#it’s midnight and I just discovered a wonderful brush | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

soapskneebrace · 1 year

Text

playing the quiet game

Pairing: Price x f!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+) Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: Dominant/submissive dynamics, established relationship, implied kink pre-negotiation, a LOT of fingering (f!receiving), a lil Price angst Tagging: @dilfconisuer who I teased with this a while back, and fellow Price simps @yeyinde @guyfieriii @alittleposhtoad Author’s Notes: I shit you not, the clock struck midnight January 1st and fireworks started going off in the middle of writing the orgasm. Happy new year! Enjoy the smut.

Now on AO3!

The world is soft and cozy as you come back into it, a little fuzzy from over-washing and dyed in the cool tones of early morning. You’re in that delicious place at the edge of sleep, mind swaying between dreams and reality, body languid and draped on your side across the bed. Touch is the first sense that comes back to you—a warm weight at your back, hips flush with your rear and legs bent along the contours of your own. You shift a little, to give yourself an excuse to settle against it.

“Mm,” John murmurs as he notices you stir, mouth against your neck, nuzzling you slowly with the wiry brush of his facial hair. The hum of his voice is low enough to vibrate between your shoulder blades.

“Mm?” you respond, scent returning next. The new detergent he’s using, gentle and mildly floral, and the fresh pine of the shampoo he washed his hair with last night. The ever-present smokey molasses that’s permanently seeped into his skin. You keep your eyes closed, saving sight for later, imagining that as long as you see nothing, John and the sheets you’re both wrapped up in can be the only thing that exists.

His hand rests on your ribcage, and smooths its way down your hip and thigh. It travels back up again, then retreats—rhythmic, even, fingers dipping and spreading at the curves and valleys of your body. It’s at the same tempo as your breath, which is normalizing as more of your mind picks reality to set up in. You can feel him breathing, too, chest rising and falling against your back, warm exhales fanning across the bare expanse of skin he’s claimed with his mouth and mutton chops.

Down your ribcage, along your hip, and back up. His other arm, you discover as you shift again, is propping him up, forearm wormed into the wedge of empty space between your neck and shoulder and the bed. His knee nudges the back of your thigh.

He paints another soft, prickly kiss on your neck, and rubs his chin and cheek into your jaw. You don’t hide the moan it inspires.

“Keep it down,” he whispers. His hand splays on your thigh. “Thin walls, love.”

You make another noise, lower, somewhere in your throat. His hand is warm on your bare skin, soft and sturdy as it travels along your body, not quite kneading but giving enough pressure to sink in, to meld your flesh like clay with every pass.

“John,” you murmur. “Mm. John…”

“Shh,” he breathes into your ear.

You feel his lips on your neck again, feel his hand divert from its established path to smooth across your belly. The spread of his fingers is wide enough to graze the underside of one breast, and you can’t help the little inhale of anticipation you give. At the same, even rhythm, John drags the flat of his hand down your stomach to its lowest border, and you forget to breathe at all for that little minute before, once again, his touch retreats from whence it came.

His mouth parts on your neck. The hot graze of his tongue meets your skin before the press of his teeth claims the space, and his hand travels just a little lower with the next pass.

Some part of you wonders if you should figure out what John has in mind right now, compare it to what you actually have time for. Off-duty or not, you’re still on base. But then the top of his thigh aligns flush with the back of yours; and you realize, the thought settling into the soft place in your mind between sleep and waking, that he would be doing none of this if he had cause not to. He already knows that you love waking up like this. He knows what circumstances in which he should not wake you up like this. When it comes to you, John Price remains in comfortable, considerate control—and leaves you only with the task of saying yes, please or not now, thank you. He has never asked you to figure out the right place or the right time.

You don’t have to worry about anything. John has already worried about it for you. Your head feels light, airy; you’d think you were slipping back into sleep, if it didn’t suddenly feel like your skin was electrified. It’s a feeling that always comes with letting go and letting him be in charge.

“John,” you murmur again, the breath in your lungs escaping, the sigh mimicking the same one he always draws from you when you finally surrender.

The seal over your skin he has with his lips and teeth gives a sharp pull. “Someday I’ll figure out how to keep you quiet,” he says, low and amused as he disconnects.

The smile that rests against your skin sends sparks dancing across your scalp.

“Don’t stop,” you say, the quiet tone of your voice laced with a yearning you can’t conceal. “Please, John…”

His palm crests the jut of your hip and glides back inward, downward, fingertips skimming the crease of your thighs. The nerves there jump to meet him, buzzing suddenly with too much energy for your still half-asleep mind to moderate. He seals his mouth over a new spot on your neck, dragging the flat of his tongue, blistering hot, along your skin.

“You’re going to leave marks,” you breathe.

“The gear covers them up,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety purr. “Be good for me, love.”

Euphoria blooms hot across your face. “Yes, John.”

He growls a little, pleased with you, and his fingers dip into your panties and between your folds.

The jerk your leg gives is involuntary. John curls his leg further inward to meet it, to keep it pushed upward, as the heat of his broad hand cups your sex. You feel the tip of one finger trace along your perineum, and a whimper makes its way out of your throat before his other hand wraps around your jaw, tilts your head backward. His mouth finds your ear, the stubble pricking at delicate cartilage.

“Not going to tell you again,” he murmurs, just a little bit of the Captain leaking into his tone. “Quiet down. Aye?”

A shiver races down your spine, makes a home in your sacrum. You nod, as much as you can in his grip. You understand the shape of his control, the intention of it; he’s not looking for a verbal affirmation, and to give one would incur consequences. You’re not opposed to his consequences—often, they’re as sweet as his rewards. But right now you want to bask in this submission, want to earn what he’s already set on giving you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, tracing your lips with his index finger. His other hand kneads your pussy, that same up-and-down motion that he woke you up with, and his mouth returns to your neck, teeth sinking into another sliver of unmarked skin.

You settle into him, push your pelvis forward just a little, hoping he sees it for the offer it is rather than the demand it could be mistaken for. He chuckles against you, and teases one finger between your labia, brushes your entrance before flicking upward to surprise your clit. It makes your leg jerk again, and John only takes the opportunity to wrap around you more tightly. You feel him then, against your ass, in the cleft of it—he’s hard as iron, and ramrod-erect.

You suck your lips between your teeth, swallow, exhale a shaky breath from your nose. Pleasure radiates from the tips of his fingers, from the flex of his palm, as he traces the outlines of your sex at a pace too leisurely for early-morning sensitivity to handle. But you won’t make a sound. You’re going to be good for him. The ache between your legs begins to throb, and John must feel it, because finally he presses the pads of two fingers against your clit.

Your hips jerk against him. Sound almost makes it out of you. A gasp, a sharp inhale, but you swallow it down, and John smiles against you. He releases his teeth from you, presses a soft kiss beneath your ear, and takes up the same rhythm he’s been maintaining this whole time, a slow, steady caress that you want to whine at. His hand slides down to your throat, dwarfing the breadth of your neck—not squeezing, but monitoring. He’ll be able to feel any noise you make.

“I didn’t say you had to be silent, love,” he murmurs, fingers sliding down from your clit to swirl around your entrance—and squelching loud enough to let you both know that you’re drenched. “You just need to remember who that noise belongs to.”

You gasp when he slides a thick finger into you with not a moment of warning. “You—ah—you have to be specific, John,” you whisper, hyper-aware of your walls fluttering around him as he languidly pumps in and out of you. “I can’t be good for you if I don’t know the rules—ohh.”

He pushes in to the knuckle, curls his finger against the spot that has black spots dancing across your vision. Before they can blend together, overtake you, he withdraws, pulls out to circle your clit again, and you only wonder for a moment if this is the new rhythm before he gives the bundle a hard tap before pushing back in again.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, mouth open on your jaw, slipping a second finger into you. You have to clench your teeth to keep your mewl from becoming a moan. “And I did just wake you up, didn’t I?”

The stretch, the burn of new fullness, steals your ability to respond. The slow thrust of his hand picks up just a little, as if he wants to make it even harder for you to reply, but you’re determined. “Mm, John,” you breathe, “Let me be good for you.”

He goes still for a moment, fingers halting inside you, body tense as a drawn bowstring, and then his hand suddenly tightens around your neck—not cutting off your air, but utterly possessive, and he hooks his knee under yours to spread your thigh outward. Immediately he’s pistoning his fingers into you alarmingly quickly, and you only remember to stifle yourself at the last moment, turning a surprised shriek into a series of quick, high-pitched mewls. He thrusts against you, grinds his cock against your ass.

“You’re always good for me,” he growls into your ear, shoving in to the knuckle, flicking wildly against your g-spot. “Even when you’re not. I don’t fuckin’ deserve you, love, not a single thing you do for me.”

You want to refute him—want to tell him everything you give him is just a return on what he’s given you. But you can’t, and the only reason you can’t is that he’s fucking the breath out of your lungs with nothing but his goddamn fingers, meanwhile his cock tucked against your ass is so hard you can practically feel the throb of blood running through it.

And anyway, he doesn’t want you to tell him. This is no morning confessional, no whispered prayer to absolve his greed for you. He isn’t saying this because he thinks he’s taking advantage of you—it’s just the naked truth of what John believes, laid bare as if in offering. It’s the best way he knows how to tell you he adores you.

He’s explained all of this. You’ve told him he needs therapy. He’s laughed, and he’s agreed.

“Just don’t stop taking any of it,” you whisper, turning your head, finally opening your eyes to see his face, to drink in the muss of warm brown hair and the fray of uncombed beard. A gentle blue gaze, incongruous with the furor of his hand between your legs, meets yours. “Just don’t stop taking me.”

Dark brows draw together, etching a crease into his forehead. That blue becomes electric. “Never,” he growls, and takes your mouth with his.

His hand leaves your throat to join the other, and a third finger enters you as he resumes the massage on your clit that he’d left off. His tongue sweeps along the ridge of your teeth, probes inward to dance along your own, and at the same time he spreads his fingers inside of you, stretching you so far that you don’t think there isn’t a place in you that he isn’t touching. You think he’s filled your entire body with just his fingers, because there isn’t room in you anymore for your lungs to expand beyond shallow, whining breath. Your legs are shaking of their own accord, muscles twitching every time his fingers brush just the right spot on your clit, and you know he’s realized what he’s found when the flicker of his touch does not leave that spot.

You moan, low and breathy, keeping the sound in the back of your throat. You feel nothing but John, know nothing but the warmth of his arms caging you against his body, the searing burn of his fingers stretching you almost as wide as his cock can. His body is moving with yours, his hips pressing yours forward, shoving you farther into his hands and onto his fingers. The sheets are a mess of wrinkles around your moving bodies, and you finally remember your own arms, your own hands as they’re gripping the fabric without your input.

When your touch finds his forearms, when your nails dig into the broad muscle of them, you feel it coming fast. It’s fluttering around his fingers, pulling tight against the muscles in your thighs. Foreshocks have your body undulating against his, and you know, when his fingers thrust deep and stay there, that he can feel it coming, too.

“That’s it love,” he growls into your lips, kissing you between words. Three fingers curl into you, and you wonder if your body can break apart from the pleasure of their simple pressure behind your clit. “You’re being fucking perfect—I can feel it, fuck—come on, you’ve more than earned it, come for me—”

And all it takes for you then is his words, the rasp of his breath against your mouth, for ecstasy to explode in you from the tips of his fingers, pleasure bursting outward in a shockwave that wracks your entire body. Your breath comes short and quick as it takes you, and you whimper John’s name until he kisses you again, saving you from having to control your own volume as you lose control over everything else. He keeps fucking you as you shudder against his body, keeps up the frantic pace of his thrusting hand and the vice-like pressure he has around your clit, sending aftershocks across your body that keep you shaking and near-sobbing against his mouth. He does not let you get away from it, does not let you escape his hands, and does not stop until you go limp and boneless in his arms.

You come back to yourself, eons later, still breathing hard, panting in sync with John. His hold on you has slackened, arms still around you but loose enough that it’s easy—if not prompt, as it still feels like your muscles are jelly—to turn over to face him. He’s gazing at you, as if he wants to drink you in with his eyes alone, and that gaze is heavy-lidded and content. Neither of his hands have gone southward, searching for his cock or his own release. This is not unusual. He’s told you before that he knows he’ll get his eventually. And you know by now, too, that sometimes John finds more satisfaction in your orgasm than his own.

Every sense has come back to you now. His facial hair is softer than it looks, as you cup the side of his face, and the smell of detergent and shampoo is mingled now with the humid weight of the perspiration you two have worked up. The taste of him—you realized belatedly that he must have gotten up and brushed his teeth before this, because it’s lightly minty—is still on your tongue. His breath is heavy, but even and quieter than yours, obscured somewhat by your own pulse thrumming loud in your ears.

But the best experience is the sight of him—painted in the warming tones of a day starting to get on, t-shirt tight across his chest, skin a little flushed and shimmery with moisture. He smiles at you, blue eyes liquid with open affection, as you stroke his mustache. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I can’t believe you did that with your fucking fingers,” you laugh.

The smile spreads, creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I’m glad you let me.”

It’s a softness that he always expresses after he’s done anything to you. Whatever he thinks he deserves from you, he never hides his gratitude for what you give him.

When you lean in to kiss him, he meets you halfway. It’s a kiss that he lingers in, lips moving softly against yours as one hand comes to rest lightly on the back of your neck. Your elbows don’t want to prop you up for much longer, though, and you have to break away to lay your head back down.

“Good morning, John,” you say, smiling softly.

He shifts, moves closer, eyes tender as they remain settled on you. “Good morning, love.”

3K notes · View notes

bradshawsbaby · 2 years

Text

Lt. Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw As A Father (Pt. I)

Pairing: Rooster x Wife!Reader

Author’s Note: I seriously cannot get enough of this man at the moment. I’m already planning a Part II for this one because Rooster and babies? Need I say more?

Warnings: Pregnancy/morning sickness/childbirth and, as usual, enough fluff to make your teeth melt.

- You and Bradley have always known that you wanted to have a family together. From the start of your relationship, you were very open about your desire to have children. Bradley, too, always wanted to be a father. He missed his parents terribly and longed for a family to call his own.

- The two of you had been actively trying for a baby since your wedding, but it wasn’t until almost a year into your marriage that you finally saw that little positive sign on your pregnancy test. You cried many tears of joy that day.

- Rooster was at work when you found out, so you spent the day trying to think of a good way to tell him.

- It was a few weeks before Christmas and the two of you had been planning to watch It’s A Wonderful Life that night, since it’s one of your favorite movies. An idea came to you then. You just hoped you’d be able to keep the secret until the time came to reveal the good news.

- Your heart was racing as you and Rooster sat snuggled up on the couch later that evening, sharing a bowl of popcorn. You knew the movie by heart, and you knew the exact moment when you wanted to reveal what you had discovered that day. You couldn’t help but glance up at your husband out of the corner of your eye at the start of the scene when Mary reveals to George that she’s pregnant with their first child.

- “I want my baby to look like you,” Mary tells George, beaming up at her beloved husband. You could understand the feeling.

- “You know,” you said at that moment, popping a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth in an attempt to mask your jittery nerves. “I have to agree with Mary on that one.”

- “What do you mean?” Rooster asked, brushing some of your hair behind your ear and looking down at you curiously.

- “I want my baby to look like you, too,” you told him, your eyes meeting his as you leaned back against his chest.

- “Your…your b-baby?” Rooster stuttered, his eyes widening in shock. You almost laughed at how adorably dumbfounded he looked. “Honey, does that mean you’re…?”

- “I’m pregnant,” you nodded, tears suddenly springing to your eyes, which you weren’t expecting in that moment.

- Rooster was quiet for a moment before letting out a loud whoop of joy, wrapping his arms around you tightly and lifting you up off the couch, swinging you around. “Best early Christmas present ever,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you tenderly.

- If you thought Rooster was an attentive husband before, he’s a hundred times more so during your pregnancy. That man would literally do anything for you.

- Need a back rub or a foot massage? He’s got you.

- Feeling a craving for ice cream at midnight? He’s driving to find an open store.

- Struggling with hormonal mood swings? He holds you when you cry and listens without judgment when you’re flying off the handle.

- You have terrible bouts of morning sickness in the first trimester. Rooster is always there to rub your back and carry you back to bed afterwards. Whenever he has to leave early for work, he makes sure to leave a pack of Saltine crackers on the nightstand, along with a note reminding you how much he loves you.

- He comes with you to all your doctor’s appointments, and he gets really emotional the first time he sees the baby on the ultrasound.

- Rooster loves getting to feel the baby kick. At night, when the two of you are lying in bed, he’ll often rest his head on your belly and talk to the baby.

- “Your mommy is the most beautiful woman in the whole world. I just want you to know that, Baby B,” he frequently says, using his favorite nickname for your child.

- Sometimes, he sings for the baby, too. It always makes you smile.

- “You know, the baby kicks the hardest whenever you sing ‘Great Balls of Fire,’” you laugh, imagining the baby dancing in your womb.

- You both decide that you want to be surprised and opt not to find out the baby’s sex.

- Phoenix, Bob, Hangman, Payback, Fanboy, and Coyote take bets on what you’re going to have. Phoenix, Payback, and Coyote put their money on a girl. Bob, Hangman, and Fanboy think it’s going to be a boy.

- Rooster makes sure your hospital bag is packed weeks before your due date and has the route to the hospital planned to a T.

- When your water breaks in the middle of the night, Rooster is able to remain calm due to all his careful planning, despite the fact that he’s absolutely freaking out on the inside.

- He’s by your side through all twelve hours of labor and delivery, feeding you ice chips, wiping your forehead with a cool cloth, telling you over and over again what an amazing job you’re doing and how proud he is of you.

- “You got this, baby girl. You can do this. You’re so strong,” he whispers in your ear as you scream your way through another contraction. “Come on, honey. One more big push,” he tells you, squeezing your hand and supporting your back as you bear down one final time.

- Your baby comes into the world moments later, howling loudly and squirming vigorously.

- “It’s a boy!” your doctor announces, holding the baby up with a smile. The look of pride and awe on Bradley’s face melts your heart.

- You name him Nicholas Peter Bradshaw, in honor of his late grandfather and the man who will be like a grandfather to him.

- (Hangman gloats smugly when he collects his share of the bet money from Phoenix, Payback, and Coyote.)

- You truly didn’t think you could love your husband more, but watching him become a father makes you fall in love with him in a whole new way.

- Rooster adapts to fatherhood naturally. He loves holding Nick and talking to him about everything, walking him around your apartment and explaining to him what everything is. He’s willing to change diapers just as much as you are, and he often insists that you go back to sleep when your son wakes up in the middle of the night, promising that he’ll handle it.

- One time, while you were in the kitchen cooking dinner, Rooster fell asleep on the couch with Nick sleeping on his chest. When you walked into the living room and took in the sight, you thought your heart would explode with love. You managed to snap approximately 75 pictures of them on your cell phone, which you made your phone wallpaper for months.

- Even though he’s just a baby, Rooster starts teaching Nick everything he knows about aviation. He buys him toy airplanes and, as soon as he’s a few months old, starts taking him on trips to the naval base so that he can see the jets up close. Nick’s eyes alway light up and he gurgles happily, reaching for the jets eagerly.

- “He’s a natural. Gonna join the family business,” Rooster always tells you. The pride on his face and in his voice when he says that pierces your heart in the best way.

- Neither of you intentionally make the decision to start calling your son Goose. It just happens.

- You and Rooster were sitting on either side of your son’s high chair one day, trying to coax him into saying his first word. He’d come close several times at that point, but had never quite managed it.

- “Say Mama, Nicholas. Or Dada. Come on, my sweet boy,” you begged him in a sing-song voice, squeezing his hand.

- “Come on, buddy,” Rooster added, ruffling your son’s feather-soft hair. “Talk to me, Goose.” It just slipped out. Both of you had frozen at that, the emotions that came with that statement playing out on both your faces.

- “Dada!” Nicholas had suddenly exclaimed, laughing happily at your shocked expressions.

- Your son was Goose from that day forward.

- Not long after Goose’s first birthday, Rooster held you close in bed and whispered in your ear, “Let’s make another baby.”

- You smiled at that, wrapping your arms around his neck. He was not only an amazing husband, but also an incredible father. You couldn’t wait to grow your family with him. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Lieutenant Bradshaw,” you told him.

- “Mm, I’m glad we’re on the same page, Mrs. Bradshaw,” he grinned, kissing your neck as you and he got to work on expanding your family that very night.

#bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #x reader #x female reader #miles teller #top gun: maverick

2K notes · View notes

qingxin-dream · 1 year

Text

“Incarnate (I)”

a/n | this is part i of iv for a little small series of angsty midnight drabbles partially influenced by pinocchio in a world where scaramouche is bound to you by fate. god it’s been such a long time since i’ve written anything, feedback is appreciated! (art credits: @/tong827038 on danbooru)

warnings | panic attack, drowning, implied death

genre | angst, soulmate au

word count | ~1k

pairing | scaramouche/wanderer x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It was spring when Kabukimono first discovered his heart.

A shimmering mist surrounded the rural Inazuma island the puppet called home. Each of the dew drops reflected the sunlight in a kaleidoscopic wonder, casting colorful fractals across your features. To say the puppet was enamored with the beauty of the season of new beginnings—and of course with you—was an understatement.

The recent afternoon downpour left behind a rejuvenating scent on the gentle breeze, filling his senses with a newfound feeling of tranquility. Many of the sakura trees dotting the landscape had their blossoms taken on the wind of the spring shower. Soft petals scattered the ground like a mesmerizing pointillist painting.

You cupped your palms together, outstretched to the sky to catch a lone sakura blossom. Your companion watched you with pure fascination, taking note of how your mouth dimpled ever so slightly into a smile. The way your glossy eyes flickered to his, gazing contentedly through your thick lashes… if only you knew how bizarre it made him feel.

Every time you brushed your fingers against his as you both walked together, it was as if he forgot how to breathe. When you reached into to his iridescent veil to tuck a loose tuft of his indigo hair behind his ear, his face bloomed as red as a rose at quite the alarming pace. You made him feel like he couldn’t function without you.

Because in sacred moments just like this one, you were the reason Kabukimono’s heart pounded just a little bit harder—a welcome reminder of his humanity.

“Do you ever wonder what’s beyond the sea?” you ask the blossom in your hand, although it was more so directed to your friend. “I’d like to see it someday.”

Never had you expressed this sentiment before, drawing the puppet’s curiosity to you. He had not truly considered the world beyond the village. It was his home where his friends resided. Why would he ever want to leave when he has everything he could ever want within his grasp?

Kabukimono stepped behind you, looking over your shoulder softly at the sakura blossom. You held the little pink flower as if it carried your hopes and dreams. He could recognize the longing in the way you stared out at the rolling waves of the ocean.

If you so desired that freedom, Kabukimono promised himself that he would give it to you. He would give you everything he had if you so much as parted your lips with a hint of need.

It was difficult to comprehend for someone so new to the world like himself, but with you by his side it never seemed impossible for Kabukimono to reach for the moon, the stars, or the whole damn sky if you wished it to be.

“Then I will find a way,” promised the kind puppet. “For you.”

Your face brightened, turning to face Kabukimono with a soft smile. “Would you accompany me?”

Part of him feared this question. The puppet knew he couldn’t leave his blade smiths behind. Telling you no was more difficult than he anticipated, it tore him in two between his dear comrades and the prospect of fulfilling your dreams. How could he ever make such a decision?

In hindsight, he who formerly was known as Kabukimono would forever curse his worthless emotions for clouding his judgement.

The day you departed, your ship was swallowed whole in the distance, pumping adrenaline in its most raw form through his veins. It utterly ravaged his frail body.

To his surprise, as he rowed furiously to the remnants of the ship, his throat refused to make a sound. Amid the rush of shock, Kabukimono had let a series of unadulterated screams rip from his lungs to the point he could no longer speak.

Once he was close enough, the puppet haphazardly tossed his veil to the side and dove into the cold sea water. The absolute terror pulsing in Kabukimono’s chest clenched down on him like a vice. He couldn’t push enough water past him to reach you.

He was losing his form, once coordinated strokes devolving into frantic, desperate swipes toward your unconscious body that sunk lower and lower away from him. A plethora of air bubbles escaped from his cold lips, drowning out any efforts to call out to you.

It was a miracle that the little puppet managed to envelope his weak arms around your frame. Kabukimono peered through the dark waters to the stormy sky above that was rapidly disappearing. With every remaining ounce of strength left in his body, the puppet pulled you to the surface.

The mere sight of you in such a deathly state, your skin drained of its warmth, was forever engraved in his memory. Swimming to his boat, the erratic ocean waves repeatedly sloshed over you both, forcing water down his throat. Kabukimono winced and violently coughed, struggling to pull you with him to safety.

No, he thought. Not like this. He would never let you perish as long as he drew breath.

Yet, the periphery of the puppet’s vision was beginning to grow hazy. He was losing control of his movements, unable to hold you any tighter to his chest.

You tumbled over into the boat roughly with one last great push, rendering Kabukimono paralyzed beneath the water. He swam, kicked, and struggled to break the surface again until ultimately he succumbed to the drowsiness pulling him under. He became still, so impossibly rigid as his heart slowed.

In what Kabukimono believed to be his final moments, an unknown voice echoed eerily within the chambers of his mind and soul from the beyond. Death began to wrap its tendrils around his throat, ensnaring him against his will.

“Little puppet, bearer of suffering and sacrifice, do you wish to return to the human world? To be reborn anew?”

…

“Then so be it, Kunikuzushi.”

[to be continued… in part ii.]

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

#[opulent dreams].✿#why am i literally so embarrassed to post anything anymore😵‍💫#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin soulmate au #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin wanderer

360 notes · View notes

thebabblingbrookenook · 10 months

Text

Amaryllis

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Summary:(Modern AU) Benedict surprises you after the final performance of your debut play. Congratulations are in order and he has some ideas on how you can take your final bow.

Warnings: 18 + Please, Rough Sex, Oral, Praise Kink, Adult Language and Concepts

Word Count: 3.2K

Author’s Note: Thank you to my wonderful mutuals @bridgertontess and @colettebronte for helping me piece this all together. You two are rock stars!

____________________________________

You would never tire of this feeling. The electricity that coursed throughout your body and lit you up from the inside out was more addicting than any drug you’ve gotten your hands on thus far. Public performance was the ultimate exercise in risk and reward. The risk - exposure to ridicule. The reward - praise beyond measure.

As you made your way backstage to your dressing room for the final time, you bathed in the applause still ringing in your ears. The six week run of your debut play had finally come to a close and you planned to absorb every last drop of euphoria. This could be your last chance to experience it, work was never promised.

Opening the door to your private space, you came face to face with the only thing more intoxicating than the current high you were riding - Benedict Bridgerton. He was mouth watering, clad in black from head to toe. The knit material of his sweater clung to his broad shoulders for dear life, perfectly accentuating the strength that lay hidden beneath. His slow, seductive smile sent your pulse thrumming in your ears as he stood to greet you.

“There she is,” he purred.

“Ben,” your voice was embarrassingly breathy. “You came… I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight. When did you get back in town?”

Leaning in to brush his lips against your cheek, he whispered, “Of course I came. I wouldn’t miss your final bow. I caught a flight from London this morning.”

You could barely contain the shiver that rolled over your body at his proximity. This man was a unique form of danger. Staggering good looks aside, he had a singular ability to mute your inhibitions. When you were with him, you always found yourself operating on the base instincts of pure desire. His influence was boundaryless. Whether that desire was to indulge a midnight craving for chocolate cake, or to have his head squeezed between your thighs in the bathroom at your friend’s house warming party, he was always your Yes Man, rarely allowing you to deny yourself the things that would bring you pleasure.

Telling yourself yes more often was changing you. You had discovered an exhilarating braveness that could easily be traced back to a handsome stranger at an art gallery three months ago.

Three months! Had it really only been that long? He already felt so familiar, essential even. Yet, you had no real ties to one another. He was nomadic and free, breezing in and out of your life regularly. But somehow, he always seemed to find you in moments that mattered - moments that had you standing on the precipice of something big. He never pushed or manipulated, he simply just observed you with a level of wonder in his eyes that fueled your ego. His expectant gaze seductively stroked your confidence in a way that was only rivaled by how his fingers stroked… other parts of you. He was unapologetically himself, and when in his presence, you seemed to silently grant yourself permission to do the same. Eventually, you learned to do that even when he wasn’t around. That’s how you ended up on the stage tonight. You told yourself yes, believed you could do it, and tried. Imagine that, actually making an attempt at something gets you a lot closer than standing still. Who would have guessed?

Looking up into his gorgeous face, you smiled shamelessly. “Remind me to thank your manager for always scheduling your art shows with impeccable timing. How long will you be in town?”

His eyes scanned over you with a hunger that made your mouth go dry. “Just for tonight…”

Disappointment started to bloom in your chest until the meaning of his words took root. “Wait, you flew all the way from London just for this? Ben, that’s crazy. Why would you do that?”

He shrugged, effectively dismissing your concern. “Because I wanted to. Because I can. And because,” he lifted a fragrant bouquet into your eye line, “I had to bring you these.”

You recognized the deep red petals immediately. You had seen their likeness scattered through many of his paintings. “Thank you, Ben. They’re beautiful. Now I understand why you paint them so often. What are they?”

“They’re called Amaryllis,” he smirked. “For artists, they’re said to stimulate the creative muse and celebrate your hard won success. Since you are now both an artist, and a muse, I thought it only fitting.”

Heat pooled in your stomach at his words. “I’d hardly call myself an artist. It was one play.”

“I strongly disagree,” he protested. “Art affects the viewer, and watching you wield your craft up there tonight… Well, it certainly moved me.”

His thinly veiled innuendo was driven home by the downright wicked smile that spread across his face. You had no choice but to join him in his debauchery.

Placing the flowers on the vanity table, you stepped in closer to him. His chest was broad and tempting, begging to be touched. Your palms splayed out over the defined pectoral muscles in front of you and you sighed with satisfaction. The heat from his skin was radiating through the knit material of his black sweater and soaking into your fingertips. Through batted lashes you asked, “Do you like watching me, Benedict?”

Voice husky, he replied, “Like is a bit of an understatement. You’re very… titillating.”

The giggles escaped before you could stop them. “Titillating - is that so? What was your favorite part?”

The playful way his eyebrow quirked made your legs weak. “Do you want the serious answer or the fun answer?”

You wanted to keep playing but you were curious. “Why not both? I’m feeling greedy.”

His pupils expanded slightly on your last word. “Noted. And I am feeling eager to please.”

You were definitely going to be in trouble when the talking stopped. “My favorite part is seeing how much you’ve improved over the weeks. You found your stride. You looked comfortable - confident. I got lost in you.”

“You could tell all that by seeing one show? Was it that obvious that I was going to be terrible starting out?”

He smiled sheepishly. “This was actually my third time.”

“You’ve seen this three times and never said anything?”

Again, he shrugged. “I wanted to watch anonymously. I wanted to see you in your element without the added pressure. Normally, I love the fact that I make you nervous. You get all flushed and twitchy. But for this, I wanted the raw version of you.”

“I’m not sure whether to be flattered that you came or creeped out that I had a stalker.”

“Why not both,” he smirked.

“Speaking of,” you reminded him. “What’s the fun answer?”

He stepped closer, pushing the back of your legs against the vanity table. “I liked watching you seduce that poor bastard that played opposite you. He’ll be thinking about the way your body moves for months after that performance.”

Pushing your chest into his, you asked, “You liked the way my body pressed against him like this?”

“Mmhmm,” he sighed.

“What else did you like, Ben?”

“I loved the obscene amount of attraction. You could almost smell it. He’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. I wanted to see more. I wanted a better view of your mouth devouring him. I wanted to be close enough to hear the exertion in your breaths. I was jealous of the pleasure on his face when you slid your tongue up his neck. You’re fucking lethal with that thing.”

“You liked seeing me with another man in my mouth?”

“So much,” he whispered against your neck before lightly biting your skin. “What’s it feel like?”

You gasped at the feel of his teeth. It was getting harder to hold a conversation. “What, to have someone watching?”

“No,” he chuckled. With your chests still firmly pressed together you could feel the vibration of his laughter clear to your toes. “I know what that feels like. What does it feel like to kiss a man? Describe it to me.”

Tilting your head back, you searched his face. His expression was how it always was - curious. As if he were thinking of trying it himself but wanted to know your experience first.

“It’s… it’s thrilling. I’m sure it depends on the man, but the best kisses… You feel held, secure. Like you’re leaning against an immovable force. You can feel the power in their bodies humming against your senses. But even though you know that power and strength is there, you can feel them restraining it for you. You can feel them considering you. I don’t know about other women, but that unleashes something in me. It makes me feel like they’re lending me some of that power. Like I’m absorbing it through my lips. Their restraint makes me feel like I don’t have to have any of my own. I don’t have to be soft all the time because I know they can handle it. But I think my favorite part is when they give in a little on that self control. The sounds they make are deep and primal. The force they use mixes pain with pleasure. The way they smell, the way they taste. The way your mouth feels swollen and bruised when it’s over. The scratches on your skin from stubble.”

You took one of his hands in yours and started to play with his fingers. “And sometimes the sheer size of them is exhilarating. The right man can make you feel empowered and overpowered all at once.”

His pupils were blown wide as he hung on your every word. You could hear his breathing getting heavier. The hard, steely length of him pressed into your thigh was enough to flood you.

You dropped your hand between you to cup him. “Is this for the man you’re thinking of, or is it me?”

There was a sharp intake of breath when your fingers curled a little tighter over the fabric of his pants. Without missing a beat, he tucked your hair behind your ear and leaned down for his confession. “Why not both?”

A myriad of images flashed through your brain. What kind of man would he choose? Your daydream must have been written on your face because when you met his gaze again his eyes had darkened to the point of no return. “Does that arouse you, y/n? Does the thought of me with a man get you wet and needy?” His hand reached under the hem of your dress and started to delicately trace up the inside of your thigh. Long, graceful fingers curled into the front of your panties and found you just as he suspected.

“Mmm,” he hummed in appreciation. “That’s a definite yes. I’ll keep that in mind for future fun, but right now it’s just you and me. And that’s more than fucking enough.”

His fingers started to glide through your wetness, collecting your arousal and bringing it up to rub circles around your pulsing clit. You clutched his forearms for purchase, riding his hand to within an inch of climax, but you stopped yourself. Not yet.

Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you pulled him from your body and dropped to your knees in front of him. You needed to feel him in your throat, to taste the saltiness of his skin. You needed to feel his hands tangled roughly in your hair, holding you down on himself until you were gasping for air.

He looked down at you with adoring admiration as you began unbuttoning his pants to set him free. He left you to your work, only moving to step out of his pants as they hit the ground. His body was fucking perfect and you were dying to get your hands on him.

He hissed in pleasure when your thumb swept over his tip, collecting the small bead of arousal and bringing it to your mouth to suck it off. God, you missed that taste. It was enough to send a fresh wave of desire dripping between your thighs.

Standing on your knees a little taller, you hovered over him, letting your saliva drip down to coat him before you took him into your hand. “Fucking hell,” he exclaimed, throwing his head back.

Your lips turned up in triumph. This was always your favorite part. Sure, letting him coax your body into ecstasy was amazing, but this… Watching the effect you had on him. It was a power trip.

Breaking his gaze, you closed your eyes and took him into your mouth. There really was nothing like the taste of him. You wanted more. Taking him deeper, the smooth skin of his cock glided effortlessly between your lips. You were moaning around him, enjoying every second of contact.

You only stopped your descent when you felt his fingers under your chin directing your focus back to his face. “You look so pretty on your knees for me. And you fucking love it, don’t you?” He growled at your garbled response. “That’s what I thought. Even with your mouth full you’re looking at me like you’re starving.”

Even though you were bowed in front of him, it was you who felt worshiped. His affirmations spurred you on, inciting a desperate need to please him. Relaxing into it, you slid down the rest of his length until he was resting securely at the back of your throat. But this time you never took your eyes off of his. He wanted you to watch him watch you.

You took a deep breath before you started again. Both of your hands grasped the backs of his muscular thighs for balance in an effort to support your enthusiastic movements. Your tongue stroked him mercilessly with each bob of your head leaving both of you a sloppy, wet mess. You willed yourself to hold on as long as possible when he hit the back of your throat again. Gagging around him, you nuzzled your nose into the dark hair surrounding his perfect cock.

You felt the expanse of his large hand cup the back of your head, pushing himself in even deeper. “Sh-shit,” he stuttered. “How are you so good at that? Don’t stop.”

Your nipples pebbled at the sound of his moans and you were suddenly aware of how cage-like your dress felt. There was too much separating your skin from his.

Letting go of his leg, you brought a hand down to play with yourself beneath your dress. You were almost painfully aroused, and were desperate for even the smallest sense of relief.

Benedict’s eyes tracked your movements hungrily but your concealment tortured him. Before you knew what was happening, you felt yourself being hoisted from the ground and crushed in a dizzying kiss. Nimble fingers made quick work of the zipper at your back, and in seconds you were standing there in nothing but your black lace panties.

His lips kissed roughly across your throat and down your sternum before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. The sensation was unreal, and you arched into him needing more.

With a firm grip on your hips, he spun you around and bent you over the vanity, placing your palms flat against the cool, wood surface for purchase. Your arms shook with anticipation when you caught his gaze in the mirror.

His mouth caressed down your spine, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. You lost sight of him when he dipped below your waist but you could feel him there. The heat from his breath lingered on your skin. A gentle nudge on the inside of your knee hinted at his next request.

“Open your legs a little wider for me, darling.” You obeyed him immediately and he handed out his approval generously. “That’s my good girl. Always does what she’s told.”

The tone of his voice had your pussy clenching with need. His body read yours fluently and he was already moving to satisfy you. His thumbs hooked into the material of your underwear and rolled them down your legs.

You went to step free from them but he tutted his disapproval. “No, no, no baby. Leave those around your ankles.”

Again, you followed orders and waited for his next command.

His lips kissed each rounded cheek before two strong hands spread you open to him. “Fuck, look at you. So gorgeous and ready. You smell like heaven.” With one obscene motion, he licked from your pulsing entrance all the way up between your parted cheeks to place another soft kiss at the base of your spine. “You taste even better.”

Your legs were starting to get weak. “Benedict, please…”

“What do you want, y/n? Do you want my tongue? My fingers?” His thumb pushed slightly past the threshold of your aching heat but then stopped. “Or is there something else you want more?”

Every option presented was enticing but you knew what you needed. “I feel empty, Ben. I need you inside me.”

“Is this what you want?” You felt the tip of his cock align with your drenched opening. You moaned your approval but it wasn’t enough. “Yes or no? Say it.”

“Yes,” you pleaded.

He pushed into you torturously slowly, groaning when you had taken all of him. “Fuck, I’ve missed you. You feel so good. Nice and wet for me, as always.”

“Benedict,” you whimpered.

You could hear the smile in his voice when he responded. “How do you want it?”

“Fuck me, Ben. Make it hurt.”

He pulled out of you before slamming back in with so much force that it lifted you to the tips of your toes.You screamed out in ecstasy. “You like that? Is that how you need me today?”

“Faster, Ben. Don’t stop.”

Your command unleashed him.One hand braced your shoulder while the other dug into your hip. His thrusts were hard and deep, moving at a pace that made it hard for you to catch your breath.

Your arms finally gave out and you let him ease your face to the vanity. His hand left your shoulder to wind your hair around his wrist. The cup of makeup brushes was knocked to the floor, scattering them at your feet. Your knuckles turned white as you clutched the edge of the table for dear life.

Something was building inside you. Something bigger than you, and slightly terrifying. There was no stopping it. You were hurtling toward an oblivion that was outside of your control.

You tipped over the edge when his teeth nipped into the skin at your shoulder. You tried to scream but there was no air. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t see. You couldn’t hear. You didn’t exist inside your flesh any longer.

“Oohhhh,” he moaned. “I’m gonna come. Shiiiit!”

You felt the material of his sweater on your bare back when he collapsed on top of you. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he was still wearing it until now.

He went to lift himself but you stopped him. “Don’t move yet. You feel so good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed. “If I had it my way, I’d be inside you until I got on the plane tomorrow.”

“I don’t think we’d make it through security like this,” you joked.

“Worst case scenario, we get detained and I have to stay a bit longer.”

“Tempting,” you quipped.

“Yes…” his lips brushed against your neck. “... you are.”

_________________________________________

@faye-tale @queenofmean14 @eleanor-bradstreet @musicismyoxygen84 @heeyyyou @queen-of-the-misfit-toys

#Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #Benedict Bridgerton x You #Benedict Bridgerton FanFiction #Benedict Bridgerton #Bridgerton FanFiction #Benedict Bridgerton and Reader #Benedict Bridgerton and You #Modern AU Benedict Bridgerton

109 notes · View notes

xhanisai · 11 months

Note

mute adrien au?

So, in this AU, the sudden disappearance of Emelie causes a huge bout of stress and shock for Adrien, causing him to develop vocal chord dysfunction (VCD) which in turn makes him mute. At the time, no one knew it is VCD and believe it was because he was traumatised and having a hard time adjusting to the loss of his mother that he lost the ability to speak. Gabriel gives him a very, very hard time and Adrien's mentality crumbles.

Thankfully, he discovers a ring that grants him the power of destruction along with a tiny little God that is obsessed with cheese and becomes a superhero by the love of his life, Ladybug's side. He even got to make a wonderful, beautiful friend too after he presented her his mother's umbrella and life started to get a little better.

Little did he know, that friend is also his partner and she's figured out his identity- she's determined to ensure that he's well-loved and cared for on both sides of the mask and that he's always smiling.

Here's a snippet:

"-uWAAAA! A-A-A-Adrien!?" The sight of seeing his good friend jump up as high as his alter-ego's namesake had the boy stifle a mischievous smile, eating up the way her face bloomed with that adorable shade of sakura which made her baby blues sparkle under the curtain of her midnight hair. Her flustered expression then quickly changed into a pouty scowl and she planted her hands on her hips (in a very familiar, deja-vu-like way). "You did that on purpose, didn't you? Sneaking up on me, again??" Her tone was dry and for a split second then, he almost braced himself for her to flick his nose softly but he was quick to brush it off, his brain reminding him that right before him was Marinette Dupain-Cheng and not Ladybug…(right?)

Pushing that thought process in the backburner for the umpteenth time, he felt his mouth quirk up into a softer smile this time round and he brought his phone out, gesturing it towards her.

"Oh- you texted?" She whipped her phone out carelessly, almost dropping the device onto the floor but she managed to catch it just in time. She directed a bashful grin to her companion who simultaneously reached for the phone too and he found himself mirroring her cute expression. "What's this? 'Did you drink half the bottle of water by now?', 'Have you taken your ADHD medication before coming to school today?', 'Look at this angry cat picture I found. This will be you if you haven't eaten your lunch. Eat on time'." All of the sass and composure seeped out of her tiny being the more she read through his barrages of texts, feeling a little bad for not checking her phone sooner but the overwhelm of his clear concern and affection for her practically made her speechless.

Adrien came closer, his gentle fingers caressed the side of her face sweetly and he handed her a bottle of water, beckoning for her to drink and ignoring (or trying his best to) the way her pretty pink lips pooched at the sight of the beverage.

Thank you for the ask! Feel free to ask for more about this AU or anything else <3333

Ask WIP game

#my asks #my writing #mute! adrien AU #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #this au is actually something very personal and something I keep very close to my heart #but i'm glad that i am writing it #it's quite catharthic

70 notes · View notes

totallylost4you · 1 year

Text

Carolina Herrera + Kaylor / Gaylor

Baby, this is what you came for Lightning strikes every time she moves And everybody's watchin' her But she's lookin' at you, ooh, ooh

29 April 2016 "This is what you came for" written by Taylor Swift

September 2016 GOOD GIRL Midnight fragrance

July 2020 Discover the film of the new GOOD GIRL Eau de Parfum Suprême, starring Karlie Kloss and directed by Quentin Jones. I don't like slow motion double vision in rose blush I don't like that falling feels like flying 'til the bone crush Everybody wants you But I don't like a gold rush

December 2020 "Gold Rush" by Taylor Swift

January 2023 Carolina Herrera GOOD GIRL Blush fragrance

July 2022 Celebrate the magic of the night with GOOD GIRL Midnight! Carolina Herrera has just announced a new Limited edition fragrance release. It will be called GOOD GIRL Midnight.

As far as the name goes, GOOD GIRL Midnight triggers the image of Cinderella leaving the royal party at midnight in the back of your head.

October 2022 Taylor released her tenth studio album “Midnights”

Taylor Swift has shared the second music video from "Midnights", reinventing the classic "Cinderella" story for "Bejeweled".

______________________________________

Everybody wants you. Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you. Walk past, quick brush. What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes. My mind turns your life into folklore.

#kaylor #gaylor #carolina herrera #gold rush #gaylor swift #taylor swift #karlie kloss

92 notes · View notes

sebstan2022 · 2 years

Text

The Captain’s Daughter

Chapter 2

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Orignal Female Character, Steve Rogers X Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Violet Rogers is the daughter of non other than Captain America and Black Widow. Working as a nurse at the Washington DC general hospital, her life is pretty normal despite her parents being top agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. However after a recent mission, a new threat has hit S.H.I.E.L.D. and Violet finds herself as a target, discovering their greatest weapon, The Winter Soldier.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dark Bucky Barnes, Kissing, Dom Bucky Barnes, Manipulation, Torture, Brainwashing, Captive, Light Bondage

Violet woke to the bright sun shining through the silk curtains of her room, the light sound of tweeting birds destroying the calm silence. She groaned softly to herself, turning onto her side, and opening her eyes slowly so she didn’t blind herself as she stared out the gap in the curtains. It looked like a beautiful day. She was snuggled in her bed that she didn’t want to leave and the sun patch on her duvet was keeping her warm.

It was just after seven and she had work at nine. Another day shift for her. Last night she went to bed early, deciding to curl up in bed with a good book, a candle lit beside her and a warm cup of tea and before she knew it, she had drifted off within minutes, waking up earlier that night and finding the candle still flickering and the book splayed over her body. She didn’t think her day was that tiring but when you work as a nurse, it catches up on you.

Violet rubbed her face, wiping the sleep away before flinging the covers off her body, the cold of her room instantly freezing her, and she shivered as she reached for her dressing gown. Faint noises clanged in the background from downstairs and low voices talking informing Violet that her parents were up. She’d forgotten about their mission until now and so she padded out her bedroom, her bare feet hitting the cold wood before descending the stairs and entering the kitchen, where the conversation turned louder.

“I would just appreciate being informed on what’s going on” Steve’s voice sounded.

“And you were” Natasha replied.

“Yeah, after the mission was completed, you should have been at your post” it sounded like they were arguing and Violet narrowed her eyes a little as she slowly entered the kitchen, catching the attention of both. All three were dressed in their coloured robes, Steve in a dark blue, Natasha in a rich red and Violet in cream.

“Morning honey, you want some coffee” Natasha said, giving a friendly smile as she wondered closer to the kitchen island in the middle.

“Sure, I didn’t hear you come home last night” she said.

“We came in about midnight I think, like I said it was a piece of cake” Natasha smirked cockily, filling up a cup of coffee for Violet. She looked over at her dad who was resting against the counter, arms folded and a scowl on his face towards her mother. Something wasn’t right.

“Everything go okay last night?” Violet asked, sipping the hot coffee, careful not to burn her tongue and lose her tastebuds for the rest of the day. There was nothing worse than burning your tongue and having to deal with the soreness all day.

“Of course… right Steve” Natasha gave him a glance and then a hard stare when he didn’t answer right away.

“Everything was fine darling” he said softly, almost annoyed that he had to answer with that, and Violet wanted to ask more but thought against it. her parents would probably not tell her anything anyway and continue saying it was fine.

“How were things here” Steve asked as he finally pushed himself off the counter, opening the fridge and pulling out a carton of orange juice, pouring a glass and gulping it down. He looked tired, considering he was a super soldier. Perhaps it had something to do with the mission. Violet was becoming suspicious about it but still decided to brush it off.

“Yeah, everything was fine, I went to bed pretty early, I must have been exhausted because I was knocked out within a few minutes” she said and Steve chuckled, coming over and rubbing her shoulder lovingly.

“You’re working too hard, perhaps we should speed up that vacation” he said and looked to Natasha who rolled her eyes.

“Your father wants us to go to Seattle” Natasha and Violet narrowed her eyes.

“Seriously dad, of all the places and you pick Seattle” Violet exclaimed.

“What, they have some great places there and it’s only a short drive” he shrugged.

“Absolutely not, if we are going anywhere, we are defiantly leaving D.C” Natasha smiled, leaning against the kitchen island.

“I think we should go to Barbados” Violet suggested.

“Ah yes, the sun, the sand, what more could you want” her mother agreed, and Steve sighed, holding his hands up.

“Obviously I have no say in the matter”.

“No, you don’t” Natasha grinned, and Violet laughed softly.

“What time do you start work”.

“Nine, I have a day shift today” Violet answered, finishing the rest of her coffee.

“I’ll give you a ride” her mother offered.

“Mom I can drive myself you know” she was happy to be given a lift to work but she did have a car for a reason and why now suddenly offering her a lift. Did it have something to do with the mission last night?

“I know but it will save you on gas and it’s on my way, go on” Natasha ushered her upstairs and Violet groaned.

“Fiiiiine” she whined and giggle as she ran up the stairs, getting ready.

Her mother’s driving compared to her fathers was very different. Her father was more of a slow and steady while her mother was quick and harsh. It was funny how different they were and anyone who didn’t know them properly would wondered how they were together. But she loved them nonetheless and wouldn’t trade them for anything. Both were protective of Violet and would do anything for her. Her mother didn’t even want her to go to college, worried if something was going to happen when they weren’t there. She even taught her a few fight moves to use against anyone if she needed to and her Steve had taught her how to use a gun. She had needed to use one to this day and she wondered if she still knew how to.

But as her mother drove her to work, she couldn’t help but think back to the conversation she heard earlier in the kitchen and wondered what happened last night. Her parents were like anyone other parents and had their arguments from time to time but this morning something felt off. Her father’s forced answer to her question and her mother giving him that look.

“So, what’s going on with you and dad?” she asked, and Natasha looked over and shrugged.

“Nothing, he’s just being his overprotective self as per usual” Violet narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows. Something defiantly was up; she could feel it.

“Somethings defiantly going on, I heard you two this morning, does it have something to do with the mission last night?’ silence grew in the car before Natasha sighed softly, taking a quick glance to her daughter beside her.

“Okay, I’ll tell but promise you won’t talk to your dad about this” she warned, and Violet nodded. Her stomach turned tightly into a nervous ball. She prayed it wasn’t anything too serious and that no one got hurt… except the bad guys.

“We don’t know for sure but something’s going on at S.H.I.E.L.D. I had a different assignment last night to your dad’s and was told to retrieve some information and your dad wasn’t told, that’s why he was upset this morning”.

This didn’t sound good. If something bad was happening with S.H.I.E.L.D, lives could be at stake, information could be leaked that people weren’t supposed to know, threats could be coming. Violet knotted her hands in her lap and her palms and fingers became sweaty.

“Is everything okay, is S.H.I.E.L.D. compromised or in danger” Violet said quickly, panic in her voice but Natasha reassured her.

“It’s fine darling, no one is in danger, but we don’t know until we get this information what it could be, but we are fine, if me or your dad thought we were in danger we’d tell you”.

“Promise?” Violet said hard and Natasha looked at her straight on, still driving perfectly down the road.

“I promise” Violet knew her mother wasn’t lying when she looked at her like that. She felt somewhat better but now she was nervous and scared. This was one of the main reasons why her parents kept the missions a secret because they didn’t want to worry her. Threats were common to S.H.I.E.L.D. and her parents were involved in every mission to make sure they were eliminated. But for some reason, this one seemed to be more concerning that others. It was strange to see her parents fight about this one.

Natasha pulled up outside the hospital and took Violet’s hand, something she didn’t do often but it meant that her mother meant what she was about to say. It was a sign of her affection and protection to her daughter. That she was speaking the truth and wasn’t lying.

“Don’t worry about this, your father and I are going to make sure nothing happens to you or to anyone” she said softly, and Violet nodded swallowing the hard lump.

“I know mom” she whispered and leant over, hugging her mom tightly, her strong scent filling her nose. Natasha squeezed her tightly, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a smile.

“I love you” Natasha said.

“Love you too mom” Violet gave a kiss to her mom’s cheek as well before exiting the car and giving a wave as she sped off, the car roaring with a punch. Violet took a deep sigh shaking off the nervous feeling inside her and entered the hospital, hoping to take her mind off everything with her work.

……….

“You can’t stop yourself from lying, can you?” Steve stormed into Fury’s office, fists at his side as he reached his office, eyebrows narrowed hard as he stared at the man leaning back in his office chair.

“I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you, agent Romanoff had a different mission to you” Fury said casually.

“How can I lead a mission if I don’t know what’s going on and the people, I’m trying to lead have missions of their own?” Steve counteracted and Fury turned to him, spinning on his chair, his eye staring hard at him.

“It’s called compartmentalization, Romanoff was comfortable with her mission, and I didn’t want you to do anything you weren’t” Fury answered, and Steve scoffed.

“So, you use my wife against me” Fury chuckled.

“She was fine with it, and she assured me she’d handle you” he lent back in his chair and Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

“From now on, I want to be informed of all missions. If you want me to lead them, then I need to know what’s going on with everyone on my team, including my wife”.

Fury was one to argue and get his own way but sometimes he knew when he was had and when to drop the conversation. If he wanted Captain America to trust him again, he knew he had to agree to this. Yes, he was the boss, but he didn’t want this going anywhere further and so in the end he sighed and nodded.

“Fine Captain, you have your way but don’t blame me if you and your wife stay up late arguing all night” he joked, and Steve couldn’t help but chuckle a little. Steve anticipated there could be an argument tonight, but he was hoping not. He nodded his head before turning on his toe and leaving Fury’s office, having enough of the conversation.

Fury stared out the window for a while before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flash stick. The one that Natasha retrieved on her own mission she was assigned that night. There was information on there that Fury needed and was suspicious off. He inserted the stick into the device on his desk and it popped onto the screen.

“Open Lemurian Star’s satellite launch file”.

“Access denied” the voice replied as the screen showed a lock screen preventing showing the information. Fury narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“Run decryption” he ordered, and the screen showed trying to follow his ordered but was denied the same.

“Decryption failed”.

“Director override, Fury, Nicholas J” he reached the screen, standing with his hands behind his back watching the screen.

“Override failed, all files sealed, access denied”.

“On whose authority” he said angrily, tensing up. He was getting frustrated that he couldn’t get into the files.

“Fury, Nicholas J”.

Fury sighed. Something was defiantly going on. Why would he have access denied being one of the directors of S.H.I.E.L.D. instead of standing there and trying again to get into the files, he decided to head to the lift.

“World council office”.

He reached Alexander Pierce’s office, standing outside as he waited for him to finish his meeting with the council members. The door opened and Pierce walked out, straight away shaking Fury’s hand.

“You busy in there” Fury nodded to the other side of the office and Pierce chuckled.

“When am I ever not, what can I do Nick?” he knew he was here for something otherwise he wouldn’t have interrupted his meeting.

“I’m here to ask for a favour, I need Project insight to be delayed, there’s something, it’s probably nothing but I want to be sure it’s nothing”.

“That’s a pretty big favour Nick, in fact it’s more of a hearing”.

“I know but I need to be sure” Fury was addiment that the project needed to be delayed until he could work out what was going on with the files. Pierce stared at Fury for a moment before sighing and nodding.

“Alright fine, but you need to get Iron man to stop by my niece’s birthday party and I don’t mean a quick fly by, I mean really stop by” he titled his head and held his hand out. Fury laughed and shook his hand.

“You got it Sir, thank you” as Pierce walk off, Fury’s smile dropped, and he watched closely as he disappeared.

……….

The hallway was dark, and footsteps echoed as soldiers stomped down to the room at the end of the hallway, guns held tightly in their hands, covered in swat gear. They reached the room and entered in one by one, standing in front of the cryochamber in the middle of the room. The soldier’s lined up, holding their guns out at ready for firing while a man came in, dressed in a long doctor’s coat.

“Release him” the leader of the soldier’s ordered and the doctor nodded before flicking a switch and opening the cryochamber. Smoky ice trailed out as the door opened, a loud clank echoing as it opened all the way, the smoke drifting away and revealing the tall body inside the chamber.

The men watched carefully as the body inside twitched and awoke, eyes snapping open and a deadly look pouring out to the men standing before him. Hands tighten around the guns and lock onto him.

His eyes drift downwards and see the book. The book with those dreaded words inside.

“Longing, rusted, furnace, daybreak, seventeen, benign, nine, homecoming, one, freight car” the doctor read the words in Russian and looked up at the solider. His body straightened up, standing tall and strong. The solider curled his hands into fists, his shiny metal arm glinting in the light, clanking as the metal tightened and he stepped out of the cryochamber, his feet stomping on the hard ground, deadly eyes looming over the black mask covering his mouth.

The leader of the army stepped forward, standing before the solider, his eyes locked into his.

“Winter Soldier” he said, and a moment of silence grew in the room before a voice spoke behind the mask.

“Ready to comply”.

Hey so I hope you liked this chapter, let me know what you think by liking, leaving a comment and don’t forget to reblog. Thank you so much

Chapter 3

#Sebastian stan #Sebastian Stan fanfiction #sexy seabass #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes dom #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Barnes x female character #winter soldier #Captain America the winter soldier #the falcon and the winter soldier

14 notes · View notes

anacocoabar · 2 years

Text

Hugo’s birth story

My husband and I always wanted a big family, 5 or 6 children. When we discovered I was pregnant, a few weeks after our wedding, we were bursting with joy. We felt it was the beginning of our dream that was unfolding, just inside of me.

Since the beginning of the pregnancy, baby has always been on the large side. At first, I brushed it off, trying not to worry too much about that. But at 36 weeks, baby was on the 91th percentile and its estimated weight was already more than 6 and a half pounds, which is close to the average weight of a full-term baby. With 4 more weeks to go, I was beginning to have serious concerns. Since I was only 120 pounds pre-pregnancy, I felt like I could not deliver that super massive baby. I talked to my doctor, who reassured me.

At one of my last follow up appointment, at 39 weeks, they predicted a little-over 9 pounds baby with a margin of error of about 2 pounds. I always wanted a vaginal delivery but at that point, I was scared and I asked my OB about a planned C-section to avoid complications. He told me they cannot do one without a medical reason. He explained they planned one when baby is above the 95th percentile, witch mine was just shy of. Because there was no other concern, I had to deliver it vaginally. So, I went home with my fears and prayed day and nights for them to be wrong about the baby’s weight.

My fear transforms into terror as my due date passed (June 14th), without any sign of labor. Each day, I was pregnanter than ever, looking like I had twins inside. But nope, it wasn’t twin, just a double size single baby. I was so big, I had difficulty to even walk, feeling unbalanced and so heavy. I know I was VERY big, but the look everyone gave me, like I was an extraterrestrial, made me uncomfortable. The worse is that, as a joke, a few said that I’ll break in two will giving birth. Honestly, what’s wrong with people?

June 29th, Wednesday

When labor finally started, at 9 in the evening, I was 2 weeks and 1 day overdue, 15 days when baby has been slowly gaining weight. I was about to go to sleep, washing my teeth after watching an old episode of Friends with my husband, when the first pinch hits me. I was surprised, even if at that point I shouldn’t be. I was a bomb ready to explode. My husband heard my exclamation and came running in the bathroom. ‘’The baby is coming?’’ he asked. ‘’I think so.’’, I said. I felt unsure. Even if I obviously knew it would happen, it suddenly got really real.

I waited a few minutes for a second contraction. We were so excited. My husband went to get its watch and we cuddle together in our bed to monitor the contractions. For a few hours, they were mild and shorts, only a few seconds and far apart enough that we were waiting for them, hoping the labor wouldn’t stop.

Around midnight, they increase in strength and duration, thought they were still irregular and bearable. I would only have to bend on my belly and breathe slowly to manage them.

In the wee hours of the morning, they became much stronger and closer together. The pain was strong and it was difficult to speak trough the contractions. I would hold my husband’s hand the whole time they lasted. He kept telling me I was doing wonderful and it helped me cope. They were too far apart to go to the hospital yet.

June 30th, Thursday

All day, the contractions were very unpredictable, sometimes they were 3 minutes apart, but then regressed to be less frequent. But they were strong and mostly more than one minute in length. It was becoming more and more difficult to handle. I was moaning in pain and found difficult to find a position to be ‘’comfortable’’ for the contractions. Then the night came. I was already exhausted from the previous night and day and only wanted to sleep. We called the hospital to asked if we should go, explaining them what was going on and the pattern of contractions. They told us not to come, so we continued to write down the frequency and length of contractions through the night.

July 1st, Friday

Groundhog Day. The exact same happened, except I was more exhausted. Contractions were strong and long, but just a little too far apart to go to the hospital yet. We called them again, with the same answer. I cried a lot that day, with my husband trying to do something to help relieve the pain, without much success. I was trying not to fall asleep in-between contractions because being waken up by this horrific pain was just awful. And it was easier to stay awake than waking up after 4 minutes of sleep.

July 2nd, Saturday

Around 4 in the afternoon, contractions were finally 5 minutes apart. Finally! My husband and I headed to the hospital. I remember the messy drive of my stressed-out husband. I thought after that shitty start, the rest would be going normally and that I would be able to old my son in my arms in a few hours. Ho boy, was I wrong.

When we arrived, I was checked and was only 1 cm dilated, AFTER 68 HOURS OF LABOR. I busted into tears when they told me so. I felt so betrayed by my own body. I was SO jealous of women who are at 3 cm even a few days before the labor even began. I asked for the epidural, but the nurse welcoming us told us I had to wait till I was 4 cm to get it. I was so exhausted, I was sobbing. They placed me in the delivery room and said they would check the progress regularly. They came to monitor every hour during the evening and there was no progress at all. Just that pain, stronger and stronger, leading to nothing. They proposed pitocin to speed up the process, but I said no, because contractions are supposed to hurt more with this drug and I was really in so much pain.

July 3rd, Sunday

In the middle of the night, between Saturday and Sunday, I was totally burnt out. The pain was excruciating, already a 10/10 and I begged for an epidural NOW! I was shrieking and sobbing. I will never forget the pain and distress in my husband’s eyes. He yelled at them, Do something! But they repeated me I had to wait to be at 4 cm. They checked me again and I was at only 3 cm. I had only made a fraction of the way to the moment I could get the epidural in 17 hours in the hospital. They convinced me to give pitocin a try.

A few minutes after they gave me the drug, contractions became incredibly painful, more than I thought it was possible, I would say a 12/10. At that point, they were around 60 sec each 2 minutes, which didn’t give me time to recuperate between them. It was like all my organs were being grinded with broken glass, shredded to small pieces, with rubbing alcohol all around them. I screamed bloody murder through each of them, and vomited several times. After an hour of that, I broke down again, begging for the epidural, sobbing like a child. They put me on a drip of fluid, because I was dehydrated by the vomiting and sobbing.

At 6 in the morning, they checked me again and told me I was progressing better with the pitocin and was now at 4 cm. Hallelujah! The epidural was finally coming, after more than 90 hours of labor! Even if I always wanted a delivery with anesthesia, I wanted the drug now more than ever. I didn’t think so much pain was possible. So, I was hoping for the relief, but had to wait another hour for the anesthesiologist to arrive. It felt like the longest hour of my life. When he came, I bend over and the injection was quick and painless, compared to the rest. It was hard to stop shaking thought. So, I waited for the medicine to kick in with the excruciating contractions, but it didn’t seem to work. I waited again for the anesthesiologist to come back. He put more medicine in and made me lay on both side for the drug to move around. We waited another half an hour. Still no epidural working.

Then we waited FOREVER for the anesthesiologist to come back a third time. I was so scared and shaking, I wouldn’t have been able to hold a pen. I was just a ball of pain, screaming every other minute. Between contractions, I begged the nurse for a C-section and my husband to do something. So, I screamed in pain, screamed for help, pain again, help, pain, till I lost my voice. I continued suffering in silence for a while.

Then the anesthesiologist came, checked the epidural and said there was nothing more to do. That’s how I learned it is possible for epidural to fail. Why did they never tell me that before? At that point, I had been in the hospital for more than 24 hours. I begged for any other kind of pain medication, but they had anything to offer, except gas, that didn’t work at all or so little, I didn’t feel any difference.

I found the idea to deliver fully naturally, without wanting so, to be the most horrific thing. Never did I consider this to be an option. In my head, the only unwanted natural birth possible was if the baby came to fast to get medication. What a blessing it would have been!

After another eternity of pain, they told me progress stopped and they had to increase the pitocin dose. So, they did. Oh boy. They did. THIS WAS SURREAL PAIN. 25/10. I vomited and my vision went pitch black through each contraction. It was the worse pain ever, aggravated by the fatigue and despair and all. I was totally disconnected from reality and also became weaker and weaker. It had been almost 4 days since I last slept or ate anything. I don’t remember clearly that part of the process. My water broke at some point.

At one in the afternoon, after 98 hours of labor, I was finally dilated to 10 cm and allowed to push. As incredible as it sounds, when the nurse told me that, it gave me strength. I thought (wrongly) that I would soon be holding my baby in my arms. For the first contractions, I pushed as hard as I could, only taking pauses to breathe. I was working so hard, but not feeling anything moving. I was already very weak and my position was not good enough. So, they brought stirrups and secured my feet to it. I pushed for more than an hour, each time feeling weaker and useless. This was the more exhausted I had felt in my entire life. I tried to beg again for a C-section, sure I couldn’t push that baby out, but my voice was still gone at that point. I never felt as powerless in my entire life. I was in agony. The doctor and nurse reassured me and told me to continue pushing. I did, even if I was so weak. This was the most physically demanding thing I had ever done. At one point, I felt the ring of fire, as the head was moving through the birth canal. It burned like hell. Then, I felt myself ripping inside. Still, the baby wasn’t moving enough. Then, it became clear I couldn’t do it by myself, so they did an episiotomy. To be honest, the pain wasn’t that bad compared to the contractions and everything. I pushed again, as they instructed me to do. It still wasn’t working thought and they extended the episiotomy cut twice. Spoiler: I still tore.

After 4 hours of fruitless effort and 3 episiotomies, I was a physical and emotional wreck. The nurse asked the doctor if they should do a C-section and I finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. Unfortunately, the doctor said it was now too late for that, since the baby was too far along in the birth canal. So, because nothing was happening, they decided to use the vacuum. They plugged it in me and pull. This lasted forever. I saw the doctor’s face while pulling and I swear he was working hard. Since it wasn’t enough, a nurse was also above me and pushing in my belly. Honestly, it was more beating than pushing. They were all around me, doing their thing as I thought I was dying.

Finally, Sunday morning around 6 pm, after 103 hours of labor, the doctor finally pulled the baby out. He had to dislocate the baby’s shoulder to do so. I also tore horribly and felt it happened, but didn’t know yet at what extent. Then they rearrange my son’s shoulder before giving him to me. He was a gigantic 13 pounds 1 ounce baby. It’ twice the weight of the average baby. THAT CAME OUT OF MY VAGINA. Remember that I’m a pre-pregnancy 120 pounds woman. So that baby was one 10th of my weight!

The nurse put the baby on my chest. It was surreal to hold my son, that grew inside of me for so long. I was shaking and barely able to hold it. My husband helped me and kissed my forehead, ‘’It’s done.’’, he said. ‘’You’re the best.’’

Then, I deliver the placenta and I thought It was over. Oh boy was I wrong! That's just when the real fun began. Fun for that sadist OB I mean, because until that point he was just a witness of my pain. From that moment on he was the one giving it.

I had still my feet attached to the stirrups. The OB first numbed the area for stitches. The epidural should have been the pain medication for that part too, but as it didn’t work for me… they used something else. That’s when I learned that this something else isn’t numbing anything. IT WAS TORTURE. The OB began by inside, repairing, the vagina wall. I would have scream to hell, but still had no voice. So, I was silently screaming, tears pouring down my face. They had to took the baby away because I wasn’t able to hold it. It wasn’t the same type of pain as contractions, less visceral, but very vivid, and I was just twirling around, trying to avoid the pain. They attached my arms and body to stop me from moving. The OB gave me another shot of numbing and told me this time I wouldn’t feel it. It wasn’t true. I felt every part of it. When he was stitching my vagina, the nurse explained me the extent of the tear. I had ripped my vagina wall and, despite the episiotomy, had a 3rd degree tear form the anus to the clitoral hood. I didn’t even know you could tear that far. It was basically a C-section-wide opening through my crotch. So, I didn’t break in two as people told me I would; instead I tore in two. While the OB was stitching, I overheard a nurse said it should have been a C-section. If I were conscious enough at that time, I would have been furious.

When he finished inside, the doctor proceeded to repair from the anus to the front. I was still moving a little even with the fastening and it didn’t help the process. The OB seems pissed at me, which is incredible considering the circumstances. The pain was awful all the way, but increased when he got closer to the clitoris. I was terrorized of what was coming. I was shaking like never in my life, my teeth chattering so strongly, I could feel it on the top of my skull. I felt more and more pain as he was slowly approaching my clitoris. Before sewing the clitoral hood, he tried to numb me more, with as much success as before. He just touches the hood with the needle and I felt all the muscles in my body clenches at the same time. I vomited even before he started. Then the needle passed through the hood over and over again. THE PAIN. This was another level completely, I would say 100/10. I fainted four times while he was on my hood and they kept awaking me each time.

After what felted hours, he was finally done. In all and for all, I got 64 stitches that took more than 1 hours and a half to do. I was left shaking like hell, sweaty as I never had been before, covered in puke (never understood how I could still vomit after roughly 4 days without eating), with a 6 inches wound down there and worse of all, too weak to even hold my son.

Almost two months after, I’m still in shock and don’t know if I’ll be able to live a normal life again.

#delivery #labor #pregnancy #pregnantbelly #maternity #pregnant #giving birth #birth

7 notes · View notes

sufandomgirl · 1 year

Text

Prompt 16 Story Part 2

"Congratulations! Welcome to the family!" Allison's sister exclaimed as she hugged Melanie. Allison smiled. Her sister had always been supportive.

Melanie hugged back. "Thank you, Sunny. I couldn't accept the ring because I'm allergic to some metals like nickel and silver. We are getting married, though." Allison nodded. Sunny raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't know that! Mom and Dad are going to be so excited!" Sunny yelled. Melanie giggled. "Mr. and Mrs. Canmel came around quicker than I was expecting."

"I think they realized that their sons weren't getting married anytime soon. They like weddings, they don't care who they're for." Allison stated. It was factual. Sunny could concur. Their oldest brother, Oliver, had been with his girlfriend, Heather, for five years and still not proposed. Christopher had never had a serious relationship with anyone and Theodore, while she couldn't confirm, Allison heavily suspected that he and his best friend, Benjamin were secretly an item. Benjamin and her used to date before she came out as bisexual and met Melanie. They'd ended things, mutually and without animosity. Sunny was 16. She had a thing for someone in her class, but would never say who.

Allison led the way and explained to her parents about the ring. Needless to say, Mr. and Mrs. Canmel were ecstatic about the news. Maybe a little surprised about her allergies, but ecstatic just the same. It was at times like this when she wished that she hadn't been banished from the pack because of her brother's stupid mate. She could only imagine how many pups they had now. She loved her new family, though and would do anything for them.

Pack Territory...

Victoria ran the brush through her midnight black hair. Never in a million years did anybody think that a she and a werewolf would be fated mates, especially her and Chuck, one of her childhood best friend--Melanie's--brothers. She wondered what Melanie was up to now. As did Chuck. Melanie had basically raised him, on account of their parents needing to give his now late twin more attention. Bree, the one who got her banished, was on her fifth pregnancy with Sol, their brother. Victoria was aware that marriage and werewolves were less entangled than with vampires. It wasn't as much of an inevitability to raise your children for in werewolf culture as it was where she was from. It was more of a procedure for humans to make sense of fated mate ties. Victoria would have to adjust to the lack of scrutiny. Today was their wedding, which was arranged after their bond was discovered. They'd had little time for romance as Victoria was catapulted into wedding planning. Without Melanie, the only females on Chuck's side were the pregnant Bree and his mother. The latter helped where she could, welcoming Victoria to the family. Truth be told, she hated having to stand by while Bree got her daughter banished and never liked her to begin with. Victoria was a sweet girl and one of Melanie's oldest friends. She'd prepared her son as much as she could for having a vampire bride/fated mate. A match such as theirs had only been made five times, including this one, throughout recorded history.

Lydia, Victoria's mother, helped her fasten her dress. She was one of the most caught off-guard by the match, other than Victoria herself. Victoria's father, Count Murk, had refused to be a part of this ceremony. She would walk herself down the aisle, so not to dishonor him further. Lydia let the bridesmaids know that she was ready and let her walk down the aisle alone. Victoria met Chuck at the altar.

Meanwhile, With Melanie...

Melanie was relieved. Allison and her family already knew about her. The ring wasn't really silver, so she felt bad. Nala, her Siren friend, was the only one from their realm that she was able to keep contact with. Obviously, Sunny would be the maid of honor for Allison, so Nala would be hers.

0 notes

fatuifucker · 2 years

Text

heather

dom subject 2 albedo x sub gn reader

SUMMARY = only if you knew how much I liked you but I watch your eyes, as he walks by. what a sight for sore eyes brighter than the blue sky. he's got you mesmerised with i die / subject 2 is bitter that you love albedo and not him so he fks his fist in his hideout

WARNINGS = smut, masturbation, he is imagining all of this, unprotected sex, oral (reader giving), throatfking, rough sex, penetration (reader receiving), dumbification, angst

W/C = 1.6K

A/N = I just realised this kinda has yandere implications but very slight it's not meant to be read that way S2 isn't possessive/obsessive over reader but he does feel bitter over their love for albedo and wishes it was him so he vents it out I won't tag it as yandere but if what I described feels uncomfortable for you then you don't need to read it

Alone in his hideout, deep within the mountainous Dragonspine, he lets out a sigh of relief as he pulls down his shorts. His eager hand cups the tent, palming his crotch while his teeth bites the glove off his free hand before tossing it aside. He repeats the motion with his other hand while his ungloved hand resumes the movement on his crotch. It dips into his underwear, pulling out his awaiting cock and wrapping his palm over it.

He wishes it was you. He wishes your soft hand was the one rubbing his cock. He wishes you were on your knees, looking up at him with needy eyes. He wishes you were here. But no. He doesn't have to wonder about your whereabouts. You were with him.

He saw the two of you today. That person was carrying you on his back. Fresh bruises and scratches littered all over your body. Goes to show how much of a failure he is. If it was him, he would have been able to protect you. He wouldn't have allowed anyone to lay a hand on a beautiful human such as yourself. He could have been better than that so-called perfect version of himself.

But your eyes weren't filled with disappointment or anger towards that person. Even with droopy half lidded eyes, there was a content smile on your face. The sight sickened him, filling his stomach with nauseating filth that made him want to throw up.

He first met you at midnight. By then most humans should have left Dragonspine. It was that day he discovered you weren't "most humans". You had mistaken him for Albedo — good — and chastised him for staying up late. You noted it would be too tiring of a journey for him to head back to his camp so you dragged him to stay the night at your camp. You cooked dinner for him, fussed over his unhealthy habits — Albedo’s habits more accurately — and asked him about his day. Never did anyone care for him as much as you did. But that blooming warmth was extinguished when he realised you cared for Albedo and not him.

"You can take the bed tonight. I can sleep on the floor,"

"Why can't we just share the bed?"

Your bright face turned into one of embarrassment. "S-share? You...want to share a bed with me?"

He tilted his head. "Yes, isn't that sensible? Humans preserve their natural body heat when they huddle up together."

It's only rational. He didn't understand your hesitation. That is until you two were actually sharing the bed. He strokes his hardened cock, remembering the way your plush body pressed up against his. The way your hot breath brushed against his neck. The way you wriggled under the covers in an effort to spare some distance between you and himself. The way you bit your plump moistened lips and avoided his gaze. Fuck, those lips. What pretty, pretty lips. He wanted to kiss them until they bruised. He wanted to bite them and shove his tongue past them. Or maybe he could shove something else.

His imagination painted a painting of you still on your knees but with your lips parted open. You were trembling under his intense stare that bore into your skull. He was getting impatient, and he felt like he had to use all of his restraint to not give into the urge to stuff his entire cock in your mouth. He groans at the image of your dumbstruck face as you struggle to take his dick. But he rewinds that thought and decides to tease you instead. With a smug smirk, he imagines himself rubbing his cockhead against your moist lips, smearing it with pre-cum. Your eyebrows would furrow and you would force yourself to take all of him. It would be too much for you of course, so you would choke but stubbornly try to continue even when tears clouded your vision. Instead of easing, he would be rougher, harshly grabbing your head and taking control to just fuck your mouth like his own cocksleeve.

He hisses, speeding up his strokes. He wants to cum right now. He needs to cum right now, he needs to cum, he needs to cum he needs to cum he needs to—

White spurts out his cock, tainting the ground. In his imagination, a surprised sound slips out of your throat, muffled by his cock in your mouth. You would gulp, forcing yourself to swallow everything he gives you and he rewards you by patting your head. At last, he relaxes as he calms down from his high, returning back to the present where he is sitting alone on his bed, jacking off to you. So this is an orgasm…

The concept of sex is not completely foreign to him. He has read books about it, and he understands that it is not just for reproduction, but as a show of love and trust. Given your feelings for Albedo, you've likely had desires to engage in this activity with him.

In the days you've spent with him, he noticed the lovesick look in your eyes whenever you looked at him. Thinking he was Albedo, you followed him around like a clingy puppy, went out of your way to prepare meals for him and gave him little trinkets that you thought he would like. What a lucky bastard. To have people who accept him as one of their own, to have a family and to be loved by such a perfect human.

He'll take it all from him. He'll take his identity, he'll take his family, he'll take you the moment the opportunity presents itself. You'll be happy too. He'll profess his love to you and you'll happily accept. He would have you for himself and he'll finally be able to kiss you just like he has been longing to do. He would be able to savour your sweetness. He would be able to savour your body.

Wetting his cracked lips, his hand dips down once again. He adjusts himself to the centre of the bed, ridding himself of his undergarments so he could spread his legs freely. Sweat cascades down his features, his neck burning as he allows indecent thoughts of you to roam in his head.

You would be laying bare under him. He hasn’t seen you naked before but he knows from staring at your body for an ungodly amount of time — he claimed it was just an attempt to sketch you — that you would be fucking hot. He would be looking down at you, desire burning within his teal eyes that would threaten to light you aflame. A carnal flame that yearned to devour you whole.

He skips the foreplay; his mind racing to conjure up a stimulating scenario. Moans reverberated off the cavern walls that he calls his home, serving as an incentive for him to pound into you faster. He wrecks your hole, plunging in and out with such force that makes your eyes roll into the back of your skull. You’re choking on air, choking on your words as you try to call out to him.

“Hah– arghk! Ah–! Albe– mMH! Kkhn...Albedo!”

His daydream disrupted, he winches. Ah, that’s right he wasn’t given a name, was he? Well that doesn’t matter. Once he replaces Albedo he can wipe all memory of him from his mind. He can pretend he has always been Albedo. It would be his new identity, not that he has one in the first place. Although he can enact his plan – dispose of Albedo and take his place – and take you in the process, somehow it...hurt. It hurts knowing that whenever he sees those bright eyes full of adoration looking at him, it is aimed towards Albedo and not him. When you shower him in love, it's full of your love for Albedo and not him. Even if he replaced him, the one you love would always be Albedo and it will always be since you fell for him in the first place.

He grinds his jaws as he forces himself to return to his daydream. He imagines himself fucking your harder, harder, harder, fucking you so dumb that you can’t even talk. He doesn’t want you to talk if you are going to call out for him. He’ll get used to it one day. Maybe. But right now, the thought of you lusting over that disappointing failure his master calls a “pinnacle of creation” makes his fucking blood boil. You scream in pleasure, nails digging into the sheets as he buries himself deep within you. He’s the one making you feel this way. It’s him. Only him. Yes, if he keeps doing this, if he keeps giving you pleasure, you’ll realise he’s the one for you, right? You’ll fall in love with him right? You’ll forget about him, right?!

“Fuck, (Name)! Forget about– hgh– him... forget about him, forget about him! He is worthless, he is nothing! Hah, fuck…I love you! I love you more than he could ever! Fuck, fuck, fuck, (Name), I love you, I love you! Fucking take it!”

He violently slams into you one last time before spilling himself inside you. He’s marked you as his. You squeal, your greedy hole squeezing him and milking his cock. He pants, kissing your cheek as he pulls out. Your hand cups his cheek as you return the kiss, smiling as you whisper to him.

“I love you,”

He opens his eyes, his hand dyed with cum. Sweat drips down his body, his entire body feverish and his hair begraddled. Gods, what have you done to him? He lets out a long breath, about to get up and clean himself off.

“Albedo?” he freezes. “Is that you?”

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #albedo smut #genshin albedo smut #fake albedo #imposter albedo #subject 2 albedo #primordial albedo #genshin impact x reader smut #albedo x reader smut #gn reader #sub reader #Spotify

2K notes · View notes

kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Smile

Word Count: 3467 Requested: yes. Based off ‘505′ Warnings: strong hints to sexual disposition. Spoilers if you squint.

“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck... I did last time I checked.” -Arctic Monkeys, ‘505′.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

With hoarse breath and unwavering eyes, you look up to the stars as you speak. “So, you’re really going to do it then?”

“I have to,” you hear him say. His voice has gotten far more mature and calm since the first time you’d heard him speak. Still angry and determined, but in an intelligent, adult way. Eren is a more capable person now. The only thing left to do is wait and see if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

“What do you think are the chances of winning?” you question. A shooting star whizzes across the sky at that very moment, and it’s gone before you can think of a wish.

You turn around to face him, but his eyes are already on you. Once upon a time, Eren’s eyes were emerald and teal and deep. Now they’re paler. They are cold and steady as a byproduct of who he’s become. It’s hard not to wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at you like this, especially since he’s become harder to read over the years.

At first, Eren was one of the most insufferable people you’d ever met. He acted out so often, it was hard to see him as another person of intelligent life. You mostly just minded your business through your cadet years, usually hanging around Reiner, who was also difficult to see as intelligent life. Sometimes you and Eren would argue, but it was never passionate. You just had different world views.

Things got better when you found out what Eren really was. Since you hadn’t made top ten, you could only choose between the Garrison Regiment, or the Scout Regiment. And with Eren’s newly discovered power showing the promise of hope, you decided on the Scouts. He liked that.

After that, it was hard not to mature at the same time as he. Eren often blamed himself for the death and carnage that surrounded the regiment. You were solely responsible for the passing of your best friend. And after everything that happened with the government, almost dying at Shiganshina- you knew you couldn’t stand this much longer. With your relationship with Eren still budding in its early and steamy stages, he was the only one you told of your desertion. You abandoned the corps, finding a small, abandoned farm within wall Maria to hide out in.

Eren was too tired and sick of everything to think you were being cowardly. He wanted to leave too. Maybe come with you. But Eren had plans in the works that he couldn’t leave alone. He visited you less and less. Luckily you never made a fuss.

And now Eren wants to end the world, to save the world. How does he expect you to react to this?

“I just thought I should see you,” Eren replies. You know he’s deflecting your question. You’re not stupid.

You nod slowly, blinking as you think. “Am I going to die?”

Your companion crosses his arms calmly. “Yes,” he tells you.

There it is.

“You know I can’t support you in this, right?” you tell Eren, equally as calm.

He only replies after a moment, also in deep thought. “I know.”

You look back up to the sky, sighing out through your nose. “Why did you come, Eren? Did you want me to tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing? Or was it because you need to let out some anger? I wonder.”

“I did want to see you.”

“Do you still?”

Silence.

“Yes.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“No.”

The stars are glittering with pastel hues, like a rainbow, or kaleidoscope. Each one is a different size, bordering on different shapes, all fusing and melting together like your idea of heaven. You can barely even see the midnight color of the sky through all them. It is beautiful, but it’s also bitter. Everything is bitter, here.

“I didn’t make myself any dinner yet,” you say. “Couldn’t think of anything.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

When she was alive, Eren’s mother would make a soup for the family. It was creamy, hot, filled with meat and cheese at the bottom. Eren never liked soup, but he did love that dish. She was always sure to make extra for him, so that he could enjoy it for several days. And although it wasn’t until after she was gone that Eren realized he rarely ever thanked her for it, it was still one of the warmest memories Eren had.

He fills your wooden bowl with it, being awfully generous. He knows that even though you haven’t eaten much in the last few years, you too had grown fond of the soup. He knows no matter how slowly you force it down, you are enjoying it. It burns the roof of your mouth every time, but you’ve never cared. All that matters is the creamy sauce, and the cow cooked to perfection.

You stare at the fireplace beside you, flames cackling and licking upward. Eren sets the bowl in front of you, and takes the seat on the other side. You know he sets his long hair behind his shoulders. You’re already prepared. From your pocket, you produce a stretchy brown hair tie on the verge of snapping, handing it to him.

“Thanks,” he says, even though this routine has happened however many times he’s seen you.

“You’re welcome.”

The soup is as amazing as usual. You’re willing to bet Eren makes it even better than his mother did, but you dare not say it aloud. It’s creamy, perfectly seasoned. It goes down your throat, still steaming.

“Does Mikasa know about this?” you question, taking one more delicious bite.

“No. None of them do,” Eren answers. “Armin will figure it out soon.”

“You want me to kill ‘em?”

Eren shakes his head. To a lot of people, this would be taken as a joke. But this is nowhere near it. Your tone is too casual, too low for it to be humor of any kind. And the way the man across from you reacts- he’s thinking the same thing.

“No.”

“How are they, then?”

Eren thinks as he takes another bite, the warmth creeping up his chest sweetly. “They’re alright for now. I don’t know for how much longer. I can’t see everything.”

“Can you see who’s next?”

He squints at his bowl as if he were angry, but his eyebrows barely move. “Sasha.”

Sasha. She was always a good presence to have around. While she seemed like the type of person who would annoy you, it was hard to hate her. And you admired her keen intuition anyway.

“Will you give her something for me?”

Eren nods. Then you both go back to eating for a few seconds, basking in the orange glow from the flames.

“How are things here?” he questions after a minute.

“The same,” you tell him. “I think the cow might die soon.”

Some people might reply with condolences, or sympathy. But your lover does not, and you do not expect him to. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says flatly, almost like a promise. You nod once.

Despite the atmosphere which can only be described as bitter, you’re glad to see Eren again. You’re glad that he’s alive, and as alright as he can be. The bed is always colder without him, heated up only by your lingering fingers that you pretend are his every other night. Whenever he leaves an article of clothing behind, usually on purpose, you hold off on washing it so it can smell like him for you as long as possible. Then there are the hair ties you keep either in your pocket or on your wrist, specifically for him. The razors in your cabinet he often didn’t even bother using.

Even with the sullen demeanor that had managed to overtake both of you, there was at least one thing you cared about in the world still. Maybe it wasn’t the most conventional kind of caring, or the healthiest coping mechanism. But it was still caring. And all that you cared about was him.

You knew you weren’t Eren’s first priority. You were probably second, or third. It didn’t bother you. Eren’s head was one of the first things lost when the truth was presented to him. It came back coldly and sternly, in contrast to how previously hot and impatient it had been. But by then your head had also grown colder and sterner. In simpler terms, Eren did care for you. He did love you. But he would consider letting you die if it meant achieving what he set out to do, and you knew this.

Across the table, Eren lifts his head to look up at you as he chews slowly. The burning meal slides down his throat easily, albeit painfully. It doesn’t even register with him, his piercing eyes slowly gaining a glint from the fire light.

You meet his eyes after a few seconds, feeling them on you. You don’t say a word, don’t even give a questioning look. You just hold him patiently, which is something the two of you find yourself doing often.

“You can’t stop it,” Eren speaks, looking you dead in the eyes with a steady gaze. There is love behind his eyes, far behind the anger, but you can tell from the tone of voice he is trying to tell you something as if it were an order. Your lips part slightly from the intensity radiating from your lover, who doesn’t move a muscle. “You’ll be free soon.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Dinner ends. Eren helps clean up the dishes for you and goes to get water from your well so you can clean easier. You already know from the way his thumb brushed against your own when you took the bowls that you’ll likely be bent over the sink in a few minutes, which you don’t mind, but you wonder if he’ll be willing to be softer than usual as an apology for what he’d said earlier.

He’d meant to scare you. You’re intelligent enough to figure that out. Even though you don’t scare easy, and you didn’t even give an extreme reaction, the look in Eren’s eyes had made your heart drop to your stomach. Sometimes you forget that Eren sees everything. Then he says something like that to remind you in the most memorable way.

The wooden door opens and closes behind you. Boots scuff the ground for a few seconds, drawing closer and closer as something in you sparks with anticipation, as it always does. A pail of water hits the surface beside you, partially sloshing over the sides, shining silver in the moonlight from the tall window in front of you. Finally, ultra hot hands slide around your waist and push gently but tightly against where your ribs diverge.

A jaw leans down on your right shoulder, chin poking against your collarbone. Locks of hair brush against your own, just as the hand on the left runs across your side to finally put a small band in your pocket.

“I did miss you,” Eren’s low voice seemingly growls, his chest rumbling softly against your back.

“I was thinking about you,” you admit with monotone, knowing your lover can read through it like as easily as a knife slices through skin.

“I hope I didn’t worry you,” he says, though you can also read through his own tone. He probably didn’t care about worrying you. He definitely doesn’t still.

“You didn’t.”

You place a both bowls in the sink, running your fingers over the dirty spoons. Eren’s orbs follow your movement. You can feel his chin change positions ever so slightly in the coming seconds.

“Can you pass me the rag?” you ask, eyes focused on a piece of food on the spoon that doesn’t even exist.

In response, Eren doesn’t pass you anything. Only his right hand gives you any kind of acknowledgement, passing from on your ribs to down lower. His fingertips skin over the erogenous zone under the waistband of your undergarments.

“I worried about you,” Eren murmurs boldly. The hot fingertips pass under the cloth finally, pricks of stubble on his jaw scratching your neck and shoulder as he shifts. “I wanted you to be okay.” His left hand raises to grasp the breast above it. Slowly at first, then firmly, like a warning. Everything is a warning with him.

Your head lulls back uncontrollably. The back of your hair matts up as it rolls against his own shoulder.

“I said you worried me,” your partner grumbles. “Did you hear me?”

“No,” you lie lowly, refusing to let your voice shake despite the shiver in your throat.

“Mm,” Eren hums in condescending understanding. A force presses against your core, which has turned burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The force pulls away, a string of something smooth and slimy following it that makes a sound draw from your lips. It’s high pitched, weak, and unstoppable. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so associated with Eren.

His hand gives your breast a firm squeeze, soreness blossoming from the center. Your back arches quickly and returns lax against him, though now something pokes against your bottom that makes your eyes pop open with a new alertness. Eren’s hand gives you no time again. From your chest, it flies to your throat, holding it back with soft strictness as the other finally dips into the hot pool between your hips.

“I worried about you.”

A strangled groan releases from between your lips again, this time fully carried up through the air. To Eren, it must sound like nothing more than music, or background noise.

Thick cylinders pump inside you to the knuckle. They feel better than your own. They always have.

It feels good. Full. Tight and fast and like the inside of you is quivering under the weight of something that you can’t see or hear. Eren is like a blanket supporting you from falling over, keeping you upright with his grip and his fingers buried inside of you. Prodding every angle, every spot. Not necessarily romantically, but still lovingly. He has always had this goal during intimacy. Nothing matters but communicating to you just how close he wants to be.

“Eren,” you choke, a dribble of spit sliding from the corner of your lips.

“Again,” he hisses in response. His fingers hit a tight spot, making every muscle in your body clench at the same time.

You don’t say another word, your mouth hanging partially open as you focus on everything around you. And it’s all Eren Jaeger. His smell, his growls, his voice, his breathing, his chest, his muscles, his hair, his anger, his bitterness, his intelligence, his determination. It’s overwhelming. It reminds you of getting swept in one of those waves at the ocean he described to you. He’s yours. No- more likely, you’re his. End of story.

“I said again.”

“Eren,” you moan.

His head nuzzles into your neck comfortingly, his fingers pushing faster and harder. You can feel how warm you are, never mind how slick. And the way your own body holds around his digits every time he pulls away is enough to make you all the more warm and slick.

But then...

What is he doing?

He had said “you’ll be free soon”. And yet, here he is, gripping you tightly as he forces you into the corner of submitting. And yes, it is hot. It arouses you as it always has. But something about it makes your stomach turn into a knot of unpleasantness, in contrast to the other one of liquid pleasure.

“Eren,” you strain, squirming against him.

Eren speeds up again. A grunt falls from his own mouth from his own power, and you know he’s getting off almost as much as you are. It doesn’t stop feeling good. Feeling euphoric.

It’s getting rougher. Rougher and harder and faster, more intense.

“Eren.”

Another gruff moan from him.

“Eren! Stop! Stop!”

Eren’s palm softens away at once. It lifts away, his eyes opening and his hand stilling inside of you. He watches you shake as you gaze up to the ceiling, wide eyed. Your thighs sputter, entire body twitching. You didn’t cum.

His eyes trail over you. You’ve worked up a steady sweat glistening and glowing, shivering and shaking and quaking because of him in the best way. You’re his. His partner, his friend, his ally he knows for a fact he can rely on.

“C-can we... Eren...”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Drips of water dribbling down Eren’s temple. One of your hands are threaded in his brunette locks, holding them back so you can have an uninterrupted view. The other hand is dabbing cloth against his forehead and hairline, bathing him softly.

He’d gone a while without bathing again. You could tell. Eren’s eyes are glued to yours, deep teal memorizing all the flecks in your own as if he hadn’t a million times over.

Eren loves you. Dearly. He’d travel all seven hours and forty five minutes just to tell you that. He doesn’t know what made you stop earlier. He doesn’t ask. But he’s not mad. Overall, Eren understands that it doesn’t matter what you asked to stop for. You give the word, he obeys. Not because he has to, but because he loves you.

Still, he knows something is wrong. You don’t show it. You’re steady, calm, mature, apathetic as always. But in the pit of Eren’s stomach, something brews. A warm, strange feeling of intuition and omniscience.

“You look very pretty today,” Eren ventures, wondering only of your response. “Did I tell you that?”

Your eyes squint. “Thank you,” you reply back.

The cloth continues to rub against his skin, cleaning something that probably doesn’t even exist. Dirt, maybe. Eren’s stopped taking care of his skin in the past few years.

“You’re welcome.”

Your eyes squint again. This time, they gloss over with sharp wetness like glass. The eyebrows crease like a break, your bottom lip trembling as you suck it between your teeth.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But your lover wasn’t expecting this.

Eren hates when you cry. He can remember the first time he’d seen it, but not the most recent. You didn’t cry often- you were strong. Crying over something as useless and flimsy as emotions didn’t seem worth it. So what was this for? What were you about to make Eren break down inside over?

Your hand falls limply from his forehead. Shoulders hunch over in defeat, staring down at the floor as your hair covers over your face. And then the sniffles come, choked out coughs like sobs.

Eren can see the lightest of bruises he’d left on you from earlier, but you’d never had a problem with it before. No, it was something else. But what?

Silent, your teeth grit together as you wince, tears streaming down your face inexplicably.

“Earlier w-when you,” you gulp, snot beginning to form, “when you- I did worry a-about you. I- I don’t know why I didn’t...”

You stumble forward. Eren stands from your bath tub to catch you as you slump against him tiredly.

“I hate it when you go.”

Eren switches positions with you, pushing you down to sit on the edge of the tub. He takes the wet rag from your hand and holds your shoulder back so he can have a good look at you. Then the cloth dabs against your own forehead, just as you had done to him.

“I hate it here,” you sigh, a single tear drop blurring your vision as it falls finally.

Your lover moves the cloth from your head to your cheeks, smearing the wetness into your skin and away. They moisten and dry, your eyes red and shiny. Eren tilts your head up under your jaw, creasing his brows and using the towel to clean closer to your eyes.

“If it helps,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, “you’re crying, but I still think you look pretty.”

You’d be lying if you said that didn’t help even a little, because you love him.

A soft smile creeps to your lips, your hands dropping in between your thighs.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

No I didn’t reread this lmfao enjoy. Hope I did you justice anon

4K notes · View notes

sirowsky · 2 years

Text

A Safe Place

So, I have no idea where this came from. None. But it's Pero, and I don't really need reasons to write him.

This is a standalone Pero Tovar one shot, with a female reader but told entirely from Pero's perspective.

Summary: He opens the door one night to find a friend in trouble, and in trying to help, he discovers that she's much more than a friend.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: TW domestic abuse, TW physical abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, no physical description of reader beyond female, happy ending. Word Count: 3250

Author's Masterlist

The two short knocks were so faint that had he not been on his way to lock the front door, he never would’ve heard it. It was well past midnight, and he’d just turned the tv off to go and brush his teeth before bed, so the house was dark and quiet, and still he barely heard it. He switched on the lights in the hall and opened the door. It had been a long day for a lot of reasons, and he was tired, but that all became insignificant when he saw you out there, leaning against the wall, covered in cuts and bruises, and hardly able to stand. You’d been beaten. Badly.

He stepped out and wrapped an arm around your waist, seeing how you flinched when pain shot through you at his touch. He wasn’t the most careful or tender of men, but he tried to soften his grip so as not to cause you any unnecessary discomfort, while he helped you get inside and guided you to his bedroom. You followed without protest, moving slowly and with great difficulty. You didn’t meet his eyes even momentarily, and he wondered why it felt like you were ashamed. Once he’d sat you down on the bed, he went into the adjoining bathroom and got some warm water and towels that he brought back and placed on the nightstand. He tried to be gentle as he wiped the blood off your face to try and see where it was coming from, but some of it had already dried and therefor required more effort. Every time his ministrations made you twitch or wince, he felt more and more like a monster for adding to your pain, but it had to be done. He found three larger cuts on your face and head, none of whom would need stitches, but he was gonna tape them together after he’d checked the rest of you over. Next were your hands, and they were in bad shape. You’d fought, and you’d fought with everything you had, as evident by the badly chafed knuckles. Your hands would need to be bandaged, but at least you seemed to have avoided breaking any bones in them.

“Where else?” he asked while dunking the small towel in the now dark red water.

You gave no response and didn’t move at all, and repeating the question yielded no better result, which made him huff in frustration. He was neither patient nor eloquent, meaning his responses to most situations consisted of grunts, sighs and eyerolls, which was usually enough to convey how disinterested he was in most things. But this time, for the first time, he regretted using such a crude way of communication, because you visibly shrunk at the sound, hunching even further in on yourself and angling your bowed head away from him.

He’d known you for almost ten years, ever since working his first real job, as a bouncer at a bar where you’d been a bartender, and at first, he’d found you childish and spontaneous and way too naive. You’d been the brightest spot of every room you set foot in and the one that everyone wanted to hang out with, simply because you’d radiated fun. You’d basically been his complete opposite, and while he’d never had anything against you, he hadn’t particularly liked you either. That is, until he’d seen you take every ounce of masculinity out of a guy that had made the mistake of putting his hands where they weren’t welcome. Naive, yes, but by no means helpless in either words or actions. He liked that quality in people, all people, not just women, because knowing that they could and would handle themselves meant that he didn’t need to worry about them. And try as he might, when he cared about someone, he worried. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d begun to care about you, since you’d been nothing but an annoyance to him ever since then, but he damn well did. Not that he’d ever admitted it, even to himself. You’d pretty much just decided to befriend him, whether he agreed or not, and that had been how your relationship had worked from then on. You’d show up unannounced at all hours of the day or night, sometimes inviting yourself to crash on his couch after a long night, and sometimes bringing takeout and a movie, just because you were bored and knew that he wouldn’t throw you out. Occasionally, you’d even cook or bake. And it didn’t matter to you that he rarely engaged with your ideas, or even answered you when you prattled on about anything and everything, you just smiled and kept at it, determined to have a good time, no matter the mood of the room. That was who you were at your core: someone that made the most out of every breadcrumb. And more importantly; a free spirit. Someone not meant to be tied down and trapped by commitments and promises. You’d been happy to take home a random guy to enjoy yourself with for a few hours on the weekends, but that was as close as you’d ever gotten to people. Even the friends you’d had were more shallow acquaintances than real relationships, since you’d never allowed anyone to really know you. Well, anyone but Pero. During your forced visits you’d usually talk all the time, and the topics were as varied as insects were plentiful. But sometimes you’d stray into more personal areas, like your family, or dreams, or things you’d gone through in your life. So, in truth, he was probably the one person that knew who you were, behind the scenes, even though he hadn’t asked or wanted to be. Or perhaps because of it. All of this meant that he’d known when you’d met the guy that had changed everything. He’d known it from the first day, because your behaviour had started to change that quickly. He’d never mentioned his observations to you, it wasn’t his place to judge or meddle with your affairs, but he’d noticed, and he hadn’t liked what he’d noticed. The guy had snared you into a relationship you didn’t want, but for some reason didn’t know how to get out of, despite your confidence in yourself. And the result of that had been a slow and painful death of the person you really were, as your soul became increasingly trapped behind the walls of the cage that somehow grew around you. He’d watched it happen, and said nothing, even though he’d wanted to, because in your eyes he’d seen how desperately you’d needed his house to be a sanctuary. A place where that person was still allowed to live and shine, as free as she’d always been. So, he’d let you, knowing that every time you’d left, you’d returned to that cage.

Now that he saw the finger-shaped bruises on your wrists, he regretted his silence. His compliance. Because this was how the guy had trapped you. This was why you hadn’t found the strength to walk away. And a part of him had known it all along, but told himself that it wasn’t his fight, and that unless you asked, he had no right to meddle. But the truth was simply that he hadn’t wanted to get involved. And for no better reason than because that would’ve meant admitting that he cared. Well, too fucking late, pendejo…

“I don’t care what happened, just let me take care of your wounds.” he pleaded, hating how gruff he still sounded.

You wouldn’t meet his eyes, but you took a jagged breath and reached up to pull your long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, grimacing badly with the pain the movements caused you. And as soon as the shirt was off, he knew why. Big black bruises had already formed along your left side, from the hip all the way up to the underside of your bra, and angry red scrapes, most likely from the toe of a boot, adorned the softer flesh of your love-handle. White-hot rage filled his blood at the sight, and he had to clench his jaws down tight, to silence the string of curses that spilled from his lips. But he couldn’t halt the anger.

“I’ll kill him.” he spat between his teeth.

You flinched, but more likely at the hard and cold tone of his voice, than the words he’d said, so he tried to speak softer, although with limited success.

“You need a hospital, scans, medica-…”

“No.” you cut him off, but your voice was weak and fragile, even with such a small word.

“You could have internal bleeding, broken ribs, damaged organs.” he pressed, but you just shook your head.

“He doesn’t know… about you. I’m safe here.”

That would imply that you weren’t safe at a hospital, and when he considered the fact that this man had forced you to marry him, and would likely have a story prepared, explaining your injuries, it wasn’t unthinkable that he could get his hands on you, even around medical professionals. You were scared, and you’d come to him to feel safe, which for some reason eased the rage and made a different kind of warmth spread through him.

“Okay. Let me get some bandages.” he offered, and you nodded once.

He noted that you still hadn’t looked at him, and that sense of shame still hung over your head somehow, which he just couldn’t understand. But for now, his focus was on making you feel better. When he came back to the bedroom after having retrieved his first aid kit from the kitchen, you’d slumped down on your side on the bed, with your feet still on the floor. He lifted them up to make you more comfortable, and you didn’t react to the movement at all, so he kept a close eye on your breathing while he worked, just in case you weren’t merely sleeping. Even though your pulse was strong, and everything seemed stabile, he was much too anxious to have a hope of sleeping that night. So, he dragged a more comfortable armchair from the living room into the bedroom, that he could sit in to watch over you while you slept. But before he settled in, he dug up the duffel bag from the bottom of his closet. He hadn’t used the blades inside of it in the ten years since he’d cleaned up his act, but he still trained with them, and kept them sharp and ready. He’d never imagined that you would be the reason he might have to resort to that kind of violence again, but he would gladly do it to keep you safe. For all the annoyance you’d made him suffer over the years, you’d never once been unkind or deliberately selfish or unthinking. Not to anyone, even your bastard husband. He took his seat by your side, and after a few moments, reached over and wrapped one finger around your pinkie. Just so he’d know if you stirred, in case he dozed off. He looked at your hand, all red even where there wasn’t any visible damage to your skin, and he thought about how hard you must’ve fought, and it brought a small smile to his face, just barely enough to twitch at the corners of his mouth. But it felt bigger than that. Because that kind of spirit was how he was used to seeing you, that was the person he knew you to be.

The morning came without anyone having banged on his door in the night, reinforcing your statement that your husband really didn’t know that Pero’s house was where you’d spent most of your free time, even after getting married. He wondered how you’d managed that? How had you been able to carve out entire days or nights away from him, for over three years? Abusive men were controlling assholes, they generally kept their victims on a tight leash, but somehow, you’d figured out a way to keep a little corner of freedom, no matter what your lesser half had done. It was admirable, and perhaps the only reason you were in his bed right now. Without that little speck of freedom, you probably would’ve succumbed to your husband’s control completely. Allowed him to dictate every thought and emotion. But perhaps only because you’d had a slice of something better, reminding you that life wasn’t supposed to be lived in chains, you’d been able to hold on to yourself, until you’d found your breaking point, and used it to get away. He wondered how much you’d managed to hurt the guy in return, given the state of your hands. He hoped that the answer was: a lot.

You regained some energy over the course of that day, even though the bruises only looked worse, and your pain was still not lessened. The improvement seemed to be more of mind and spirit, than body. He cooked for you and helped you move around, and you were strong enough to tease him about his culinary skills, which was a good sign. But any time he tried to ask you about what had happened, you shut down and stopped talking all together. He wanted to know so that he could decide what he was gonna do about the situation, and with his general lack of patience, it was twice as maddening to be forced to wait, when he had no clue what your husband was doing to find you. By the end of the day, you asked him to stay with you after he’d tucked you into bed, and he couldn’t refuse you. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d slept next to each other. Sometimes when you’d stayed the night, he’d found you curled up on one side of his bed in the morning, having snuck in at some point during the night, and he’d always woken you and told you to get your own bed. Your response to that had always been to suggest shared custody of his bed, since it was the comfiest one you knew of, and in more recent years had graduated to you simply reminding him of that shared custody, even though he’d never actually agreed to it. But now, he wondered if maybe it had just felt safe to you, even before you’d met your husband. A calm port in an otherwise perpetually storming sea.

There was no moon to be seen that night, nor stars to bear witness to his vengeance. It wasn’t his to take, not really, and he’d left you alone even though he knew that you needed him there. But his blood still boiled at the mere thought of the man, and there would be no peace until the bastard was gone for good. He knew which house it was, even though he’d never been there before. He knew where the hidden key was, even though he’d never used it before. Through your eyes he’d seen every inch of your home, and it seemed as familiar to him as you did, when he stalked through the bottom floor, making no sound at all. One step of the stairs creaked, and he skipped it without even needing to count them. The master bedroom was on the far end of the upstairs hall, to the right, past the nursery that he’d made you decorate in the hopes that it would make you yearn for a child as much as he did. No doubt only for appearances, as a man like him would take enormous offence at the suggestion that he wasn’t fertile, or man enough, to father a child. The bedroom door always stood open a few inches, so the bastard would hear it if you moved through the house at night. He snuck inside and found the guy sleeping on his side, the duvet down by his waist and his arm on top of it. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so the bruises you’d left on him were on full display in the light coming from the small lamp on his bedside table. Pero took a moment to admire your handiwork, some of it bad enough that large medical patches hid them, and he smiled in earnest. Because this meant that you’d already won. You’d already beaten him, in mind, body and soul. Meaning all he had to do was finish the job, so that you would never have to.

It would take another two days until you finally told him what had happened. He’d understood your shame then, as your kind heart had been made to endure terrible things for you to save yourself. Forced to reduce yourself to the most basic of instincts, ignoring all forms of humanity and decency and respect, in order to free yourself of a monster. You’d managed to stop your inner beast before delivering the killing strike, though, of which he was grateful. Both because it meant that your soul was still intact, but also because it had allowed him to exact his own revenge as well. It would take another few days before he told you about that, though. And only because the news reported about your husband’s disappearance, asking for tips concerning the whereabouts of his wife. You were shocked at first, but not appalled or disgusted, and after just a few minutes, you thanked him for his actions. He assured you that the body couldn’t be found, and that no blame could ever be laid at your feet, and you left it at that for the time being.

You never married again, but you did have a baby, a few years later after finally finding someone that you trusted to treat you right. He’d always been there, but you’d always thought that he was out of your reach, and he couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t been. If you’d wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him to you for that first kiss, back when you were still just the friend he never invited, he wasn’t sure that he would’ve kissed you back. But he did that day. He kissed you with all the passion he possessed, tugged at you, begged you to come closer even when your entire body was pressed against his. He kissed you all night, everywhere that you would let him, and in those kisses, he learned what it was to love someone. How it felt. How it hurt and comforted all at once, how it burned and soothed and then started all over again, every single minute.

You gave him the rest of your life, and he took it proudly, all the way to your shared grave, many wonderful years later. In his final minutes in this life, having grown old and grey, he thought about the events that had unfolded back then, and he wondered if he’d given you enough. If the years you’d had with him had been good enough to balance those awful ones. To outweigh them, even. He looked at your face, still so soft despite the wrinkles, and still warm despite your soul having departed in the night. And you looked so peaceful, almost happy, even in death, that he had to have done something right. And that was enough. He’d gotten to be the one that made you happy. And now, he was the one that got to go with you to the next adventure.

--THE END--

Thank you for reading and enjoy the rest of your day/night! (Again, I've copied the DMT taglist, with a few additions. Please let me know if you don't wish to be on this list, because I will use it again.)

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @elegantduckturtle @lovefreylove @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @talesfromtheguild @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @startrekkingaroundasgard @thisshipwillsail316 @ellie-darling @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @nakhudanyx @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @andiesturgss @deadhumourist @spideysimpossiblegirl @pedrostories @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @nolanell @bison-writes @dornish-queen @shsoba05 @myfavpedrothings

#pero tovar #pero tovar fic #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero tovar x reader #pero x reader #the great wall fanfiction #the great wall modern au #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern!pero #pedro pascal

175 notes · View notes

cherriedzoro · 2 years

Note

omg your blog is so cool!!! i can’t wait to see more stuff that you write <3

if i could request, maybe a sanji x gn reader where they just cook together and are really domestic? thank you!

a/n thank you for the request holly, i loved this prompt it was super fun to write, hope you'll enjoy reading it!

p.s thank you to @umissedmyheartt for helping me revise and edit! :)

word count: 908 words 4,872 characters

tw's: n/a

serenity x sanji reader

"i wish this fridge had a damn lock on it." sanji muttered under his breath as he pulled a lighter up to his cigarette with a sigh.

sanji had planned to serve you up something he had spent time cooking and preparing the previous morning, however unfortunately, and not to his surprise, he had discovered that luffy had once again found his way into the fridge at midnight.

"i still don't think that a lock would stop luffy, nothing can get between him and food." you say with a sigh, meeting the blond's eyes as you remind yourself of the reoccurring refrigerator situation.

"you're probably right about that one. i'm sorry, my love i'll just have to make you something else." he speaks, clear frustration and annoyance laced through his voice as he wandered over to the cupboards, bracing himself before he opened them.

"looks good. what would you like dearest?" sanji asks, bundles of ingredients nestled between his arms as he moves back over to the stove, eyes moving up to meet yours.

"anything you can come up with!" you say with a fond smile, peering over his shoulder as the chef sorted through the kitchen ware. it didnt take him long before he found his prized wok.

"well, seeing as luffy didn't leave us much of choice food wise how about a stir fry?" he asks, turning the handle in his hands as he peers over at you.

"whatever you make will be enough for me." you smile as he placed the wok down onto the stove, switching on the burner as he did.

sanji stayed quiet for a moment as he poured out a bit of oil from a bottle into the wok, spinning it around to even it out. "hey, how about you help me out? if you want to i mean." he asks, turning away from you for a moment as he hauls over the heavy bag of rice he had fished from the cupboard.

"i thought you'd never ask!" you exclaim, wrapping an arm around his own as he holds onto the wok's handle, eyes reaching upwards into a smile at your affection.

"just what i wanted to hear. could you fetch me the vegetables, i'm sure thats the only thing luffys left." he sighs as you let go, wandering over to the fridge to grab the vegetables as sanji measures out the rice and pours it into the wok.

"typical luffy" you smile, making your way over to the sink where you rinse the vegetables, slowly moving over to the wooden cutting board once you finish.

"green onions should be diced, carrots and peppers should be sliced," sanji said softly while making his way over to you gently wrapping his arms around your back.

"like this," his fingers brush against yours as he guides you through both cutting techniques, your heart melting at the touch.

you follow the knife movements sanji had shown you for dicing, placing the green onion lengthwise carefully cutting it into parallel pieces slicing it across. sanji rests his head on your shoulder as he watches carefully.

"that's it." the blonde swoons as you continue onto the pepper and carrot with swift horizontal cuts.

he steps back, much to your disappointment, holding onto the cutting board as he makes his way back over to the steaming wok, using his hands to gently pour the vegetables in.

this time, its your turn to lace your arms around his waist, peering around his shoulders as he holds onto the handle, using one of the many metal spoons to stir around the rice.

he sighs at your touch, a small smile creeping onto his face as you watch him work in wonder. "i don't know how you do it." you manage to peep out as he lifts the wok, throwing the rice into the air and catching it precisely.

"i know right? it must be so cool dating me." he teases, laugh raking his body as you poke him in the sides. "you're so annoying." you mumble, arms tightening around his waist.

"you love me anyway though, right?" he questions, turning his head to the side to catch your eye, teeth nibbling on his cigarette. you roll your eyes, leaning up to place a kiss on the side of his cheek before you pull back.

"you don't need an answer sanji, you already know." you smile, leaning down to the bottom cupboards to grab the plates, placing them on the counter as you stand back up. you hear the sound of the burner clicking off, the kitchen now coated in a heavy steam as he dishes up.

"you try it first," he states, sliding over a fork in your direction, cheery smile on his features. you shrug happily, scooping up a heap of rice and placing it in your mouth.

he was right, what more could you expect? you knew it was going to be good the moment he started cooking it. you sigh, swallowing as he lets out a laugh. "is it that good?" he teases, scooping up some of his own rice as you nod your head.

"its only because you helped me." he states, placing his spoon back down, his hands coming around to pull you into his chest. he places a kiss on the top of your head, body relaxing around yours.

"you really need to start cooking with me more often."

66 notes · View notes

redhoodssweetheart · 3 years

Text

My Best Friend’s Sister

Genre: College AU

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes (This is apart of my 1.5K follower celebration, requests are now closed)

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: Little Angsty, Wanda is rude to the Reader, fluffy towards the end

Description: Wanda doesn’t seem to like you being Pietro’s best friend. She tells you one night that it’s because she’s afraid that you would leave him once you realized that he wasn’t ever going to look at you as anything other than a friend. You tell her that that won’t be an issue because Pietro isn’t your type.

Wanda Maximoff was an enigma to you.

Meeting her had been purely coincidental since the two of you didn’t even run in the same crowds. The only reason you knew she existed was because of her twin brother Pietro. You and Pietro were in the same classes together and when you had been paired for a project you had hit it off nicely and became fast friends. He was constantly teasing you and treating you as if you were his sister.

Maybe that was because he had a sister so it just came naturally to him.

When you met Wanda you had been excited to meet the most important person in Pietro’s life. The two of them had been on their own for a while and you didn’t expect to be best friends with her like you were him, but you still wanted to be on friendly terms at least. But that first meeting hadn’t gone as planned.

“Wan, we’re here!” Pietro said as he opened the door to their apartment and stepped inside. He was grinning and vibrating with excitement.

Wanda came around the corner looking like she was ready to go out with friends, “Oh was that today?” Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, and you felt your smile falling as you saw that she was brushing you off. You knew from the look on her face that she had no interest in find out more about you, and she probably never wanted to meet you in the first place. “Sorry, I forgot. I’m going out with Natasha, Steve, and Sam.” Then she was brushing past the two of you and disappearing out of sight.

Pietro apologized for her behavior and you told him it was okay, but there was a part of you that was a little hurt by how she had brushed off meeting you. The two of you had never met before that moment so how could she act like this?

Things didn’t get better after that. One night when Pietro invited you over you discovered that Wanda had friends over as well. That was fine, you knew Natasha and her boyfriend Steve from a class you didn’t have with Pietro and greeted them warmly when the three of you noticed one another. Wanda was silently brooding into her drink and you steered clear of her since it seemed like she wasn’t your biggest fan for whatever reason.

Months of this happened, Wanda barely gave you the time of day and it got to a point where you just stopped going over to Piero’s apartment. He understood, he always apologized for his sister’s behavior. Maybe the two of you were just too different, you preferred nights in with Pietro watching movies and she seemed to like going out and being around groups of people.

Although you couldn’t help the tiny crush that was starting to form. You would see her around campus with her friends or her brother and you just observed her. Pietro told you stories about how she was when they were kids still living in Sokovia before they came to the States after their parents’ deaths. There was a side to her that she wasn’t showing you, the sweet caring Wanda, and you wondered if you would ever get to see that or if maybe whatever it was that made her ignore you would just linger between the two of you forever.

One day you went into your favorite coffee shop to study and get some work done. It was your favorite place on campus to come and the barista greeted you warmly when you approached the counter. When you went to take a seat you saw Wanda by the windows with her nose buried in a book. Steeling your nerves you marched over to her, “Can we talk?”

She looked up and said, “Uh sure?”

You slid into the seat across from her and folded your hands in your lap so she couldn’t see how badly you were shaking. “Why don’t you like me?” Ripping the Band-Aid off was the only thing you could do, there was no point in beating around the bush.

Wanda marked her place in her book and mimicked your position, “Why should I try to be your friend when you’re just going to leave my brother like everyone else? Girls come and go all the time, he wants to be their friend and when things don’t progress further than that they leave. It’s happened too many times now and I’m tired of trying to make small talk with the girls he’s friends with only to find out two weeks later they’re no longer interested in him because he’s not interested in them.”

So that’s what this was all about.

“Well Piet’s not my type,” you told her. “He’s honestly like a brother to me. A really annoying brother, we were studying one time and I fed him after midnight and I swear he turned into Gizmo from Gremlins.”

You watched as she bit her lip before bursting out laughing, it was infectious and soon you joined in on the laughter. “He is like a little gremlin sometimes, I agree,” she told you. “So you promise that you’re not going to leave him when you realize he’s not interested in anything other than friendship?”

“Nope,” you told her.

Months later you were staying over at Pietro’s and Wanda’s apartment when Pietro passed out and you and Wanda stayed up talking. “So you know how when we had that talk months ago and you told me that he wasn’t your type?” You nodded your head. “What is your type?”

It had been months of the two of you sharing lingering looks and touches with one another. It was time to come clean. “You,” you told her truthfully.

Her fingers brushed against yours, “You’re mine too.” The two of you shared a shy smile. “Wanna go see a movie on Friday?”

“I’d love to,” and you could already feel the excited butterflies in your stomach. You glanced toward the couch where Pietro was still fast asleep, “How are we gonna tell, Piet?”

She chuckled, “Let’s not tell him just yet. Knowing him he’ll try to butt in. Let’s just see how things pan out before we go telling him anything. He’ll make a bigger deal out of it than need be and I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

“He is overly excitable like a puppy,” you giggled.

And that’s what the two of you did until it had been a month and you finally came clean to Pietro that the two of you were dating. And just like you thought he was excited and wanted to know details. He was also already planning your wedding. You handed Wanda a ten dollar bill because the two of you had placed bets on when the marriage topic would be brought up, and clearly you had lost that bet. But it was okay, you were just happy that he was happy.

#Wanda Maximoff x Reader #Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader #Wanda Maximoff x Reader fluff #Wanda Maximoff x Reader angst #Wanda Maximoff #Wanda Maximoff fanfic #Wanda Maximoff fanfiction #Wanda Maximoff fluff #Wanda Maximoff angst #Requested

493 notes · View notes

wlwmarvelenthusiast · 3 years

Note

AU with vampire Natasha x reader with a happy end? Please and thanks.

May I present to you: vampire Natasha and werewolf reader.

Stakes and Silver Bullets

Summary: Hunting at the full moon with Natalia by your side is a perfect cross between heinous and beautiful. One particular night proves that it can also be dangerous.

Pairings: Vampire!Natasha x Werewolf!Reader

Warnings: Repeated mentions of blood

Word Count: 4,485

To most people, the moon represented the fall of night. It was just this simple rock in the sky that reflected just enough sunlight that the planet wasn’t tossed into darkness as the sun dipped beyond the horizon. Sure, artists might have loved the way it bathed the land before it in a different type of glow, and maybe some people could appreciate the beauty that was so much gentler than the harsh glare of the afternoon sun. For you, it was different. The moon was beauty and terror all wrapped up in one, simple celestial body.

Tonight, the moon wasn’t quite full, but it almost was. You didn’t have to check a calendar or even take a single glance out the window to know that. You felt it in your very bones. It was urging and primal. It had erased every other thought that might have flitted through your mind. In comparison to it, they were irrelevant. The glowing orb spoke to you. It made your soul sing along to its silent melody, your heart pounding to the steady beat. It was your very reason for being. But so was she.

“When is your night?”

You turned. There she was, the bright moonlight streaming through the window she sat at, shining upon her and making her glow even more beautifully than was her usual. Her red hair was still tousled from her midnight hunt, like dancing flames falling over her shoulders. Your eyes fell to the stain on her white dress, even redder than her hair. You only hummed in response as you stood up from your chair, paper and quill abandoned on the desk thoughtlessly. You moved toward her, arms moving delicately around her waist. Soon, you were standing with your head buried against her neck, revelling in that familiar feeling of the cold surface, lack of a throbbing pulse comforting in the strangest of ways.

“Tomorrow.”

She was clearly resisting still, refusing to succumb to the arousal she knew would start building any second now. “And how are you feeling on this eve?”

You actually growled a little, the sound canine in a way that no simple person would be able to achieve. “Primal.”

She hummed contentedly as you brushed your lips against the skin where you rested. You pulled away, delicately pressing the pads of your fingers against the underside of her chin, directing her lips onto yours. She immediately responded, her hands moving onto your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your cheekbones as you kissed her. The taste of blood in her mouth was exhilarating. Everything about her was. You ran your tongue along sharp fangs, loving the slight sting in the muscle as the surface scratched open. She retracted immediately.

“You are truly foul, my love,” she said, disgust crossing her features as she wiped her thumb against her lips, removing your blood from her mouth.

Maybe that’s why the two of you worked so well. This proximity with any other person would have been enthralling. The smell alone would have had her digging her fangs into the pulsing artery in their neck. That sweet substance that flowed through the veins of any breathing person was irresistible to that person she’d become all those years ago. You weren’t just any person. You had the blood of a wolf, and it repulsed her.

She was void of any of the substance. Those nights when you lost yourself, when you let that beast take over you completely, she was of no interest to you. The townsfolk were all you cared for- all you ached to taste between your lips. She would take hunt beside you, by your side during night as well as day, love burning so strong within you both even when you were doing things so hideous.

You were both killers. You were among the most hideous things that dared walk the Earth among things so beautiful. Monsters already, what was the harm in loving one another? You’d be burned at the stake for the blood that ran through your veins anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound. At least now, neither of you was alone. You loved each other fully and entirely. If love was a human emotion, then she was your humanity, and you were hers.

“Foul? Is that so, Natalia, my beloved?” You jeered, a smile crawling across your lips. “Who is it that loves you so dearly?”

Her taunting halted immediately at the husk in your words. Your hands were sliding down from where you’d had them linked over her shoulders, fingers sliding over the silky fabric that draped over her body. Your gaze wouldn’t leave hers, the image of the moon shimmering in your irises as if it were a reflection of the beast that lived within. She knew who you were. She was the only one who knew who you really were, and she loved every piece of you, including that beast, with her unbeating heart. Her words caught in her throat for a long moment.

“You,” she couldn’t help but hum as your hands squeezed her hips. “Only you.”

Your hands slid down to her thighs over top of her dress. “I know.”

Your hands moved away. Despite the small whine that escaped her, it seemed the absence of your touch allowed her to regain her composure a little. Your fingertips danced across her chest and against the pendant that you’d given her a year ago. It was a gift, something you reasoned you earned for her, even if you’d taken off the lifeless body you’d woken up next to after a long night of feral canine power. She leaned forward to kiss you once more, but you leaned away from her, a smile on your face. You extended a hand.

“Come.”

She put her hand into yours and you led her toward the bedroom. Her lips touched yours once more. The feeling would always be so much stronger and far more intoxicating than the feeling of the full moon inching closer day by day. The moon used to be the thing that made you. It had once been your heart and your soul, and it had guided you through every aspect of your life. That was years ago. Today, it was her. Everything was her.

“I love you,” she whispered, red eyes boring into yours with such intensity you were sure she could read every single piece of your soul.

“And I you, my love.”

You embraced her, lying her down and kissing her again.

Tomorrow, she’d be with you in a way that would make the townsfolk cower in their homes, as if thin walls were any defence against your combined bloodlust. Her thirst and your hunger had wooden doors shattered into splinters within seconds of discovering the scent of life, or the sound of a terrified heart beating inside a breathing chest. Nothing would keep either of you away from that.

That night, though, wasn’t about the kill. It wasn’t about what you would do in the future at all. Right then, you lay with your skin against hers in the most sinful of ways. Hers was so cold but the canine blood running beneath yours was hot, as if you were made to balance each other out. Her lips were roaming across your torso and your hand was moving toward that part of her body only you knew. If you weren’t already damned from the wolf in your spirit or the blood that had spilled beneath you each month, then you’d surely be for lying with a woman in such a way. That, though, would have been a risk you’d have been willing to take.

Still, you had to wonder if those other nights were just as intimate. On those nights with her, when the moon was at its fullest and her body ached for that bitter taste it needed so badly, you felt so close. Those nights weren’t necessarily something you wanted. They were something you needed; to fulfill those carnal needs and satiate your body in a way nothing else could. Without those nights, neither of you would survive to love each other through to the next moon. When she was by your side, performing those nefarious acts and satisfying her most primal of needs, you were both showing that part of you that you knew only the other would ever be able to love. That meant just as much to you as hearing your name tearing desperately from her lips on a silent night like that one.

As the body beneath you began shuddering uncontrollably and your name was repeatedly thrown into the cool air like a prayer, you decided it didn’t matter. You had both. It didn’t matter which brought you closer. Both things brought her a satisfaction that made you just as content. Both would have you watching her with love coursing through your veins hot as lava and yet somehow as cold as ice. Maybe that’s what made them so intimate. How you loved loving her and how you loved being at your very worst by her side.

“How are you feeling, my darling?” You cooed softly, loving the way she threw her head back for you upon hearing your words.

You grinned a little as her shaking subsided. She kissed you with a force and passion behind it that any living person would have lost the energy to do. Even you were worn out. When she pulled her lips off yours, you couldn’t help but fall back against the pillows, breathing a little heavier than usual. She chuckled at this, beckoning you to come closer to her bare body. You did so without hesitation.

“Goodnight,” she whispered as you lay down at her side.

“Hold me, Natalia?”

“Always.”

It amazed you, the patience she had. She couldn’t sleep. She didn’t need it. Yet, her arms would wrap around you as you drifted off to a world where still your dreams were of her, and when you’d awaken, she’d be in that same spot right by your side. It was endearing, and made you lean to kiss her each and every morning. Each of those mornings she’d ask you the same questions: wondering how you slept and making sure her arms hadn’t been too tight around you. She did, after all, have the strength of a mammoth.

Your answer was always the same, too. You were fine. You would always be okay, as long as she was by your side. You both knew that if she had blood beneath her skin, she would blush. She would still giggle softly, turning her cheeks away from you on instinct, as if they were burning with that bright colour of embarrassment. The action was sweet. It would make you smile as you reached out for her, bringing her back against your chest for another few minutes before the both of you decided to venture out into the other rooms of your house.

Maybe it was the nightmare you’d had last night, but something was off in the woman you loved. She was busy sitting in one of the armchairs in the other room, cowering away from the sunlight that had managed to penetrate the small crack in the boards over the windows. You covered it up, taking away that dangerous ray of light as you moved swiftly to take a spot beside her. Your fingers threaded into hers with one hand, as the other came up to her cheek. Her face was filled with such concern, and it was making your heart ache.

“Natalia?” You tried ever so softly. “Speak to me, my dove.”

Slowly, her eyes turned to yours. “One day you will depart from this world, and I will be left without you, and you own a piece of me. I will never be whole without you.”

Truthfully, your mind sometimes wandered to that inevitable day as well. You worried, the thought constantly in the back of your head, wreaking havoc on your mind every time it dared wander to the event. It had taken her more than a hundred years to find someone to love the way she loved you, and the two of you were interconnected in a way you were sure a mortal person could never dream to understand.

You reached out for one of the old wooden chairs, bringing it toward you and, in a flair of theatrics, snapped off one of the legs. The superhuman act seemed to have quite the effect on her. Her tongue darted out from between her lips, eyes tracing the strong muscles on your arms. You chuckled, moving forward and flipping the broken chair leg over in the air, catching it back in your hand.

“When I depart from this world, my dearest of loves, you take this. If you find that you cannot bear this life without me, then follow me.”

She took the broken piece of furniture into her own hands. It was the only thing that could tear her from the life she’d been so long living. Splinters of wood fell from the end, scattering silently on the floor. She ran her fingertips over the old wooden stake, and you could tell she was wondering what it might feel like to have it driven through her heart. She set it on her lap and looked up at you, head tilted to the side in curiosity.

“And what if something befalls me?”

That was something you’d thought about before as well. She may have been unsusceptible to time, but she wasn’t so to the weapons the townsfolk brandished whenever they heard the name of the monster that lived over the hillside. Losing her would tear you apart, and you knew that, after all this time with her, you’d never be able to survive without her. That was a fact you’d long accepted.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out something so small you could hold it between two fingers. “Then I will follow you into the next life.”

The silver bullet shone in the candlelight, glistening as if to taunt you, knowing it was the only thing that would ever hurt you.

She beckoned you. You pocketed the small piece of metal once more, sitting down beside her as she brought you into her arms as if you were the most delicate material on the planet. That was how you stayed, knowing now that you would never have to live on a planet that didn’t have her, and she wouldn’t have to live without you. It was comforting in the most morning of ways. It seemed though, that was your normal: morbid and loving.

That was how you remained that day. She didn’t like you exerting yourself the day of a full moon. It kept you up all night and, if you didn’t rest the day before, you’d be worn when the sun came back up. She wouldn’t let that feeling of absolute exhaustion take over you. She could hardly remember how it even felt, having not rested for so many years, but she knew she didn’t like when you were uncomfortable.

You were only made aware of the time when the candle died out in front of you. You squirmed in her arms, kissing her cheek when she let you go. You peeked out the window to get the last glimpse of an orange sunset over the horizon. You couldn’t help but grin as you felt something tugging deep within your chest. You turned back toward the woman behind you, eyes already glowing with that golden shine when you did.

“My, is it time already?” She chuckled, rising from her seat so that she could run a hand lovingly down your cheek. “Let me know when we leave, my darling girl.”

You burst out the door just as that last glow of the sun finally faded out. The way your body bathed in the moonlight was addicting. You felt every last bit of human in you fade away, golden eyes reflecting that white orb in the sky as you watched it, morphing into that canine form that would make the townsfolk tremble in fear. The feeling of your body becoming who it was meant to be was indescribable, but it was so right.

You didn’t attempt to suppress the canine howl that erupted from your gut. It would have been unstoppable, and letting it out was like breathing out a breath that you’d been holding in all month. At the sound, too, she finally stepped through the front door, the sunlight that reflected off the moon not enough to hurt her in the way it did in the day. She took one look at you, eyes still so full of love even when you were in this form.

“You sound excited, love.”

You couldn’t have answered her if you wanted to.

The two of you tore off toward the town at a speed that would have had any regular person reeling. The doors were all shut and locked tight. You let her break down the first one. You approached, standing back and staring at hers, two sets of unnatural eyes locking in a passionate gaze. She smiled ever so gently before she moved forward, tearing the door off its hinges.

The screams from the couple inside only fueled you forward. You raced into the house, headed immediately for whatever beating heart she hadn’t already claimed. The man begging for life beneath you couldn’t have been more than twenty. He was pleading and sobbing and chanting his girl’s name, not knowing that yours had already killed her. You made sure to silence his cries.

Natalia was done long before you were. Even as you fed, you felt her eyes on you. It didn’t bother you. She never judged you, and she never would. How could she, being a monster herself? When you pulled away, blood coating your lips and cheeks, dripping down your neck and onto your chest, her pupils dilated a little. She moved forward, using her thumb to brush some of the blood off your cheek and putting it to her own lips.

“Shame. You taint that sweet taste,” she chuckled a little, letting you eye the red substance that was dripping down the corner of her mouth. “You are, however, still as beautiful as you are on any night.”

You wished you could kiss her right then, instead settling for the press of her forehead against yours. You could actually feel your heartbeat shift so that it drummed in time with hers. It was a long couple moments of that, her against you like you were the only two people in the entire world, before she finally pulled away. She smirked as she looked you up and down.

“Repulsive.”

You would have laughed.

The two of you moved through the village like that for a little longer, finding your next victim stupidly roaming the street at midnight on a full moon. You agreed to share the meal with the woman who’d actually been the one to catch it. You took a few steps back, watching as his face paled as Natalia drained the blood from his body. You could hardly believe how beautiful she looked. The moonlight hit every feature just right, illuminating her in a soft glow.

She stood when she’d finished, hand caressing your cheek as she did. “Had your fill yet, my darling?”

You shook your head no.

Neither of you had time, though, to go in search of your next meal. When you turned around, one of the townspeople was standing on the street, aiming a gun at you. You were cocky, at first, staring down the barrel knowing full well that no simple bullet would hurt you. When it whizzed toward you, though, and pierced your skin, ripping through your gut and shooting a searing pain through your body, you got considerably less cocky.

You watched as the woman who had been at your side flew forward and in one swift move, ended the life of the man in front of you. When you fell back, your eyes found the wound that was pushing your blood onto the cobblestone street below you. It was pooling, reflecting the moon above it. You felt blood starting to bubble up in your throat and you coughed violently.

You felt yourself being scooped into a strong set of arms. Her face looked blurry. Though, so did everything else. You could feel that you were moving so fast you were practically flying back toward home. You wondered if you would make it all that way, but it seemed that she was determined. You strained to keep awake, just for her. You weren’t successful.

The world wasn’t dark for long. Yet perhaps it was just that it didn’t feel long. When you blinked your eyes back open, red ones were watching you with such concern that all you wanted to do was kiss her worries away. Unfortunately for you, though, her worries were you. You didn’t have the strength to sit up and pull her toward you. You hardly had the strength to groan her name and let your hand travel over your own abdomen.

“Be careful, my love.”

You felt her hand cover yours in an attempt to bring your fingers away from the wound. You felt first that the skin beneath your fingertips was smooth. You’d morphed back into your human form at some point while you’d been unconscious. Then, you felt the dried blood that caked the area where you’d been shot. You whimpered at the tenderness of your own touch. A hand tugged on yours, bringing the pressure away from the area.

“Don’t touch.”

You squeezed her hand with all the energy you had. “Darling…”

“I know, Dove.”

Pain was searing throughout your body in a way you’d never experienced before. The bullet had not only pierced your body, but it was poisoning your blood in the way that only silver could. You groaned softly, clutching tight onto Natalia’s hand with all the strength that you could muster, which wasn’t a lot. Tears were streaking down her cheeks now, showing you an emotion that you didn’t often see on her face.

“Please,” you begged softly. “I cannot move on without you. I cannot leave you here to continue on without me.”

You immediately felt guilty for the effect of those words. She pulled you close, getting on her knees beside the bed and resting her head on your arm. You hushed her softly as a sob broke through her lips, the sound able to shatter your heart as if it were made from the finest glass known to man. You apologized as soft as you could, repeatedly and honestly. You beckoned her into the bed beside you.

You knew you were starting to fade. You could feel it. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. You could feel darkness looming in that place, waiting for you and waiting to punish you for every life you’d ever taken. That number was higher than you could count. You were shaking, sure the woman beside you could feel it against her body. You weren’t sure if it was a last effort of strength from your dying body, or a display of absolute terror to leave life behind.

“Natalia…”

“I am right here.”

You grabbed the front of her shirt in a weak fist, using gravity to help you in pulling her closer. At first, she thought you were trying to bring her lips onto hers. When she tried to kiss you, though, you shook your head, turning away. Face turned away from her, now, you had exposed a different part of your body to her. You guided her mouth down to her neck, whimpering as you felt her lips lightly brush the skin.

“No,” she refused. “You have the blood of a wolf. You could die.”

“Without it, I surely will,” you gasped, air feeling further away with each passing moment. “Please. Try.”

You could only feel it as she nodded. It was so carefully that she nuzzled against you, as if trying to memorize what your pulse felt like against her cheek. However tonight ended, that was something she’d very likely never feel again. You managed to hush her quietly as you felt a tremble run through her body. Her hand came to clutch yours as you finally felt her part her lips against your skin.

“Vile,” she muttered, and you felt a small smile grace her lips. “I love you, my darling.”

“As I you.”

With that, her fangs punctured your skin. The world went dark around you.

You were sore when you woke. Mostly it was in your neck. You swung your legs off the bed despite it, desperate to go find the woman who must have been worrying. You found her in the living room lighting a candle. She turned to you before you even had a second to clear your throat and try and get her attention. She was on you in an instant, peppering your face in soft kisses.

“You stayed with me,” she whispered.

“I could never imagine life or death without you, Natalia. I had to stay,” you chuckled, kissing her back briefly. “So, what am I?”

She shrugged. “The woman I love. Is that not what matters?”

You chuckled lightly. “Of course.”

She smiled, bringing you to her, resting her head against your chest. You wondered if your heart had stopped beating beneath her ear, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that you were with her, as alive as you needed to be. You couldn’t be in life without her, just as you couldn’t be in death without her. She was your everything, and nothing would be whole away from that.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt her hand slide. It moved down your arm, across your side and your hip until it had slipped into your pocket, pulling out that shining piece of metal that resided there. She rolled the bullet slowly between two fingers, glancing at it with deep interest before handing it back to you. You took it in one hand, your other staying on her.

“I do not think it will work,” she remarked softly. “I think we have forever.”

You tossed the bullet out the window into the light of the waning moon. She pulled away from you. You watched as she moved away and picked up the splintering wooden stake that leaned against the table, smiling once at you as she held it out. She turned away, tossing it upon the roaring flames in the fireplace; the wood catching quickly and becoming nothing but fuel.

“Forever,” you hummed as she moved back into your arms. “Forever with you would be beautiful.”

#natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #natalia romanoff #marvel #mcu #natasha request #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #wlw #lesbian #natasha romanoff au #vampire natasha

387 notes · View notes