brow twisted into a small frown.

“It felt good,” Cassian elaborated. He kissed her shoulder at the same time that he pushed his hips into hers as if to demonstrate just how much he’d liked her magic. “I’m being strangled to death in these pants,” he confessed.

When Nesta cocked her head, her hair moved in a golden tangle. Then she smirked. Unravelled her limbs from him and turned.

Nesta slung her legs over his waist so she was straddling him just as Cassian’s hands caught in her hair. A booming sounded as his wings snapped out and fanned behind him, settling like falling fabric.

“We can’t have that,” Nesta remarked, her breath a whisper against his skin.

“No,” Cassian agreed roughly. “It’s your favourite part.”

Nesta snorted a laugh, but it was not derisive. “Egotistical bat,” she muttered.

A slow, smug smile was Cassian’s only reply. Because he was more focussed on her mouth. With the feel of her silken skin beneath his palms as he ran them up her legs and over her rounded ass. His touch was a promise as he tugged her into his body and ground up into her core, the seam of his trousers doing nothing to relieve the damning ache in his cock.

Together they gasped, and then, as always, they moved at the same time, their mouths slanting one another within a fraction of a second.

The heat of Nesta was liquid, the touch of her smoke—feverish and everywhere all at once. It was the same heat that had roared into existence when Cassian had pinned her against the wall earlier, yet… better somehow. Passionate and awake rather than fogged with lust. Life-giving.

A shuddered groan was pulled from Cassian’s chest as Nesta’s hands slid beneath his tunic and met his burning skin. And then the tunic was on the floor—the rest of his clothing was torn from him soon after. It all happened at such speed Cassian could barely keep up, but when Nesta reached for his bare, burning skin—the tattoos on his arms and the faint scar on his stomach—her fingers were gentle.

“Battle scar,” Cassian panted in explanation, as Nesta’s fingers lingered on the silvery tissue that wound over his lower abdomen: a permanent reminder of what had happened to him during the final battle with Hybern. “The trauma was too great for Madja to heal completely.”

“I remember,” Nesta replied shortly and she looked so fierce that Cassian reached for her. Cupped her cheek with his palm.

“Still breathing, Nes.”

Nesta nodded, but when she kissed him this time there was something fierce and desperate about it, her fingers burying deeper into the mane of his hair.

And then a hand was trailing down his skin and closing around his cock. The touch was sinful and a glimpse of the heavens. When he hissed into her mouth, Nesta gripped tighter—until pain laced the pleasure—just how he liked it.

His groan was that of rumbling thunder as she began to move her hand. It was everything Cassian needed, but it was too much, too good. He scrambled to hold on to some sense of control, because he’d never been this close to losing it from just a few touches.

Then Nesta stopped. Glanced downwards—

The realisation thumped through Cassian so loudly his heartbeat punched like a fist against his ribcage.

“Don’t you dare,” Cassian choked out.

Nesta’s eyes shot to his, but rather than looking startled she arched a challenging eyebrow.

“If you so much as try to put my cock in your mouth I’ll explode,” Cassian rasped.

Before she could protest, he was gathering her to him and had slipped a hand down between her legs.

Just the touch of his fingers had Cassian seizing back control. Nesta stilled at the sudden pleasure, as if she was trying to coax time into suspending the sensation.

“Still so wet,” Cassian purred against the tip of her ear.

Gliding his fingers over the centre of her, Cassian paused briefly at the apex of her legs, toying with her clit, before he ran them back down. When he drew his fingers back, rubbing them together and raising them to the faelight, they glittered.

Nesta’s nostrils flared as if she was an animal in heat. And Cassian knew before he spoke that his voice? would be what pushed them over the edge. But he said it anyway, his voice dropping impossibly low, “Is this all for me?”

Nesta launched at him until their mouths collided, until they were nothing but a clash of teeth and tongues, their skin so flush they may as well have been fused together.

Burying her fingers deeper into the tangled mane of his hair, Nesta tugged sharply. Met his gaze head on. Demanded, “Fuck me.”

All it took was those two words. Cassian moved, flipping them so Nesta’s back was flush against the mattress. He covered her body with his and Nesta whined at the contact, her body bending and arching towards him as if she were a plant and he was sunlight.

Cassian ran a hand up her bare thigh to her ass, coaxing her leg to bend, but Nesta was too impatient. She broke free from the weight of his body, repositioning herself until legs were wrapped tightly around his hips.

An uneven laugh choked out of him. “So stubborn,” Cassian chided darkly, but he allowed his hips to fall into the cradle of hers. Hissed as he loosed his control and thrust so his cock could glide through her centre. “Fuck,” he grunted. “Nesta, fuck.”

Nesta’s breathy whine fuelled the sparks of pleasure that crackled through him like static energy. He kissed her hard. “There’s a high probability I won’t survive this.”

The snort Nesta loosed tried to sound unaffected, but her voice shook as she accused him, “Liar.”

But he wasn’t lying. And Nesta knew it. She had to know it because his walls were now shattered around them in splintered shards.

Yet, Cassian found himself assuring her. “Not lying," he grunted as he passed over her again. Pressed a lingering kiss to her mouth—a parting goodbye as he moved to kiss the underside of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Down further, to flick his tongue and scrape his teeth over both nipples.

He moaned when she moaned; their sounds a chorus of want until he couldn’t take it anymore. Cassian’s claws clipped around the metal of the bed frame at the same time that he pushed off of the palms that were framing her face, until he was on his knees before her.

Despite the desire coursing through him, Cassian’s head was nothing but clear as he slid his hands under Nesta’s ass and lifted her effortlessly, positioning her so that the undersides of her thighs were flush against his knees.

Nesta’s hair was tousled over the pillow, her lips swollen and parted as she surveyed him. When she tried to wrap her legs back around his hips, Cassian held firm. And despite the fact that Nesta listened to nobody, she allowed him to bend her knees and press his calloused palms to the insides of her thighs in silent instruction.

They fell open and a growl rumbled in Cassian’s throat. His hand was fisting his cock, lining it up to her entrance before he knew what was happening. But then he remembered the pain from before. And even though Nesta was more than ready for him, the thought of hurting her made him feel physically sick.

When he moved away, Nesta let out a strangled noise. A hand shot out, closing around his wrist. “You said you’d fuck me.”

Cassian wanted to explain, but that meant alluding to that tie between them, that instinct that couldn’t allow him to see her hurt. Cassian knew Nesta wasn’t ready for that. Knew that if he so much as breathed a word about it that this precious moment would fall away.

And Cassian was selfish. He had to see how this played out. Had to know if Nesta could grow to accept the bond between them—deem him worthy enough to accept something that was Cauldron blessed.

So, he only drawled, “Patience is a virtue, sweetheart.”

One swift movement had Cassian gathering Nesta into his arms. This time, he allowed Nesta’s legs to wind around him. She gripped him like a vice and Cassian knew it wasn’t from fear of him dropping her. When he sat back against the headboard and guided her onto his lap, Cassian expected her to bite out a comment about doing all of the work, but Nesta only let out a pleased sound. Weaved a hand back into his ebony hair. Wrapped a tight fist around his length, twisting once at the tip, before she guided him to her entrance.

Cassian hissed a curse as she closed around the head. Murmured her name into her mouth. Gripped tightly at her hips when she didn’t stop sinking down on him, as he felt that pain mixed with the sweetest pleasure.

“Nesta.” The way he said her name was firm and commanding, but he still had to dig his fingers hard enough into her skin that he was sure it would leave temporary bruises. The thought made him falter, but then that sharp pain flared again as she resisted against him, and he knew that the bruises were a necessary evil. “Nesta,” he barked, “Go slowly.”

Something creaked and cracked between them. A stretching, growing pain reached its fingers down that bond, the sensation strong rather than constricted as it fought to make its way down their usually thin tie.

Nails dug into Cassian’s neck. A whimper sounded in his ears as Nesta fell forwards, burying her face into his neck. “Please,” she whined in frustration. “Cassian—”

She broke off as she clamped down around him and Cassian felt an ebb of pleasure cut through the pain—that promise of something more.

“Don’t make me hurt you, sweetheart,” Cassian pleaded and the rawness in his voice stopped her resisting against him. He eased a hand between them, touched her right where she wanted him. Allowed her to tug his face upwards so she could kiss him. It was infused with desperation and Cassian eased his hold on her hip. Allowed her to lower herself downwards until she had slid another inch deeper. Continued to stroke her until Nesta began to shake.

“I’m going to—,” Nesta gasped against his mouth. Her body trembled and Cassian’s blood roared at bringing her to the edge again so soon, despite the pain. “Cassian—”

Abruptly, Cassian moved his hand away.

Nesta’s snarl whipped around the room, but Cassian smoothed the sound away by fusing his mouth on hers. She stopped shaking but the sharp bite of Nesta’s glare pierced its teeth through his flesh in a flash of silver.

“It will be better if you wait,” Cassian gritted out in explanation when they parted. Nesta’s breath gusted against his skin. “And I don’t think I can hold on if you come so soon. You feel so good, Nesta. So tight.”

As if on cue, Nesta contracted around him and Cassian ground his teeth together so hard that the muscle in his jaw worked. But he let Nesta slide down on him another inch. Then another. And another. Until their hips were finally flush with one another and that pain had bled away until it was nothing.

The moaned words that fell from Nesta were indistinguishable, but he felt her tremor. Felt that surge inside of him as Nesta repeated herself with a whine that indicated she was toppling over the ledge of control, like a glass teetering before it fell.

And then she was moving and Cassian let her. He was unable to think or breathe. Could only focus on the feel of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian groaned. His head thunked back hard against the headboard as she ground her hips into his, testing the feel of him. “This is better than I’d dreamed.”

No soft snicker, only an untamed whine. Then teeth scraping a sinful path down his neck to his pulse.

Cassian’s hips kicked up hard as her teeth nipped.

“Sorry,” he gasped, because even though Nesta had told him not to hold back, he was still concerned about hurting her. But Nesta’s fingernails bit into his skin and her body moulded to him—a delicious second skin—as she inhaled sharply. “Again,” she demanded with a fierceness that did not allow disobedience. “Do that again—”

It didn’t take a second command for Cassian to thrust up hard. And true to her word, Nesta took him all. Did not change her mind and ask him to hold back. Instead, Cassian knew that this was exactly what she wanted—no, needed. She needed this punishing rhythm just as much as he did.

And it felt… incredible. Beyond anything Cassian had ever felt before. The blood roaring in his ears intermingled with Nesta’s cries and the slap of his hips meeting hers, was the only thing he could hear, his senses narrowed down to the sensation of her wrapped around him, so tight …

It was too good. It threatened to break him, to take everything that he was and reform it entirely, as if he was going to shatter and be pieced back together as someone else entirely. The air around them became taut with pressure, tanning leather stretched too tight over a rack, as if their joining controlled one of the essential elements.

“Cassian.” That one word threatened to break him. Not bat or it or you, only his name falling from her lips as if it was their secret. “More.”

Exhaling a curse, Cassian planted his feet firmly on the mattress and thrust up with as much vigour as he could muster. The movement had them slipping from their upright position and Cassian’s claws absent-mindedly closed around the metal bed frame, strapping them in for the ride as his body coiled and tensed as he slammed into her over and over.

Nesta cried out. Grabbed fistfuls of his hair as they moved together as if they had been made for this moment, their wild gasps melded together until they were one.

Only when release teetered too close to the edge did Cassian drop the rhythm. Cupped the breasts he had dreamed of more times than he could count. The breasts he’d had the privilege of seeing bare and glorious only twice before.

Capturing a nipple between his teeth, Cassian scraped his teeth hard enough that Nesta stopped rocking and angled her hips until he was pressing impossibly deep inside her. She whimpered. Clenched and unclenched. Throbbed in a way that told him she was as close as he was—that if he wasn’t so close himself, he could drive her over the edge with a few well-timed thrusts.

The understanding had him letting out a jagged groan. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

A whine in response, but Cassian didn’t let it go. He raked back the hair from her sweaty forehead. Pressed his lips to her swollen ones in a lingering kiss. Watched the frown that knitted her brow as she was overtaken by the feel of them.

“What do you need, Nesta. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

Nesta wound her hands around his head, buried her face into his neck. Began swaying and circling her hips in a rhythm that was dictated purely by the chase of pleasure. “Just… this,” she panted. “I just need this.”

Then it was only the licking fire of her breath against his skin. The magic that curled around them like a heated blanket and the building anticipation of both of their releases, which pulled at him like a strange sort of magnetism, begging him to fall with her in unison.

“Cassian—” Nesta began in warning, but he had already felt her begin to quake, as if the ground was moving beneath their feet—the mountains trembling.

That pull became a driving force—a cresting wave of pleasure so profound that Cassian felt that twist inside of him—that signal that he was about to join her.

He groaned, jerking his head back so it collided with wood, the pain grounding him enough that he could say, “That’s it, sweetheart. Come for me.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Nesta broke, as if she’d been waiting for him to ask it of her. Her cry was muffled and Cassian wanted to tear her mouth from his neck—to hear her break for him—but then she was sinking her teeth into his skin right over his pulse.

Roaring, Cassian kicked his hips up hard on instinct as she marked him, but the shock distracted him. Clouded the desperate clamber of his release so he could hold himself back.

Cassian held tightly onto Nesta as she slumped against him. When she lifted her teeth from him, Nesta whined like an animal. Dragged her tongue over the dent she’d made in his neck—once, twice, three times.

He shuddered. Couldn’t help it. Turned his face into her hair. Breathed her in. The gesture was tender, like an animal tending to the wound of a significant other—its mate.

And wrapped in this moment, Cassian could almost believe that this was something more than sex for Nesta as her forehead came to rest on his collarbone. As she kissed the hollow of his throat. Then the knot. His lips.

“Good?” Cassian asked softly. He lifted a hand to her face, ran a calloused thumb over her cheekbone.

Nesta made a rare, content sound that vibrated through him like a balm. She leant into his hand, her eyelashes swooping down.

When she finally pulled back to survey him, her eyes were still dark. She shifted her hips. Moaned quietly. Rasped, “You’re still hard.”

It was a miracle Cassian hadn’t followed. If it hadn’t been for her teeth in his neck, Cassian would have been wrestling with the embarrassment of finishing too soon.

“I was too preoccupied with your teeth in my neck.”

A flush crept its way up Nesta’s face, like vines reaching their wicked encroaching fingers up a wall. But she raised her chin. “You wanted me to do it.”

It was true, he had wanted her to. And he wanted to do the same to her—to mark her as his so everyone would know that she was off limits for the brief hours before her body healed.

“And what about you?”

The patter of Nesta’s heart broke into a sprint. It was the only thing that betrayed her feelings, her expression devoid of any reaction. “What do you mean?”

Cassian leant forward until their noses brushed. Lifted his eyebrows. “Do you want me to bite you, Nesta?”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. If she had wings, they’d have flung wide by now. Would have collided with furniture and cut through air.

That was answer enough.

In one movement, Cassian lifted himself up and over, until Nesta was on her back and he was pressing her body into the mattress. Breath gushed out of her lungs but it was not from fear, not as Nesta turned herself out bare and tilted her chin for him—for once not in defiance but as an act of vulnerability—of complete and utter trust.

Every instinct in Cassian clambered to the surface, but he closed a fist around it until its life fluttered against the cage of his palms and fingers: his to control, rather than the other way around.

Slowly, Cassian lowered his nose to the exposed skin and breathed her in: her scent and the life that pummelled beneath her skin, the roaring of her blood as it crashed through her veins. It took everything in him not to move inside of her, to thrust up hard and feel the way her breasts would move against his chest.

“I could do it right here,” Cassian murmured, his mouth ghosting over the pale column of her neck until he came across that pulse. He brushed a tongue across it.

The movement was a mirror of what he’d done before in the human realm and Nesta knew it. But this time she did not jerk back from him demanding what he’d done. Instead, her body drew up beneath him, exposing more of her neck, begging for more.

Cassian groaned, raking his teeth over that swell at the same time that he pushed in deep. Nesta’s groan was guttural and everything. His blood turned molten, so hot that he expected his skin to melt away until he was nothing but bones.

“Please,” Nesta panted, her fingers tightening around his back.

Another flick of his tongue over her pulse. “Do you want me to bite you or fuck you?”

“Both.”

That was enough to loosen the fist on Cassian’s control. He sat back on his knees, prying her hands from his neck, coaxing her fingers until they were above her head and clasped around the railings of the headboard. Nesta’s breasts rose with the movement, her peaked nipples so tempting he bent to take one into his mouth. Then the other. Suckled until she mewled and her nipples were no longer rosy but red from his attention.

Cassian lifted his head and surveyed Nesta. Warned her, “Hold on tight.”

And then there was no thinking, no worrying or desperation to hold back. It all came as easy as breathing, their tempo,the snap of his hips and the shift of the mattress as her body shouldered the impact. At some point, Cassian’s body fell over hers, needing to feel every inch of her against him. His wild, punishing rhythm dropped into a rough rocking that was intimate at the same time it was claiming.

Nesta didn’t seem to mind—let out a pleased moan of consent, her legs clamping tighter around his hips until they were flush with hers. When he next moved she whined, and Cassian felt that change inside of her—somehow—that twisting fist of pleasure that glimmered down the bond, pushing against the walls of that thread, pushing it wider and wider, like a heart expanding.

Silver-wreathed fingers tugged his head down until Nesta could claim his mouth, fusing them together so they were complete. Cassian shuddered as her fire cascaded from her fingertips and down his body. His magic, attracted to hers, began to suck out of his pores, but it didn’t leech him of power. Instead, it was like his magic was searching for its mate, desperate to be reunited.

Then that sensation again, as if Cassian had ducked beneath something and had come up for air somewhere else.

Ruby greeted silver like a long-lost lover, blending until their magic was a metallic sheen of scarlet—a fog that misted their bodies, rubbing tantalisingly against their skin as they rocked and moaned their way to release.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta begged desperately through stuttered breaths, and Cassian wondered how many times she’d reached this pinnacle with other males only for it to be taken from her.

Cassian’s hand found its way to her face, his thumb stroking over her cheek as that coiled release twisted across her devastatingly beautiful face. “Can’t,” he panted honestly, his other hand searching for hers across the mattress until he was clasping it—holding on for dear life. “I’m so close, sweetheart. You have no idea how good you feel.”

“Come with me then,” Nesta pleaded. Her eyelashes had fluttered downwards as she took in a sharp breath of pleasure, but now they opened. Stared deep into his soul. “Come with me—”

Then her body turned both loose and taut, clamping yet completely molten as her release ripped out of her.

“Fuck,” Cassian swore. Invisible hands clasped around his ass, tugging him deeper—deeper. Everything in him tightened as Nesta crashed around him, and that siren called to him, singing her name, over and over as pleasure clawed at him, desperate to whip out of him.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta.

Cassian launched at her neck, his teeth sinking deep enough to claim as Nesta cried out, her body trembling as he continued to thrust into her, wringing out her release at the same time he desperately clambered towards his own.

He managed to pull out just in time, his teeth still deep in her neck, his release spilling hot onto her stomach in bursts of pleasure.

And even though Cassian had vowed to bite her and Nesta had already marked him, he found himself apologising at the red, angry dents in her skin. How was it that he couldn’t bare to hurt her but biting her neck was a completely different story?

“Sorry,” Cassian rasped. His mouth was as dry as a desert as he gingerly touched his fingers to the marks, but Nesta’s fingers clasped around his, halting him. Then she raised her other hand and brushed her knuckles over the identical marking on his. Reminding him that she’d done the same—had been the first to do it.

“I liked it,” Nesta admitted brazenly, but she didn’t stop him from dragging his tongue over the marks. Shivered instead. Held his head to her.

“That was intense,” Cassian rasped eventually against her ear, after the quiet had settled over them like a blanket. He nuzzled at her neck again, unable to help it—just one more precious moment like this until he had to pull away.

When Cassian pulled back to meet Nesta’s eyes, he found that the blue bled back into her irises. “It was always going to be intense,” she replied frankly.

Then Nesta looked down at her body, as if she’d only just remembered how he’d marked her in a different way. “You didn’t have to do that—pull out. I can take a tonic.”

Cassian hadn’t wanted to pull out at all—and neither had that tie which bound them together—but that wasn’t the point. “I’d rather be cautious,” he explained—a little too shortly, because Nesta bristled.

“Neither of us have had a tonic in a while,” Cassian elaborated when Nesta’s expression hardened.

He tried not to think about how his body had been desperate to spill inside of her. For him to press as deep as he possibly could until he was spent.

Climbing off of the bed, Cassian disappeared down the hallway and into the bathroom. When he returned, he was holding a wet towel.

“A while?” Nesta queried, picking up their conversation, as he began to clean her up.

Cassian cocked an eyebrow, but he didn’t dare meet her eyes lest she read him. His shoulders turned rigid at the thought. “Have you been sneaking people in and out of the bungalow that I’m not aware of?” he asked.

They both knew that Cassian would tear any male she brought back to the bungalow to pieces, but neither of them voiced it.

“You go back to Velaris,” Nesta accused. “You visit the other camps.”

For a moment, Cassian stared at her. Did she believe that he’d been fucking other fae? She had taunted him in Velaris the other day, but Cassian had thought that it was just their extended, agonising tussle of foreplay.

Perhaps you should go in search of some female company tonight.

Cassian managed to huff a breath, but it wasn’t one of amusement. He knew that his expression was steely as he said, “I told you that I don’t sleep with Illyrians. And I haven’t been fucking around in Velaris.”

From the way Nesta’s expression darkened, Cassian wasn't sure she believed him.

She opened her mouth to throw back a retort, but Cassian wanted the discussion to end. If she knew he’d barely touched another female since he’d met her, she’d run the other way. It was too intense a confession for someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

“It was self-inflicted,” Cassian supplied, his tone flinty enough to warn her that he wasn’t willing to discuss the subject any further.

Climbing off of the bed to further his point, Cassian extended a hand towards her. Banished any of the rigidity to his posture. “Come stand in the tub with me.”

There was a sinful promise behind the order. Already Cassian could envisage how he’d press Nesta against the tiles, his lips trailing open mouthed kisses as he kneeled before her—

Nesta must have thought similarly, because the pleasure that sparked in his stomach was not his own. But still she studied him, her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. Her hair was a muss of golden brown, her skin glistening with sweat that Cassian wanted to lick off.

Nesta parted her lips, taking stock, but Cassian didn’t allow her to speak. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he vowed. Meant it. Because already he was turning hard again, that desire to have her roaring.

He’d known this would happen. Knew that finally being inside of her wouldn’t sate him but stoke the embers into flames. But Cassian didn’t hide it—utterly unashamed of this need for her. From the way Nesta’s nostrils billowed, he knew she'd marked the change in his scent.

Nesta’s eyes flicked to his cock and the she-devil smirked, her lips curving in a way that had Cassian thinking about how they might wrap around him—how her tongue might feel, how warm she’d be…

In one supple movement, Nesta stood. Took his hand, her slim fingers threading around his large ones. Raised her chin and levelled him with a smoky blue gaze that promised wicked, wonderful things. “Then lead the way, general.”

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arinbelle @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @lovelynesta @melphss @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @wishfulimaginings @trash-for-nessian @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @valkyriesupremacy @vidalinav @onceupona-chaos @inardour @thesunremembersyourface @teagoddess99 @ellies-iced-coffee @nehemikkele @misswonderflower

#embersandlightfic #duskandstarlightwrites #nessian fic #nessianfanfic #nessian smut #acosf #acosf fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfic #sjmaas #nesta x cassian #nesta archeron #cassian #morrigan #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #feyre #elain archeron #rhysand

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inkyblinders · 3 years

Text

Dancing with the Devil

Pairing: Luca Changretta X Reader

Author’s note: So excited to share my first fic on this blog! I’m still trying to figure out the ins and outs of Tumblr as it’s been a hot minute since I’ve last used it, but if you like my writing please repost and follow for more :)

The story (part one of many, hopefully) is set in early Season 4 and is in second-person, but you’re also a character with a name.

And in case you can’t tell...I think Luca Changretta is criminally underrated.

Warnings: Some mild smut.

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There is a stranger in the Garrison tonight.

He isn’t a shipyard laborer, neither tired nor grimy from the perpetual muck that belongs to Small Heath. In fact, he is more polished and well-dressed than anyone you’ve ever seen, except for perhaps the Shelby brothers who frequent the Garrison.

But this man is no Peaky Blinder.

He leisurely surveys the customers in the pub, eyes obscured by a fedora that slants on his head. An unlit cigarette hangs between thin lips. It’s a halfhearted attempt to blend in, as if he’s doing this as a courtesy but cares not in the slightest if he rouses suspicion.

You are used to breaking up bar fights and mopping up the bloody aftermath, but this man makes you more uneasy than any roughhousing drunkard you’ve dealt with. He is too quiet, his eyes too sly.

“This must be the trouble Tommy was expecting,” you think to yourself.

When he catches your gaze from behind the bar, a hawk-like smile cuts across his face. He winks then, and you flush even as something dangerous spikes in your throat. The whiskey you hold in your hands is just like his. Another prop, another facade.

“Anything else for you then, sir?”

He looks up from beneath the brim of his hat. His face is slyly handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a striking nose you crave to run down lightly with your fingers. Now you understand why he tries to keep himself hidden.

Here is a face that, once seen, would not be soon forgotten.

A tilt of his head, a voice as like raw silk as you shiver.

“Your daddy owns this place?”

So he’s not from Birmingham, after all. Every man within a fifty-mile radius knows who owns the Garrison. They might have never met the man, but they certainly know the name of his younger brother.

“No sir, he doesn’t.” Your voice is carefully polite but clipped, praying it doesn’t betray the pounding of your heart as you watch him take off his hat and run a hand through dark, slicked-back hair. You’ve seen Tommy talk like this with men he mistrusts, and he mistrusts a lot of men. No matter what, you are not volunteering any more information than necessary.

He waits for you to say more, and his smile doesn’t falter when you remain silent. “Well then, signorita, will you tell me who does?”

The Italian. So it is him.

Fuck.

“The Garrison is owned by...a family from these parts. Do you have business with them,” You can’t help but add impulsively, “Signore?”

His dark eyes widen with pleasure at your flippant remark in his own language. He is playing a game, and you are playing along with him.

“What business would I have with Gypsy fucks like them?” He leans forward, “But sweetheart, you on the other hand...”

Working for the Shelbys means minding the pub when Arthur’s gone, and spying for Tommy when he needs intel on whoever he’s feuding with at the time. It’s more serious than simply turning the other cheek when there’s a cutting in the streets. But you are not prepared to face an enemy alone.

Even if he is as charming as the devil.

Even if he wants you, and you want him back.

For the millionth time, you silently curse Tommy for forbidding you from having a gun, a knife, anything to protect yourself while in the pub. You had asked him about it one night, afterwards, and he only replied, “It’s bad for business if a girl like you gets caught with a weapon she can’t handle.”

“Then teach me,” You had retorted, balling up his trousers and chucking it at his head, “You think you can protect me. But what about when you’re gone?”

Tommy had looked up from buttoning his shirt then, his gaze steely and blue. “I have eyes in all of Birmingham. And besides,” He smiled ruefully, “You’re never in danger unless I put you there myself.”

In the pub, the Italian watches your expression. And in a moment of madness, you almost take up his veiled flirtation.

But then there is Tommy. Tommy with his inscrutable blue gaze. Tommy with his whores. And now you are angry at yourself for thinking of him when he was probably fucking some other woman in Camden Town. For business, he would explain, avoiding your eyes.

“What business would you have with a barmaid like me?” A whisper of regret fills you as you turn to leave. You are halfway up the stairs that lead to your room above the pub when you hear a caress of a single word that turns your blood to ice.

“Isabel.”

The Italian is leaning against the banister, eyes drinking in your figure. And now he saunters up the steps. You scamper up the rest of them but he is quicker. In a flash he spins you around, his body snugly against you and the second-floor wall. An arm over your head, caging you with his tall frame.

The intoxicating scent of tobacco and roses fills the crevices between your bodies.

Your eyes flash dangerously as he bends down, daring him to force a kiss. But he only murmurs into the crook of your neck, “Where is Mr. Shelby tonight?”

You answer breathlessly into the shoulder of his freshly-pressed suit, “He could be at the betting shop. Could be with his wife at home. I don’t-- ”

“The other Mr. Shelby, Isabel.”

Maybe he already sent his men after Tommy. Maybe Tommy’s already dead in a ditch, in godforsaken Camden Town. Or maybe, just maybe, this man really doesn’t know where he is, and you are the only person who can tell him.

He has you good and compromised. No one can help you, so you must save yourself. Instincts kick in, your mind feverishly formulating a plan. It won’t be the first time you’ve done something like this, and on Tommy’s orders nonetheless.

Loose lips sink ships, and men are so pliant after a romp in the sheets. Mindful of your mission now, you angle to ask for his secrets, anything you could find out that gives Tommy an advantage.

Only this time, your heart actually catches as you gaze into the mafioso’s lethal eyes.

A pause then, wondering how much you should reveal, and you confess, “Tommy doesn’t tell anyone where he is until he’s already there.” It’s a half-truth—he told you.

“So he’s Tommy to you then?” The man is pleased with your slip of the tongue. You’ve told him a secret he already knows.

“You are his woman.” He caresses your face with the back of his hand, etched with ink. A cross. Rosary beads. And there, a black-palmed hand. Just like the ones he sent the Shelbys.

I want to see where his tattoos lead to.

“You are his woman,” he continues, and something dark and sweet fills his voice as he purrs, “And you are not afraid of me.”

“I’m not giving up Shelby secrets even if you seduce me,” You stifle a whimper as he wedges a leg between your skirts, and you think of nothing except the way you ache for him to come even closer, until there is nothing between you but skin on bare skin.

“Tommy has whores who might give him up for a pound or three. Although,” you smirk, “I won’t tell you where you’d find them, either.”

“Oh sweetheart, didn’t you hear me?” So close you can feel his heartbeat with your fingertips, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

A deathly promise.

“I’ve come for you.”

He slants his mouth, his lips pressing hotly to yours as you surrender to desire. The kiss is swift and hard. The two of you come together, again and again, like lightning and thunder. As he cradles your head with one hand, the other slips underneath your blouse to palm your breast. You arch against the wall. The onyx rings on his hand are cold, and they pucker your nipples as they bite your skin.

Somehow you find your fingers seeking him too. But it’s not enough to touch the exposed skin between the gaps of his buttoned shirt. You want more.

When you pull apart he is panting, lips apart and wet. His once slicked-back hair now mussed, you imagine yours is too. For the first time this evening, his arrogant face is a little shocked, as if the taste of you affected him more deeply than he expected. You unclench your fists from his shirt and slowly take his face into your hands. You draw a line down the bridge of his nose, feeling all its bumps and ridges.

You murmur huskily, “Why did you really come to Birmingham?”

He tilts his head expectantly, and you are lost in his devastating eyes as he replies.

“Pleasure.”

#luca changretta #luca changretta x reader #luca changretta smut #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders smut

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aenaxes · 3 years

Note

omg!! congrats on 200!!!! 🥰🥰 ur my fav crosshair writer so: crosshair + trust, with a gender neutral reader? nsfw or not, it's up to u!! congrats again 🎉🎆🎉

kinesthesia

[crosshair x gn!reader] with precision, there is control, and with control, there is tension, not easily soothed. you take it into your own hands to prove that wrong.

warnings: nsfw, fellatio, (kind of) sub!cross

w/c: 3.0k

a/n: prince my he a r t 🥺💕 ily bb ! this was also a super fun prompt to write hehe, and look i openly accept that i’m a pillow princess bottom, but i think i would enjoy making crosshair squirm. uno reverse card on his oral fixation—mine now.

“I’m still not entirely sold on this,” Crosshair admits as he takes a seat at the edge of your bunk. His toothpick bobs anxiously between his lips, chewed down flat where his lips brush up against the bleached wood. It’s not often that this breed of restlessness finds hold: stiff shoulders and hands folded tight over his lap.

Nerves.

“That’s why we have the safeword,” you quip from across your quarters, voice rising as you struggle to twist out of your heavy uniform jacket.

(Un)surprisingly, Crosshair makes for a quick study. Beneath the stony, oftentimes sullen disposition, he’s a simple man. Of course, that simplicity didn’t necessarily limit himself from branching out into an actual person, but you could boil him down to one thing and one thing alone: control. Whether it was his genetic acuity that shaped him into the sniper persona or vice versa, control centered him, grounded him, tied him so close to his sense of duty and personhood that sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart.

So when you had offered two rotations prior to take the reins—offered both as something new and the hypothetical of release from, well, everything that kept him in a perpetually alert state of coiled tension—you honestly hadn’t expected for Crosshair to pause, rolling his toothpick thoughtfully between his teeth, and accept.

There’s certainly a part of you that hopes the manufactured brevity to your tone is enough to soothe the anxiety radiating from where Crosshair makes himself prim and small on your bed, smaller still without the bulk of his dark armor weighed over his shoulders. But, against your better judgement, a low-lying anticipation simmers at the base of your lungs when you finally shuck the day’s sweat and blaster smoke to the side.

He’s seen you undone under him time and time again, beads of sweat following the smug lines of his expression as he bent you to his—and, to be entirely fair, your own—pleasure. And as satisfying as that arrangement has proven itself to be, curiosity has always been that single, nagging vice at the back of your head.

Who can blame you for wanting a taste?

“You remember it, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you catch the heavy dregs of uncertainty (perhaps even bashfulness, ha) dragging at his voice.

“Then say it,” you prod. You gently nudge the point of your knee up against Crosshair’s calf and offer him a mirthful glance. And when that doesn’t seem to banish his withering hesitance, you drop down onto the bunk beside him, grasping his hand in yours and squeezing snug.

“I—” he clears his throat with a soft wince: embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ll need it.”

“Cross,” you warn. Because if you were going to do this, you were going to do this right.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters under his breath, scrubbing his palm over the highest points of his cheeks. You wonder if the warmth over his cheeks is the same as your own, desirous and shy as you venture into those dark, uncertain places hand in hand. “Tooka, happy?”

“Very happy,” you grin, and you lean close to press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

Crosshair leans towards you, lips parted to chase your touch, more, more. But he’ll have his fill, and you’re quick to dart away, leaving him even more disoriented than he already is, all wide eyes that seek you like fading light.

You’re tempted to indulge him because it’s not often that he looks like a kicked loth cat (and he does a damn good impression when he does). But you manage to stuff down the creeping sympathy, opting instead to reach into the pocket of your trousers and produce a well-worn headband.

“Please tell me that’s not Hunter’s.” The rosy edge of desire vanishes from Crosshair’s voice as he catches sight of the broad black swatch of fabric in your palm. In its place, the testing edge of judgement so often home in Crosshair’s snide play.

“Ew, no—what? That’d be weird. And gross. Who do you think I am?”

That seems to do what your previous efforts could not, and your heart jumps when Crosshair responds with a soft snort and shrugs. He’s not resentful, not in the slightest. It’s just trepidation, jumping into uncharted waters with nothing but the trust that your hand, snug over his, would hold fast.

But the laughter settles, drawing back to reveal something that hums quiet between the small eternity between you. Even with your thigh pressed close against Crosshair’s own, you feel him drawing away, hesitant and wanting all at once. You gently pull his hand between you, squeezing once.

“Trust me?” you murmur.

Crosshair offers you a tremulous look, more nervous than apprehensive. You suppose it’s only fitting of him that relinquishing his steady grip over control might be more appealing in concept than on the eve of practice. Nonetheless, when you meet his gaze, you find the kind of uncertainty that heralds excitement, careful but enamored all the same. He nods.

“Then let me take care of you.”

Finally, as you raise your hands to his temples, pressing the dark fabric over his eyes, the tension pulls away from his coiled muscles, dropping his shoulders and bowing his head as you reach around him and tie a knot over the back of his silvery hair. He exhales long and slow as the knot settles snug over his scalp, warmed by the creases left behind by your fingertips and the sudden comfort yet complete unpredictability that shrouds his senses.

Testing the waters, you bring one hand to his cheek, just barely ghosting your fingertips over the lean lines of his jaw, and you are rewarded with a full-bodied shudder that shocks through Crosshair’s form as his lips gently part around his toothpick. Without that precious ability to see, he sits in your palm at your every whim.

You lean forward, gently biting your teeth around the tapered free end of his toothpick, and you feel him swallow hard when you free it from his mouth and drop it to the floor.

“Trust me.”

Chest heaving, he nods again.

“Safeword?”

This time, there is no snark to accompany a begrudging response. “Tooka.” Instead, his voice dips breathy and low between the long breadths between his soft exhales, his beating heart.

“Good boy.”

You surprise yourself at how natural the praise feels, rolling from your tongue and rising over the ambient hum of the ship around you. It fills your chest with something like affection, bordered pride that only swells as you watch him shudder, his lips parting just a little wider to pass that barely-there whimper riding on his exhale.

The hard planes of his body, that star map you’ve committed to the deepest parts of your heart, are familiar terrain under your skin as you flatten your palms over the sharp jut of his collar and travel lower. You pause the heels of your palms over the base of his ribs, pressing softly against the quickening rise and fall of his chest. Satisfaction curls sweet and rich over the tip of your tongue as his stuttering inhale shifts the air around you.

With slow, firm force, you push him backwards onto the bunk, Crosshair’s elbows catching his slow descent over the dark grey sheets until finally drops his head back onto the firm mattress. His chest heaves.

Your fingertips pass over the sinew and soft scar of his abdomen, chasing how his breathing expands from his chest and leaches tension over the length of his torso. You’re certain this isn’t new, not when your intimacy has you stealing the other’s breaths between stuttering gasps. But to feel it under your palms, thrumming and deep—it sets your nerves on fire.

Control. It’s wholly and entirely yours.

You still as the pads of your fingers catch the faint ridge of his waistband. And a part of you is smug with the power of reversal, that it wasn’t Crosshair offering you a knowing smirk as he parted your thighs and pressed close, that it was you, privy to only the deepest intimacy Crosshair could offer.

But it’s exactly that which keeps the power from rushing to your head, stymying the teasing mischief for something warm in your stomach when you trail lower and gently cup over the straining bulge in his blacks. And it grows fonder when Crosshair’s legs jerk with a labored puff of breath, the same one he breathes into your ear when he finally pushes up deep inside you and presses his skin close against yours. He whines, a straining, soft noise through his bitten lips, and you’ve teased long enough.

Crosshair makes a soft noise, somewhere between a gasp and a whining moan, when you finally hook your fingers over the hem of the dark fabric and expose the curved strain of his cock. He’s so open, you think as you reach forwards (though, you suppose being deprived of the one sense that reigned king would do that to you).

You don’t need to be able to see the half of his face rising above the bridge of his nose to envision the soft knit of his dark brows, eyes squeezed shut and lashes fluttering with every soft noise that passes his lips. You don’t need to see the half of his face bound under that broad swath of fabric to envision how his expression breaks from restraint to unbridled euphoria when you trace the edge of your nail down the underside of his cock.

“Please,” you think you hear him whisper past a breathy moan.

Whatever he might have had prepared, the whole gamut of biting, bratty demand to wide-eyed pleas, tumbles back into his throat when you finally climb onto the bunk by his hips, lick the flat of your tongue over your palm, and wrap it snug around the middle of Crosshair’s cock. Instead, you watch with a satisfied awe as he jerks up into your touch, spit-slick lips parted in a silent cry.

“You want my hand or my mouth?” you croon, pumping slowly from the thick base of his erection to the ruddy tip. You want him to feel every quiver of your touch as you run your thumb over the pearly drop of precome beaded at the crown of his cock, reveling in his shudder beneath you. You want to be the only thing he feels.

“Mouth,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“You’re so polite today,” you muse, reaching up with your free hand to rub your thumb over the plush bitten skin of his bottom lip. Emboldened, you slip your finger past his lips, grazing over his teeth as you push the pad of your thumb over his tongue, all the while slowly working your hand over his cock. “The good boy gets what he wants, then. Right?”

For a brief moment, something like disbelief occupies the warm air between you—you, amazed at how easy it is to hold the reins tight; him, stunned that somehow, you in control was as good, if not better, than being the commandeering weight to push your face into the pillows.

Crosshair nods, trembling as you squeeze softly over the base of his cock.

“I need to hear it, mesh’la.”

The last line of his restraint crumbles at the sound: one only ever given from him to you, yet suddenly brought back to him with the full brunt of lust, affection, the secret words you’ve come to call your own. Crosshair bucks up into your hand with a low groan, gasping soft and breathy when you slip your thumb from his mouth and hold him down to the mattress.

“Yes, please.”

You smile and dip low.

Unlike the slow deliberation of your earlier touch, you seal your lips over his ruddy cockhead with one smooth motion, pressing your tongue flat against the underside and hollowing your cheeks. And the heady taste of salt, of trembling anticipation, of him, only sweetens when you flick your eyes up to catch Crosshair tip up his chin, dig his heels into the mattress, and sob.

You sink his cock deeper into your mouth, achingly slow while you continue to work your fist around the base of his cock, and close in a way that coaxes soft, whimpering noises from his lips as he turns his head and clenches his jaw.

Flicking your eyes upwards, a pang of regret shocks through your chest that you aren’t able to see Crosshair come undone from the slightest of touches, tame in comparison to some of your particularly energetic nights. But you do away with the thought as quickly as it comes as his blunt cockhead brushes over the back of your tongue.

His pleasure has always been yours, yours his, you think as you pull back, just until your lips part around the tip of his cock while he shifts and gasps beneath you. You’ll have your turn soon enough.

Before you can sink back down, swallow him as deep as you can, the air by your cheek shifts, and expecting the worst, you lift your chin. But where you expected some stifled yellow light, Crosshair’s fingers feel blindly around you until they find purchase over your cheek. His relief is palpable as his stuttering touch curls over your skin and holds you close.

You smile.

“Trust me?” you ask again, your lips mouthing softly over his cock, catching thick smears of precome over your skin.

“I trust you,” he whispers.

Crosshair cries out, hoarse and as loud as he’s been all night, as you drop your mouth near-midway down the straining length of his cock in one motion, lavishing your tongue under his pulse. His hand tenses over your jaw, blunt nails digging light into your skin as his fingers curl with that bone-deep shock of pleasure. And if the breathy, desperate noises he whimpers into the alcove of the bunk are of any indication, you have a good feeling he’ll want to do this again.

You moan around him in answer. It doesn’t matter to you that his brothers might hear, only a few panels of durasteel away and connected by the reverb of a narrow ship corridor. They probably do hear, but all that matters now is Crosshair, coming impossibly more undone under your tongue as he runs his trembling thumb over the skin of your cheek.

His hips buck up towards you, catching the back of your throat with a soft sting that reaches your nose. If you weren’t so desperate, you might have pinned him down harder or pulled away entirely to let him think about what he had done. But as much as you want to chase this power play, hearing him lose himself to you has you desperate for his touch.

You follow him with every uneven jerk and thrust up into the wet heat of your mouth, letting him take his fill. You simply stroke firmer as his skin warms over your tongue. It’s all so hot, the air heady and thick as you breathe in sharp through your nose and lean into his palm, and you wonder what it feels like, anchored to nothing but you, his sole light in a world gone dark.

His motions fall uneven, his hips twisting against your touch, his breaths becoming deeper, louder as they bounce over the steel ceiling overhead. He’s close.

You twist your fist over his cock, redoubling your efforts. You sink down so far over his cock that your eyes water as you crush the head up against the back of your throat. Heavy and thick, it muffles down a soft gag for you—it’s the deepest you’ve ever taken him. Crosshair notices, and he nearly wails.

He’s been good, you decide as you all but choke around him. He can take that coveted control back. You gently rub his hand, unspoken assent, and his hand slides up your jaw to finds purchase at the back of your head to fuck you down onto him in earnest.

And you take it, eyes blurring with tears and shallow inhales through your nose, holding still and letting him fuck over your tongue until he’s taken his fill. It doesn’t take long for him to spill down your throat, a low, hoarse groan passed between his lips as you struggle to breathe between every dutiful swallow of his thick come down your throat.

“Good boy,” you rasp as you pull the blindfold from over his head.

Crosshair meets you with unfocused eyes, full of wonder and a shaky haze that finds focus on you alone in the low light. Over the ache in your knees, you crawl up to meet him, collapsing down beside him with a soft sigh. He meets you with habit, practiced and true as he tips down his chin and presses his lips to yours, tasting himself on your skin when he swipes his tongue over your lip.

“How was that?” you whisper, breathing soft over his lips.

You tilt your head up enough to catch your nose over Crosshair’s. He still meets you with that same stupor, but you see it begin to mellow into something other than the shock of enjoyment in submission in a man who has only ever known control to be his. It’s quiet and raw, splitting open your chest with that rare kind of warmth that the broad expanse of space and war leave little space to grow.

Yours, whispered and cradled close between your beating hearts, yours alone.

“I’ll remember the safeword,” Crosshair says finally, his voice distant and soft as he still rises out of the aftershocks of his orgasm. But in that weary daze, you catch the rosy relaxation, vulnerable and yet increasingly less rare in your palms. Relief, pride, joy, honeyed goodness rises to the apples of your cheeks at the sound.

“I still think I won’t need it, though.” And you both laugh, curling close.

#hm. i want to peg him now #i still dont know how to tag posts but. i do write better when im significantly inebriated #anyways hehe hope u enjoy!!#i'd also like to send a special thanks to those ppl on youtube who make reverb/slowed playlists *chefs kiss* phenomenal #crosshair x reader #the bad batch x reader #bobathots #yaej.writes

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imagineyourworld-old · 3 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet with Wolffe

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut (obviously), mentions of injuries

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A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex)

After sex Wolffe is a puppy (sorry for the pun). He makes sure that you’re alright, gets you a glass of water and urges you to pee afterwards (he knows it is important for your health down there). If the two of you are not too tired he just loves taking a bath with you, just holding you close, shampooing your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

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

Wolffe loves your lips! How soft they are against his, how pink and plush they look after kissing or when he bites them (he also adores when you bite them when you’re nervous or thinking), the marks they leave on him and how good they feel on every single part of his body.

As for himself, I feel like Wolffe would be proud of his arms/shoulders, especially whenever he gets to hold you close he loves knowing that he is strong enough to protect you (even if you don’t need him to) or carry you to the bedroom when you’re in the mood.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Whether he has pulled out and spread his seed on them or some of it tickled out of you, Wolffe loves seeing your thighs covered in his cum. And he loves licking it off of them.

And as mentioned before he loves your lips, so seeing even just a single drop of his cum on them is a close second favourite.

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

Wolffe would love to watch you touch yourself to the thought of him. You’ve told him that you’ve done it before, but at that moment he was too surprised to go further into the topic. One day though, he promises himself, he will ask you if he can watch.

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

Not crazy experienced, but he knows what he’s doing. Wolffe is a very closed off and private person, so he doesn’t just jump into bed with anyone, but there have been times (before you were together of course) where he went home with someone after a night out.

F = Favourite position (This goes without saying)

Wolffe’s not picky, he’s fine with whatever feels best for you. But oh boy does he get off on seeing the expressions on your face when he’s deep inside you, so basically any position in which he can see your face (and kiss your lips) is his favourite.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc)

He is a pretty serious person in general, so he’s not exactly goofy in bed, but that doesn’t mean he is opposed to laughing every now and then. The first time you laughed, however, had him feeling incredibly insecure until you explained that you weren’t laughing at him.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc)

Wolffe is a pretty tidy guy, so he keeps his hair groomed, but not entirely shaved off.

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

It may be surprising, but during sex Wolffe can be a real romantic. He wants to make sure that you’re feeling fine, that you’re taken care of and your pleasure always comes first. But even though it’s rare, sometimes he can be rough and have his way with you (as long as you agree of course), but as soon as he’s finished he’ll take care of your needs.

J = Jack off (Mastrubation headcanon)

Before he met you Wolffe just didn’t understand the appeal of mastrubating. But now, when he thinks of you, he sometimes can’t help but sneak off to his private quarters or the shower and get off to the thought of you.

There was this one time you sent him a spicy holo and let’s just say he spent some time alone after that.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

One word: Cockwarming. Some days he enjoys having you so close, being one with you and knowing that you only do this for him and no one else. Some days he likes to tease you, make you all hot and bothered by giving you the bare minimum, but keeping you stuffed full of him all the same.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Since Wolffe is a pretty private person it should come as no surprise that he prefers the privacy of your bedroom, he’s fine with your living room as well, but the bedroom simply gives the two of you more space and a comfier setting.

He’d never say no to taking you back to his room (let’s just say he has a private room, ok?), but prefers your place, because there he feels completely off duty and there his brothers or general won’t interrupt whatever you get up to.

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

Quite a few things, actually. Let’s just make a list, shall we?

Since he loves your lips seeing you wearing a new or bright shade of lipstick, using a straw, licking or biting your lips or anything else that draws attention to your lips has him hooked.

Catching a glimpse at hickies he left on you just make him want to do it (and you) all over again.

Soft kisses to his collarbone or the place where his neck meets his shoulder always leave him wanting more.

Seeing you in either lingerie or his blacks usually has him half hard from the sight alone.

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

While he loves leaving hickies everywhere, Wolffe would never leave any other kind of mark on you. He might be projecting a bit, but he remembers the pain when he lost his eye and got his scar, and is sometimes still self conscious about it, so he would hate leaving even the slightest scratch or bite mark.

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

Wolffe enjoys both giving and receiving, but gun to his head he would have to say he prefers receiving. Not only because he gets to see your lips, swollen from kissing and him biting them, wrapped around his cock, but also because he gets to lick the last drops of his cum off your lips and taste himself on your tongue.

But when it comes to giving he is so skilled, it’s ridiculous. If asked you’d say he is even better with his tongue and fingers than he is with his dick.

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

His life is hectic, so when the two of you have time he tries his best to make use of that time with soft and slow love making. Wolffe enjoys touching and kissing every part of your body, teasing you and committing every part of you to memory for when you have to part ways again.

Some days, though, when he is especially stressed or needy or you have been teasing him a bit too much, Wolffe wastes no time getting both himself and you off.

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

He’s not a big fan, but sometimes there is just no other way. Maybe you have been teasing him too much, maybe you haven’t gotten alone time for a while, maybe he just needs to know that you’re there and you’re his for a moment.

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

Here we need to differentiate: While Wolffe is down to experimenting and finding new ways to pleasure you (and for you to find new ways to pleasure him), but he’s not a risk taker. Anything that might get you hurt or end up in the two of you getting caught in the act is off the table.

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

Not exceptional, but not disappointing either. He can usually go for two, maybe three, rounds in a row, and know how to make them last. If you’re planning on a long night however, he’ll have to take some breaks, during which he’ll put his hands and tongue to good use, so you’re not complaining.

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

He’s not a fan, but not opposed either.

So far you haven’t used any toys in your love making, but he knows you use them when he’s not around, which makes him kinda curious. He won’t bring the topic up unless you do though, and that has nothing to do with the fact that he might be a slight bit scared, nothing at all.

U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

Wolffe never teases you in public, but once the two of you are behind closed doors he constantly has his hands on you, sometimes he just wants to cuddle, but sometimes he wants to get you riled up. Maybe he whispers something in your ear, his husky voice making even the most innocent words sound dirty, maybe he lets his hands roam your body and squeeze your boobs or thighs, maybe he even slips his hand inside your trousers, whatever he chooses to do that day, you know you’ll end up in the bedroom.

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

While he’s usually pretty quiet he lets out soft whimpers whenever you hit a sweet spot. And on the rare occasion that he is frustrated, either because you won’t do as he says or you won’t let him do what he wants, he actually growls, much like the animal he named himself after.

W = Wild card (Random headcanon for the character)

Wolffe is usually a dom, but on the rare occasion the two of you decide to switch it up he’s the whiniest, most impatient sub there is. Since he usually cannot refuse any orders in his day to day life he loves disobeying you to the point where it can be frustrating and you’re close to giving up and letting him take over. He won’t let it go that far, however, because even though he’d never admit it (at least not while sober) he loves it when you take control and do as you please.

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

He’s a soldier, so he’s strong and muscular.

Down there Wolffe is long, but not exactly longer than average. He is quite thick though, so when he’s inside you he really stretches you out.

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

Wolffe’s sex drive is not crazy high, which he is glad of since there’s a war going on and you can’t just jump at each other whenever one of you feels like it. But there are a few rare days when he feels like he’d go crazy if he can’t have you right that moment.

-------

Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No matter how tired Wolffe is, he always makes sure you’re alright before he even thinks about sleeping. Once you are taken care of, and preferably laying in his arms, however, he falls right asleep. Wolffe doesn’t get much sleep and he never sleeps better than with you in his arms.

I’ve wanted to write an NSFW alphabet for quite a while now, because I feel like it’s a good entry point to writing smut, but most of the characters I wanted to write for already have hundreds of these, so when I couldn’t find one for Wolffe I knew my time had come.

As I said, this is my first time writing smut and also my first time writing for Wolffe, so please excuse any mistakes.

#wolffe #commander wolffe #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #wolffe imagine #wolffe smut #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #commander wolffe smut #star wars the clone wars #star wars imagine #clone wars imagine #clone wars self insert

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crimsonrae · 3 years

Text

Drowned Desires

Summary: Pirates plunder wasn’t always jewels and gold. Sometimes their bounty was flesh. Captain Cavill had found his treasure in the shape of a feral woman.

Pirate!HenryxOFC

Warning: Kidnapping, coercion, trapped, spanking, ultimatums, dry humping, masturbation. Dark Themes below. read at your own risk.

A/N: I have written and rewritten sections of this several times, but it took nearly deleting it all by accident to get me to post. I hope you all enjoyed.

Drowned Desires

Wooden planks whined and groaned as waves licked and lapped at the ship's underbelly. It was a familiar tune, as much as the heavy thumps of feet upon the deck, the clash of swords, and the cries of men – so familiar that the Captain heard none of it as he perused the papers and trinkets hidden away in the desk of his now fallen counterpart.

His men never understood his predilection for ship diaries and official correspondence, not when there were shinier prizes at hand. Yet, he understood what they did not...information would always fetch a far higher price than any piece of jewelry – not that he didn’t take his share of that too.

A faint smirk spread lazily across his lips as he drew his finger across beautifully inked letters that denoted the mark of nobility. His mind already hungered for the letter's contents – for what could nobility want in the Caribbean wild?

“Captain!” Sapphire-iced eyes flicked to the cabin door with disinterest before returning to his venture, “Captain!”

With a roaring slam, the door flew open to reveal his first mate, but he was not alone. A wild maelstrom of silk impressively blocked the large man from view as guttural grunts and screams filled the cabin.

Henry raised an innocuous brow as he watched the virulent struggle, silently amused by the brief glimpses of frustration on Brooks’s face as he maintained his hold on what Henry could only assume was a feral girl.

“Be quiet!” Brooks barked, finally having enough as he shoved the girl to the ground. His bulky frame took up the entirety of the cabin’s exit as he glared almost mutinously at his captain.

Henry licked his lip and smirked before peering curiously over the edge of the wide desk to the sprawled form below. A mass of hair flipped back to reveal a startlingly beautiful and mature face. Unbidden, lust stirred within his veins.

Not a girl, then. A woman.

A very angry woman, Henry mused as he sat back and stared at his first mate, “Is there a reason why she’s not locked in the stores with the others?”

“She ripped Thatcher’s ear clear off, Captain. He’s demanding recompense.” Brooks intoned wearily as he kept a watchful eye on the now oddly quiet woman.

Henry’s brow arched higher, if possible, as again he leaned over the desk to take in the fallen woman. She was paying him no mind, having come to her knees. Her eyes shifted about the room as if looking for an exit or a weapon. It was then that Henry was able to note the faint glimpse of red staining her skin – not on her hands, but her neck and mouth. It wasn’t hard to deduce what Thatcher had attempted that had cost him his ear.

“I take it young Mr. Thatcher, is currently being attended to which is why he’s not here to plead his case.” Henry murmured, as he took in the long line of her throat and the gentle swells that teased the hem of her bodice. Blood had stained her flesh here too, but he found his cock twitching despite her dishevelment. He could see why Thatcher had chosen her.

“Aye, Captain.”

“And what say you, woman?” Henry queried lightly, smirking as her gaze finally alighted on him. Wariness, fury, and a touch of fear – but not as much as he expected, “Should I let Thatcher have his pound of flesh?”

She said nothing, her fine eyes narrowing into a fierce glare. It made him want to grin. How had Thatcher missed the fire she emanated? But then, the deckhand was not the brightest of his crew.

Henry tilted his head, “Oh, don’t play mute now. Not after the ruckus of your entry.”

He barely had the words out when something wet hit his cheek. If it were possible the entire cabin stilled, even the creaking of the ship had quieted. The captain’s amusement with the situation had disappeared as he stoically wiped the spittle from his person.

“I suppose I should be grateful to still have my ear.” He muttered with deceptive gentleness as he leveled a cold stare onto the woman. She stiffened in preparation of an attack, but none came as his attention turned back to his first mate, “Leave us.”

There was a moment of hesitation before the cabin door swung shut with as decorous a roar as it had been opened. To the woman still kneeled on the floor, it was almost like hearing a nail pounded into her coffin. There was little point in trying to leave. She would merely end up on the deck with the savage crew that had taken the ship hostage. If she were lucky then she might make it to the water, but that was only a slower death.

“What’s your name?” His words were measured and deliberate, “And do not spit at me again lest you wish to feel the back of my hand.”

“...Mary.” She muttered after a moment.

Henry snorted, her pause had given her away, “Too pious a name for you. Try again.”

She huffed indignantly, but acquiesced, “Elowyn. Elowyn O’Dara.”

There was a faint lilt to her voice that agreed with her name, though even this moniker seemed too tame for her spirit, “Ms. O’Dara, why aren’t you locked in the stores with the other passengers?”

If eyes were daggers, he’d be dead as her glare became pointed, “Your man already told you.”

“Surely, you don’t simply have a predilection for tearing off ears – or shall I say a taste.” He prodded, wanting his suspicions confirmed, “What exactly provoked you?”

“He looked at me funny.” Elowyn hissed bitingly.

Henry pursed his lips, a reproach on the tip of his tongue when better sense prevailed him. Despite the grand silks she wore, her gown was ill-fitted. The sleeve came within a breath of falling off her shoulder and her speech while refined was far blunter than any gentlewoman. He had a new suspicion about his little spitfire.

“Is that all it takes?” Henry taunted as he towered over her. Well aware that her dangerous mouth was aligned to an appendage far more valuable than an ear. In fact, it was the image of her mouth and that appendage which enticed him to draw closer still, forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and avoid undue embarrassment. He swore that he could feel her breath even through the thick leather of his trousers.

Elowyn growled, though the flush of her cheeks belied any indifference, “Why should it take more?”

“I think it would take more.” He stated quietly. His finger curled under her chin and urged her to stand. He wanted the full measure of her. Not the defiant victim she had curled herself into.

The fabric of her gown swished and whispered as it draped around her body like a protective cloak. Her eyes sparkled wildly at him, warily – like twin pillar flames of a candelabra. He had no doubt that she would attack him as fervently as she had his man if he were to push his luck. He was tempted to try anyway...but a greater desire lurked in his heart.

She would bend to him first.

He let his finger trail down the line of her throat as he kept his gaze locked with hers, taking in every twitch and tremble that she tried so valiantly to hide. His touch smoothed across her shoulder, warm and chafing against her delicate flesh until, at last, he reached that clinging hem.

Almost thoughtfully, he traced that strained neckline, “Tell me, did your mistress press you into her dress to hide, or have you been trying to pass yourself off as a gentle lady for your voyage? Graces and airs do open many doors.”

Elowyn stilled as his words took home, “I’ve no idea of what you speak.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Henry hummed knowingly, “A good liar you are not, Ms. O’Dara. Which makes me inclined to think you were pressed into this gown. However, like recognizes like and I think I’ve merely unsettled you.”

“The devil would be unsettled by you.” She murmured; heat resonated through her bosom as his fingers hovered over her swells, but he didn’t touch... just teased.

He grinned roguishly, amused by her scorn, “Either way... it does beg the question, how are you going to keep yourself from ruin? Even if you leave my presence – and that of my crew’s untouched – you’re still caught in something of a predicament, lass.”

Confusion furrowed her brow at his words and only deepened as he stepped away from her to lean against the ornate desk behind him. Smug and insufferable it galled her to ask after his meaning, “The only predicament I’ll have is giving the navy a name for the swine that dared board this ship.”

Henry barked a sharp laugh before giving a mocking bow, “Why Captain Henry Cavill at your service, milady? But do you honestly think that if I were to return you to the stores below that assumptions wouldn’t be made?”

Elowyn’s lips pursed, a silent refusal to entertain his inquiry. It only delighted him.

“You’ve been gone too long, lass. They know why Ole Thatch took you. Probably already assume that you’re dead. And let’s say you were pressed into this gown by your mistress... Loyal though you were, what use does she have for a spoiled maid? Best to send you on your way. And if you are a gentlewoman, word of your ruin will reach all and sundry before the ship is even done being berthed. No hoity-toity wealthy gentleman will look at you twice. All your prospects gone.”

Her cheeks were scarlet with humiliation, and she gritted her teeth as she scolded him, “Does this please you? These cruel games? I demand to be taken back to the stores.”

His eyes twinkled mirthfully, “Oh that’s it, Luv. Not bad for a gentlewoman, but you should tremble a little more to sell it.”

She barely bit back a snarl, even as her body moved without permission. To the surprise of both Henry and Elowyn, her slim hand snatched the pistol tucked into his belt and had it pressed under his chin before either could blink.

“Get. Off. This. Ship.” She sniped, hand minutely trembling as she stared straight into his now unimpressed eyes.

Outside the sounds of battle and the thumping of steps had dwindled to a steady few. His crew had overwhelmed the other and were taking what ever they could find back to the Kalliope. His time aboard was limited anyway... but still, it wouldn’t do to have this slip of a girl think she gained the upper hand. No longer was he willing to see her submit, but he would see her pride broken.

It was time he acted like a pirate.

“I intend to.” He murmured.

It wasn’t what she had expected him to say, and her moment of bafflement worked to his advantage as he ducked down and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed in much the same way she had in entering the room.

He heard the soft click of his gun and grinned when she comprehended that there was no bullet to be shot. He had used his powder on boarding, his pistol now a pretty decoration for his ruthless image. Her screams became even more enraged.

He chuckled and ignored her pounding fists to his back as he stepped out to the deck, “Brooks!”

His steadfast first mate appeared with nary a word and a raised brow. Yet, Henry knew he wouldn’t ask the question dancing on his tongue, “Ms. O’Dara will be joining us. See to it that the rudder of this ship is disengaged and gather the men back aboard Kal. I want to be sailing with the wind within the hour.”

“Aye, Captain.”

No further words were spoken nor needed between the two though that hardly stopped the squalling of the harridan thrashing his back. Grunting in frustration, he crossed the boarding ramp in two steps as his palm placed a resound slap onto Elowyn’s wriggling rump. A silent warning to be still which she did not heed.

“Put me down!”

It must have been the hundredth time she had shrieked this, but as Henry crossed the threshold of his cabin he decided to finally obey, “Very well.”

Grim amusement touched his lips as he tossed her onto his bed, her skirts flew wild, and he caught a tempting glimpse of the thin cotton of her bloomers. Those would not last long, like the whores of Nassau she would learn to stay bare beneath those skirts.

Ever defiant, Elowyn flew up from her supine position and slid from the bed before he could blink. Her speed was impressive, but she was not fast enough to beat the closing of the door as the lock clicked into place. Smirking, Henry seized the bottle of whiskey from the corner of his desk as he fell languidly into his chair to watch the despairing storm that descended upon his captive.

Elowyn yanked heartily on the handle, a torrent of panic and anger spurning her heart. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she was furious to find a sob pulling at her throat as the sands counting down her freedom quickly dwindled. She could not be trapped here. It simply was not to be born.

All the while, Elowyn could feel his gaze burn into her back. Not for the first time her stomach clenched under the weight of his attention. She detested the stirrings of lust his visage had enticed; his quiet perusal of her body had done much to set a simmering awareness along her skin that could only be calmed by the touch of another.

She slammed her palm against the hardwood of the door as her head became bowed with defeat.

“I am no one’s whore.” Her voice hoarse from her screams broke the expectant silence.

For a moment, the captain wondered if she could read minds. However, the longer he was in her presence the more he thought she was an innocent maid... if only her protest had not been so despondent. Tired. Bitter. As if this was a situation not uncommon.

“Aren’t you?” The words were spoken with seemingly little thought as Henry took a light swig from his bottle. A pleasantly harsh warmth burned over his tongue and down his throat as the dark liquid sought out his blood.

A low snarl emanated from her, and Henry watched curiously as she whirled to face him. His breath was stolen by the fury in her watery gaze. Her lips had curled back into a sneer, and she stood defiant. Wrathful, proud, and stunning. She was Circe reborn.

The entertained glint that shined in the face of her rage, merely cemented her ire as she strode across the room with the full command of a Goddess. She let the dress fall from her shoulders to twist and drown around her torso before falling lost to the floor. She trod on it and over it with little care.

Henry devoured the view of her corset and bloomers. Her curves were more pronounced with the clinging material of her undergarments and yet not enough. He’d rather see her bare.

Elowyn pointedly ignored the hunger of his countenance and snatched the whiskey from his hand. Her throat bobbed deliciously as she downed one mouthful and then two before throwing the bottle at the very door she longed to escape through.

A sharp thunk and the glittering clatter of shattered glass echoed through the cabin. Henry arched a brow in mild disappointment, “That was a very expensive bottle.”

“That I’m sure you stole.” Elowyn countered as she moved to straddle his lap. Her gaze was taunting as her fingers laced into the collar of his shirt, “Is this what you wanted, Captain?

He hummed, amused by her show of bravado, and respected her attempt at taking control, but he could see the quivering girl just below the surface. He delved his hands beneath the hem of her corset, gliding calloused fingers around the satin flesh of her waist. Goosebumps raised like waves in a storm at his touch.

A sharp gasp left Elowyn’s throat as one hand slid down beneath her bloomers to grasp the firm muscle of her bottom and squeeze. It was like lightning had been released across her hide. Visceral mordant liquid pooled in her loins, and she tried not to squirm. She didn’t want him to see how affected she truly was, even as evidence blossomed across the flimsy material guarding her.

Yet, as she held his dark stare, she swore that the staccato beating of her heart had given her away. A cool thrill shivered across her skin, only to be chased by a flaming warmth that she could not control. Beneath the rough cotton of her corset, her nipples puckered and pebbled, and she felt a shameful heat spread over her breasts to her collar and up her neck.

He hadn’t even kissed her.

He leant forward, teasingly drawing his lips along the shell of her ear. Henry grinned at the small shivering whimper that spilled from her lips at such an act. He had to wonder if she was worried that he would do to her what she had done to Thatch. Tauntingly, his tongue shot out and suckled her delicate lobe into his mouth as her knuckles whitened to match his collar.

She mewled prettily and arched into his hold, unable to voice the word stop. He wouldn’t have, even if she begged.

He lathed attention to her sensitive appendage for another few seconds before gently nipping the tender flesh, “I think this what you wanted, lass.”

She swallowed tightly and tried to bring forth the dispassionate woman that had brought her to his lap, “No.”

“No?” Henry almost sang, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. He nuzzled the plush swell of her cheek, breathing a kiss to the corner of her mouth as his fingers made quick work of the laces of her corset. A faint copper taste dazzled his tongue – had she enjoyed the taste of Thatcher’s blood?

Her breath hitched as she felt the boned fabric slide from her bosom. It took every ounce of strength not to fold her arms in and hide. She had tried to out bluff the monster but had goaded him into action instead. Brute violence would not remove her from this situation. She knew this instinctively, and as his bristled cheek chafed against the silk of her neck and chest, Elowyn became uncertain if she wanted to be removed.

Gossamer licks of pleasure pulsated from his rough skimming, and his hot breath ignited a current of desire that made her stomach clench with need. She felt suddenly empty and as his supple lips latched onto her pointed teet, she keened. Unthinkingly, she rocked into his pelvis in a feeble attempt to fill the throbbing void between her legs. Her cunt dripped and twitched needily as he suckled.

Elowyn sputtered and gasped at his forceful pulls, pressing down harder into his lap and ultimately onto his erection. She wasn’t sure when, but her fingers had delved around the bandanna holding back his wild mane as she tried not to fall into his ardent mouth, but she was helpless against his assault. He would devour her.

“Please.” She breathed.

Henry smiled and lightly bit down on her tortured tit, admiring the dark hue her sensitive flesh had garnered from his attentions, before moving his attention to her other breast, “Please, what?”

She arched as he began his attack anew. Her hips coming alive as she undulated frenetically against him. A pressure had started to build, a delicious force stood just out of reach and she just... just needed.

Henry’s strong hands dug into her hips stilling her movements. He knew that she was on the cusp of climax. He could smell the heady scent of her arousal, but such satisfaction would not be had until she took his cock.

Elowyn wailed in frustration, “Please!!”

“Please, what?” He iterated again. His fingers latched onto the seam of her bloomers. One fierce tug would be all he needed to tear her undergarment in two.

Her pride screamed at her to remain silent, but the wanton in her demanded she cave. Elowyn bit her lip as she tried to stave off another plea. Instead, she sought out the lace of his breeches and swiftly freed him of his leather confines.

Henry allowed her this and watched with a jovial grimace as she took in his hidden pistol. Her eyes widen at his size, her thighs clenching over his at the thought of taking him. He would not fit, but he would certainly fill her. She dragged a curious nail over his weeping head, jolting as his manhood twitched and bobbed under her innocent exploration.

He hissed, “Either suck me off, lass, or finish your request. If I must choose what comes next, you will find little pleasure in my actions.”

Her gaze flew up to his, noting the seriousness she found staring back at her. She swallowed tightly, “T-take me.”

A cruel grin twitched at his lips, “Take you where?”

She bristled at his mocking, “Copulate with me, like the pig you are.”

SMACK!

She gasped at the pain that flared through her hind-side and barely refrained from moaning as the reverberation echoed with her desire.

Henry tutted, “Name-calling when you’re begging? Not very gracious. Especially as you were the one to come to me, Luv.”

“Bastard!” She spat and choked on another moan as he assaulted her rear once more.

He grinned, “Enjoy that do you?”

She cursed him again and he laughed, “Should I take the cat and nine tails to you? What a saucy minx you’re turning out to be.”

“I loathe you.” Elowyn murmured through gritted teeth, “What do you want from me?”

He smiled bitingly at her, “Ask nicely and remember my title.”

She growled and tore from his hold as her pride won out for the moment. He watched her with the gaze of a predator as she discarded the last of her garments. She flung herself onto his bed and splayed her legs wide. She would not capitulate to him.

At least not verbally.

Henry’s mouth watered greedily as her nimble little fingers delved and played with her soaked mound. She was playing a very dangerous game. She stroked her sweet little nub with feverish intensity, allowing her moans to fill the cabin like a sonorous symphony. She put on a lovely lurid show and he couldn’t pull his gaze away as she ran a finger along the edge of her cunt, teasing him with a view of her seeping hole. It took little time for her to find that pleasure peak again and even less for him to lose his patience.

In less than three steps he was between her legs, knocking her hands away from her lush garden.

In two breaths, he was poised at her entrance.

In one kiss, he speared her with the intensity of a hunter claiming his prey.

He swallowed her raucous cry and reveled in the silent tear the swam down her cheek as he brutal entrance. Unbridled heat scored up his manhood as her wet cavern suckled him reluctantly to her womb. He had warned her what would happen if he were to choose.

Groaning, he could not still for long and raised his knee for leverage as he began a brutal pace toward release. Despite his harsh embrace, it was not long before her hips met his, seeking salvation from his unrelenting torrent.

Her muscles strained from being split, but the sharp ache was diminished by the relief of being so completely stuffed. Her pride wailed in horror at being proven the whore, but Elowyn cared little. Pleasure scalded and overwhelmed her like a bubbling hot spring.

Henry was everywhere.

Grasping, biting, prodding, and shoving.

He pulled sounds from her throat she had never heard before... but she was no better. Willing, she spread her thighs wider for him, welcoming his passionate tempest as he soundly cast her to the waves of ecstasy.

She cried out fervently as she drowned, and her body clung to him as if it were a buoy. Her walls became a vice, now trapping him to her as she fell victim to her carnal desires, “Captain!”

Henry watched her erupt through half-hooded eyes, captivated by the euphoria that descended upon her. He groaned as her walls clenched even tighter around him, demanding his seed.

He thrust once.

Twice.

Thrice more before he gave in to her delicious demand and came with a roar, filling her to brim as he enjoyed the way his cock spasmed in time with her tremors. Lazily, he pressed a kiss to her temple as she quivered against him.

Elowyn peered up at him with wide eyes, shame seeping into her mien as the weight of her actions crashed down onto her. She tried to cover herself, but Henry refused to let her move. He trapped her wrists above her head as he trapped her stare with his, “You have a choice now, lass. Be a good girl and warm this bed or walk out of this cabin and warm my crew’s. Either way, you’ll be a whore, but whose... well that remains up to you.”

Tears welled as he pulled out of her with a wet plop. Only then could she see the image she painted. Ruined and laid bare before the man who had stolen her as he fixed his trousers and shirt. She hated how little she had resisted him, how much she still wanted him. She had no recourse. He had extracted his pound of flesh as she drowned in her desires.

She would be his whore.

It was then she knew that Captain Henry Cavill wasn’t merely a pirate, he was the devil too.

#Pirate!Henry #AuHenry #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x ofc #fanfic #fanfiction #dark theme #Drowned Desires

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problematicfavesareproblematic · 3 years

Text

I Wish I Could Leave This Alone (I Know How Much You Want Me To)

Babe Heffron x Reader (plus guest) One Shot

Summary: Babe’s birthday gift to you has an unexpected party crasher

Warnings: smut, angst, infidelity (?), reader overthinking while getting dicked down, I wrote this and immediately posted it so it will be edited at some point

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Babe’s kiss was soft, but his touch was not.

You couldn’t help the groan that escaped from the back of your throat as one of his hands gripped tightly at your hip, and when he smiled against your lips you couldn’t help but feel like you’d had done something to amuse him.

“What?” you pant, leaning back at the waist to break the kiss and frowning at his smirk.

He chuckled warmly as he walked you backward towards your bed, the hand at your hip finding its way under your shirt and up against your sternum.

“Where’d you go, Gorgeous?” he asked playfully, and you immediately felt guilty.

He was right, you’d gone somewhere else for a while. That wasn’t fair to him, and you knew that. And while he was quick to call you out on it, he never seemed to truly take offense to it. You weren't sure what that said about him. Or you, for that matter.

You shake your head and bring your hands to the hem of his t-shirt, lightly tracing your nails across the sensitive skin of his lower stomach. “Started getting a bit ahead of myself, that’s all.”

Pressing a kiss to the hinge of his jaw, you use your position to slide your hand down the front of his trousers and cup him through his boxers.

“You forgot to breathe,” he mumbles, his voice slow and distracted. “Can’t have you blacking out and embarrassing yourself like that—Woah.”

A smile of your own breaking across your face, you nose at him until he brings his mouth to yours again, making a show of inhaling sharply as the backs of your knees hit the bed.

“Good note,” you say breathily as you pull his shirt up his back, giggling idiotically as he intentionally gives you a hard time of it. Your shirt doesn’t last long either, and with a practiced ease, you have each other stripped and bare in the blueish darkness of your barrack.

He isn’t gentle when his hands grip your bare skin, his movements excited and rough as he settles against the headboard and pulls you up to straddle his lap.

“I remembered, by the way.”

Taking his face in your hands, you hold him away to study him, confusion marring your constantly furrowed brow. “Remembered…?”

His eyes are aglow in the dark, so amber and warm that they reminded you of the spiced ciders your family would make during the holidays back home. A wicked smile crosses his face, and he chuckles quietly.

“I told you what knowing my middle name would cost you when you asked me last month, and the information I wanted in return. And I told you I wouldn’t forget…”

The cogs clicked in your head, and you made a sound of upset when you figured out what he was talking about.

Detail for detail, that’s the deal, Sweetcheeks.

“Happy Birthday, Sargent Y/N.” He waggled his eyebrows, and you booed him quietly.

“What are the odds a blowjob will make you forget about it?” you ask with a wince, gasping when he playfully rolled his hips up to meet yours. Feeling how hard he was made your blood begin to run hotter.

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning forward to suck a kiss on the delicate skin beneath your collarbone. “Somewhere between none and slim.”

With an annoyed hum, you lean your head forward to rest atop his head and let him mouth at you, your hand coming up to pull at his hair only when you knew he was intentionally trying to leave a mark.

“And do you remember what I said I wanted to give you for your birthday?”

Feeling the blood rush to your cheeks, you realized that you could only sit in hot embarrassment as he laughed at you again.

“Such a prim and proper lady, scandalized by the idea of riding my face—”

“Edward!” you hissed, hands that once held his face now pushing it away. “Don’t say it like that, come on—”

The auburn-haired man laughed, catching your wrists and pulling you into his chest. you grunted with frustration, your face now pressed against the hollow of his throat.

“It’s not like my mouth hasn’t been down there before, you know.”

Sighing, you let yourself sag into him slightly, trying not to lose yourself in his lighthearted tone.

“Yeah, but not like that, when I’m just…you know.”

“Oh I see, you like it better when I do all the work and you get to take the princess position, huh?”

“Jesus Christ, Babe” you sit up again with a huff, attempting to pull your wrists back from his unyielding grip. “I try to be serious for one fucking second….”

Rolling his eyes, he surges up and kisses you sweetly, and for a minute you feel yourself begin to slip out of your body again.

But he brings you back. He always brings you back to him and here and now.

“C’mon, Sweet Thing…” he croons shamelessly against your lips, rough hands releasing your wrists and sliding teasingly up and down your thighs. The touch has you trembling in his lap, and he’s kissing you before you can be too embarrassed. “If you hate it, I’ll stop and you can fucking edge me until I blackout, I swear to god. You gotta let me see you like this, Y/N. Please, Gorgeous…?”

Good GOD he was shameless, literally begging you to allow him the chance to make you feel good, to show you how good he can make you feel- how much he wanted to be the one to do it to you first.

Anticipation was knotted in your throat as you smashed your lips to his, a flutter of heady resolve resting in your belly. As if he could taste what you were thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and hummed against your mouth.

“God, you’re so perfect...” he pulled you into him, rolling his hips in a way that seemed to remind you of the urgency you both had felt before.

When he pulls back this time he’s grinning at you like a complete idiot, happier than any man should be at the prospect of cunnilingus, in your opinion.

But Edward Heffron was nothing if not enthusiastic in his pursuits.

“Hands on the windowsill,” he said breathlessly, his cheeks turning pink and making you want to kiss him again. When you didn’t follow his request quickly enough he guided your hands there himself and folded your fingers around the frame of the open window.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Do I want to know how long you’ve been thinking about this, or will I be insulted?”

He smacks your thigh lightly, drawing a surprised yelp from your lungs that melts into a hum of amusement as he kneads the reddening flesh.

“How about we err on the side of caution and say….. just within the past few months?”

“And you held me in the highest regard before that- right, Private?”

He says nothing for a moment, and when he does agree to your proposed question he mumbles it into the valley between your breasts.

“Hmph. You’re a terrible liar. This had better be worth it.”

Seemingly satisfied with your ability to keep your hands where he set them, Babe encourages you to rise up to your knees so you’re no longer flush in his lap. Immediately, his eyes flick down to your sex, and you cannot help the way your thighs start to shake

He says something under his breath that you can’t quite catch before he looks back at your face and his expression softens for a second.

“Remember what I said earlier? I mean it, you know I mean it—”

You’re nodding before he can finish the sentiment, letting a soft smile play at the corners of your kiss-swollen lips. “You’ll be the first to know if I want to stop. Promise.”

With one more biting kiss to the middle of your chest he brings his assault downwards with hands, lips, and teeth- his touch just the right amount of hard and teasing to send your head swimming long before you finally feel his breath on the overly-sensitive skin of your inner thighs.

“Oh fuck,” he sounds far away, but maybe that’s just because you’re feeling too big for your own body at the moment. “Could die happy here…”

God, he’s such a whore.

The first touch of his tongue has you pitching yourself forward, eyes squeezed shut as you let your face poke out the window enough to feel the breeze on your clammy face.

Shit, he was good at that- it felt so good. If you didn't have your own goddamn skeletons in your proverbial closet you may have even been jealous to think of all the other women who had been privy to this most spectacular consideration. Babe was kissing you down there just as sweetly as he had ever kissed your lips, and it made you briefly wonder if anyone else from your past could have made you feel as high as he was making you feel right now.

Bowing your head to look down at him, your breath catching at the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs, his arms folded around your hips to control the small jumps you couldn’t seem to get a handle on.

“Fuck, Babe!” you bite out, the idea of him looking up your body and watching you squirm threatening to overwhelm you. “Can’t fucking do that, ‘s gross angle for me…”

“Oh?” he said, the sound and feeling of his voice running up your body in the most sinful way. “I beg to differ...”

Knowing that watching him watch you would ultimately be too much, you shake your head to clear your thoughts and lift your head to look back out the window into the night air.

Only to come face to face with Ronald Speirs.

A sound of surprise, shock, embarrassment, and panic got caught in your throat alongside your cresting moan and resulted in the most depraved cry that seemed to surprise all three of you.

Your blood boiled as it froze in your veins as you made eye contact with Speirs, mortification and utter shock leaving your mouth hanging open in a silent shriek of horror.

You had no idea how long the other man had been standing there, but if the look in his eyes was any indication it had been long enough to know exactly what was happening on the other side of the wall, just below the window frame. A cigarette hung forgotten between his lips as he openly stared at you, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed silently.

When Babe’s hand came up to squeeze your breast enticingly, you nearly jumped out the window.

Oh my God This can’t be happening right now I have to stop him Oh fucking hell….

Your head whipped down and he looked up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, mouth red and damp as he panted wickedly up at you. “You okay, Gorgeous?”

A crushing realization fell onto you in that very moment: there was no way you could tell him what was happening- who was there watching your shared private moment outside. Because that would mean that you’d have to explain that Ron always did this, that every night he would smoke near wherever you were sleeping that night and keep watch like a possessive and protective shadow.

And the only way you could explain that was by telling Babe about what you and Ron had once had- no, almost had. He rejected you, you reminded yourself harshly. He made his stance on you abundantly clear when he’d had you transferred into Easy Company. The fact that Speirs still behaved as if he was somehow responsible for you was not your problem.

Besides, you had Babe. You wanted Babe. Even if the ache in your heart tried to tell you differently.

You made your peace with Ron Speirs’ rejection a long time ago.

Not trusting your voice, you nod vehemently and hope what is happening outside isn’t clearly written on your face.

A smug grin stretches across his face. “Good, ‘cause you taste better than I imagined…..”

You curse as he pulls you back down to his mouth, your head flashing back up to see that Ron has gotten rid of his cigarette and shucked off his heavy coat and gun. His dark eyes look downright predatory, and if you had any sense in your sex-dumb head you would stop this debauchery and transfer somewhere far away from the both of them.

You open your mouth to do something, anything to save yourself some dignity in this fucking exhibitionist nightmare, but Speirs’s finger flies up to his lips, the command clear even through the darkness.

You knew this would happen eventually something in his gaze seemed to accuse. Did you really believe you could forget who you’re wishing was beneath you?

But as you watch him tilt his head, something else is conveyed: he’s asking for permission.

He didn’t intend to leave. He wanted to watch.

But he would, if you wanted him to.

It was cruel of him, and something in the way he worked his jaw told you that he knew it too, but like you he was too far gone to stop it.

You both know better, each of you having your own reasons for not wanting to inevitably hurt the other and cross that line. Your own sick, backwards ways of self-protection and showing affection for the other seemed to be twisting and becoming more complex as time went on.

The more involved you became with Babe….Ron suddenly wanted to be your friend again just after you had first slept with Babe.

You immediately understood that you and Ron were nearing your final days of dancing around each other, that you would have to be the one to stop it. Because Edward Heffron was too good and too kind to be fucked with like this. Eventually, you would have to stop being so selfish.

In a final show of weakness, you nod silently to Ron, your breath coming in quick bursts as your lover has patiently worked you up and up to the crest of your crescendo, none the wiser to the wicked thoughts and realizations spinning around in your head.

I really am a monster.

But you couldn’t focus on that right now, not as Ron stalked right up to the window with such confidence that you thought you had gravely misread the situation and he was going to announce himself to Babe.

You had just begun to make a hush of protest when his cold hands gripped yours and he knelt down so he was nose to nose with you, his hot glare turning it into another embarrassing sound of pleasure.

“Shit!” You whimpered, your body trembling more violently as the coil in your belly began to constrict. Ron’s thumbs rubbed the back of your knuckles in a soothing motion as he made a sound of pity low in his throat, the clucking of his tongue quiet enough that it disappeared in the sounds of the forest surrounding them.

When you get a better look at his face you can see his look of empathy is almost mocking, and you briefly wonder if you would ever have sex with someone who didn’t like to antagonize you the whole time.

As you try to pull your hands out from under his, he shakes his head sternly before wrestling them into his grip, the action pulling you slightly further out the window and making you gasp.

Babe chuckles and grips your ass to control the speed in which your hips rocked, a nibble on your clit nearly making you scream.

You’re a terrible person. You’re the worst kind of woman. you hate yourself for this.

Ron’s brows furrow and his face goes soft, eyes a warm burn rather than a vengeful inferno. You don’t realize you have begun crying until he brushes the tears from your cheeks with quick fingers.

You press your forehead against his as your body bows in warning, your orgasm approaching with unforgiving intensity.

Ron doesn’t kiss you and you don’t kiss him. You never had and after this long, you don't think you ever will. You hate how much you wished you could though.

Especially with another man’s tongue working you into a frenzy at the same fucking time.

“Please, I want you...” you said pathetically, and Ron had the grace to look down in shame. Guilty fingers intertwined with yours and with a sad grimace he kissed the backs of your hands.

“I know you do, I’m so sorry,” he breathes across your knuckles, tongue darting out to wet the chilling skin where he kissed, kissing your hand as he had wished to kiss your mouth each and every day since he had met you.

But you couldn’t, he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t let you ever try.

You came with a silent cry, only the whispered reminder from both of the men you loved to breathe saved you from falling apart in the most critical moment.

Because you are cruel you take one hand from Ron, the one he wasn’t kissing, and pull it back.

Babe’s overgrown hair is soft and damp as you reach down to rake your fingers through it, quickly finding his hand on your hip and clinging to his fingers with painful desperation as you quake above him.

Pulling you impossibly close to his mouth, Babe holds you as you tremble through the last of your pleasure, suckling once, twice more before noisily pulling away from you.

The sound was so lewd even Ron had to close his eyes and grit his teeth in order to stay quiet.

your hair clung to your face, and after sliding his fingers from yours Ron brushes the sweaty strands around your hairline.

As you begin to catch your breath, you remember who you are, who all you’re with, and all that’s brought each of you to this point. You remember that Ron Speirs has to go, will always have to go.

He didn’t want you to be his, wasn’t interested in sharing his barracks or you asking him about his past or remembering your birthday. You didn’t matter, none of this did.

All that mattered to him was the fight. The big picture. “We’re all already dead. Why bother acting like this is anything other than a distraction?”

“Y/N,” Babe’s gentle kisses land on your hips and you realize that the time for your decision is coming sooner than she had anticipated. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You take a few more shuddering breaths with Ron, and from the way he tightened his jaw you knew he knew that you were going to have to let one of them go. And, because he’s just as selfish as you are, he doesn’t want you to choose Babe.

He’d rather keep you like a lark he can turn to for reassurance and comfort. Like a bird in a cage.

With a final sniffle, you look down, away from Ron, and give all of your attention to the beautiful, sex-mussed man who was looking up at you so sweetly and with such a clear desire for approval that you almost started crying all over again.

Ron lets you slip your fingers from his and takes a silent step back as you return your attention to your lover. You let him disappear into the night.

“Nothing at all, Babe,” you reassure him with a sigh, moving shakily down his body so you can kiss him as deeply as you can, sealing your body to his as you hold his face between your hands. “I just forgot where I was for a second there.”

Nipping at your bottom lip, he waits until you pull back before smiling stupidly at you.

“That good, huh?”

Shaking your head, you scoff and flick his chest. As he starts to chuckle, you roll yourself off of him enough to scratch your nails lightly across his stomach.

“I’ll give you a full review after round two, how about that?” You smirk as his eyebrows shoot up, sitting up and swinging your leg over his hips to straddle him. “But right now, how about I reward the idiot I love for remembering my birthday?”

If he’s surprised by your sudden proclamation of affection, he makes no show of it. And somehow that makes the moment all the sweeter.

~ ~

(HELLO SO SORRY FOR THE LATE FIC I LOVE YALL COVID IS A BITCH! I’M CURRENTLY WORKING ON THREE FICS SO HOPEFULLY THEY WILL FOLLOW SHORTLY! OKAY BYE BYE MY GORGEOUS GEODUCKS!)

taglist: @mrseasycompany @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite @happyveday @sunsetmando @ricksmorty @now-im-a-belieber @tvserie-s-world

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers x reader #babe heffron x reader #ron speirs x reader #babe heffron imagines #ron speirs imagines #problematicfavesareproblematic

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