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upsidedownmvnson · 22 days

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crash landed

A/N: i want to branch out on this blog and write for other fandoms too, so im dipping my toes in my baby poe dameron's pool

summary: you and poe are stranded on an unknown planet after a dicy shootout. and your injuries are getting worse by the minute.

warnings: probably inaccurate star wars stuff, graphic descriptions of injuries (maybe), broken bones,

"poe?" you whispered, shaky voice barely cutting through the loud wind noises rattling the loose metal of a broken starfighter.

he grunts, barely looking away from the twisted metal he's trying to bend back in shape with pure will. it's been hours, and with no working comms, and no working beacon.. it was time to start considering alternate escape routes.

"ugh - if it would just-" he grunts again, pounding his fist once against it, the sound lost beneath the other crashing titanium pieces.

"poe..." you said, again, holding onto your shoulder. it was starting to really hurt, and you could barely move your arm, you were sure it was broken, and with the adrenaline of a crash landing fading, it was really starting to be a problem.

he looked at you, lips tight and tense, none of the usual spark in his eyes. his mouth softens into a light frown when he sees you cradling your injury.

"if we don't leave soon i dont know how far i'll be able to go," you say, raising your voice to be heard over the weather.

"we don't even know where we are!" he shouts back, frustrated and angry.

"i know but..."

"how am i supposed to get you out of this!?"

but he softens even more when your lip quivers, and he knows he's being cold - but look at what he's done. he's hurt you. he's gotten you lost on some outskirt planet with no way out, and no medical supplies. he's just proven about himself what he always feared might be true ... he can't protect you.

"I'm sorry!" he shouts, he looks around, and harshly scratches his thumb on his temple. "you're right! we have to move."

"take the comlink! i'll try to fix it when we get ..." you squint, "somewhere."

he grabs it, although he doesn't believe you can fix it. it doesn't even look like scrap metal anymore. totally crushed during the crash landing. if he had just jumped instead of trying to outmaneuver, this wouldn't have happened. he could have gotten you to safety but he was so sure that they wouldn't see his flip coming, but they did... and managed to target the gun you'd been using at the back of the ship, causing a small explosion and sending you against the side of the ship and then when you weren't answering he...

he lost all control and crashed the ship. he was the best pilot the resistance had, and he crashed with the most precious thing in his life depending on him. he was a failure.

when he climbs back down from the trashed fighter, he puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you forward. you were disappointed when he let you go. usually, he'd find any excuse to keep his hands on you, but now he dropped his touch as soon as you'd started walking with him.

you walked quietly, holding the ripped fabric on the shoulder of your suit closed with your good arm and kept the other as snug to your chest as you could. you felt like you were trying to hold yourself together.

you knew this was your fault. if you had just made the shot... you guys wouldn't be in this mess. and the man you were in love with - and arguably the most important pilot in the resistance - wouldn't be stranded in this nowhere place. and you wouldn't be a limping burden. you try your best to hide it. to walk normally and disguise your wincing.

"i'm sorry," you say finally, unable to stand one more moment of uncomfortable silence. you'd never struggled to talk to poe before, normally you can't get him to shut up. "I should've been able to hit the fuel tank, i knew where it was and i missed the-"

"this wasn't your fault," he cut you off, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. "none of this is your fault, it's mine."

you could barely hear him, and you were about you respond when both of you were taken by complete surprise as you yelped, your ankle giving way under you with a sickening crunch. poe heard it over the wind, and caught you before you could completely hit the ground.

you cried, trying to say something about the pain but all that came out were a few strangled syllables.

"hey, hey, hey, it's okay! i've got you!" but he's panicking. he can't support you with your arm in that condition, and he can't get you up because of the leg. he's sick. he can't breathe thinking of what's he caused. he picks you up, cradling you as close to his chest as he can as he frantically looks around for anything, anything.

a cave in the face of a rockside is all he can see, and he escapes to it's safety, at least able to get you out of the wind for a minute while he thinks. he sets you down as gently as he can, his heart shattering with each deep sob you release.

he looks around, as if help will just appear in the cave. and he stands up, watching you curl into yourself.

"poe, i'm so sorry." you sob, not noticing his confused expression as you hide your face in your arm, words coming out choked and pathetic you say, "look at what i've done."

"you can't -" he pauses, "you didn't do anything wrong, this mess is my fault."

he wants to stop and comfort you, but he doesn't have time. he has to save you, he has to save. you. he's freaking out. he's failed you, the mission, leia, all because he assumed he was better than some first order pilot.

"i have to find you some help," he says, crouching down close to you and moving some hair out of your face. the blotchy, red cheeks, and swollen eyes that hold nothing but pain behind them, made an unexpected tear fall from poe's eye, but he catches it on the back of his hand before you can see. "why can't wait these injuries out, okay?" you nod sullenly, unable to force out anymore words. "do you have your blaster? hm? can you look at me?" he asks, and you do. "i'm going to run okay? i'm going to find you some help."

poe runs for an hour, but aside from the weather finally yielding, he finds nothing. he nearly gets lost on his way back, but finds you sitting up against the hard rock wall, blaster disassembled around you, as you fiddle with the small broken comlink.

"you're sitting."

"i'm totally numb," you whisper, and you're both quiet. you both know that's not a good thing. "i don't know if it worked... but i tried to send out a signal. the transmitter looked functional enough, but the mic was broken beyond... I..." you trail off. "i hope they find you."

"us," he corrects harsher than he means to. "they're going to find us."

you smile. "you should go."

"what????"

"you can come back for me later but -"

"-no-"

"-we shouldn't both rot in this-"

"-stop saying this crap, seriously-"

"hellhole, and you're too important to lose and-"

"stop!" he shouts, crouching down to look in your eye, passion and frustration covered his face, "you're too important, don't you get that!? don't you get anything? i can't lose you too." poe's resolve falls faster than it rose, and he's sobbing before you've even really processed what he's said. "i won't survive it. if i lose you. i won't survive."

"poe?"

"i love you, you idiot."

but then you passed out. and poe is screaming your name, tapping gentle slaps on your cheek to wake you, but it's not working. he's worried you hit your head.

"what do i do!?" he's looking around, but there's nothing. he knows there's nothing. "what do i do!?"

but he hears something outside that sounds like yelling. and he doesn't care if its first order, pirates, or whatever, he doesn't care. he'd surrender himself to save you. he's only got a half broke blaster, but he's got the spark he needs to save you.

he hides behind a tree when he sees figures, waiting to ambush the first person and steal their weapon, but when he grabs them, it's finn looking out of breath and terrified.

"poe! maker, we couldn't-"

"come on!" poe shouts, ignoring his friend, letting go of the fistful of shirt he had, and taking off full tilt back to where you were. finn was hot on his trail, silent. while chewie ran not far behind, roaring in worry. no one liked the crazed look in poe's eye, especially when they knew it was bad sign you weren't with him.

when they're back to you, poe first checks your pulse, his own nearly stopping with anxiety. but however shallow, it was there, you were still there.

poe scoops you up, holds you close to his chest for a second, whispering a secret plea for you to stay with him, and let chewie take you in his arms, begging him in broken words to be gentle with you.

and then poe just sobbed as they rushed back to the ship.

you didn't wake up for a full month. poe ran defensive missions, or short trips. but he couldn't stay focused long enough for anything longer.

when he returns from a simple fetch & return for leia, he's greeted by rey and rose waiting in the hanger, chatting excitedly. at first poe is annoyed, as he takes his helmet off and shakes his hair out. how could your friends find a way to stand around and chat and smile... but when they look at him with wide grins, he hesitates to feel hope. they've said nothing but his heart is racing. he thinks it may beat clear out of his chest,

"someone wants to see you," rose singsongs, laughing as poe throws his helmet on the floor and takes off down the hallway, following his usual path straight from the hanger to the medbay.

he stops in the doorway, panting as he takes in the sight of you smiling with finn, who was sitting on the chair closest to you. he gets up when he sees poe, says goodbye, and leaves, patting his friend on the shoulder as he passes.

"you're awake," he says, taking finn's seat, and scooching it even closer to you. he gathers up your hand in both of his, and leans forward to press his forehead against the back of your hand. "please, forgive me."

"forgive you? for what?"

he scoffs, leaning back but maintaining a secure grip on your hands. "well, for nearly killing you, mostly."

"poe, i missed the shot. i had the shot and i missed it, it's my fault."

"no," he says, sternly, in a commanding voice you don't even recognize, and you listen, watching him with kind eyes. he could live in them, melt into them, stay there forever. "you saved us. you made a beacon out of a gun and a broken comlink. you're a genius, you're... you're so..." he grunts in frustration when the words get lost. "i almost lost you..." he whispers, kissing the back of your hand. he leans his forehead back onto your hand, whispering again and again how sorry he was.

you smiled sadly at him. he looked thin, had bags under his eyes. you doubted he has been sleeping, finn said he'd spent every night by your side, curled up uncomfortably on the metal chair.

"nah," you chuckle, "i always was gunna come back to you."

"and how do you know that, hm?"

you grin, winking, "because i love you, you idiot."

#poe dameron #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron imagines #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfic #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fic #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #fanfic #fic #oneshot #poe dameron one shot #poe dameron oneshot

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mybrainisrotted · 5 months

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The Work Is Done

Nanami x gn!reader. Implied past relationship. What if Nanami imagined himself at that beach in Malaysia because he'd visited it with you before he'd lost you? My heart aches for this 2d man.

The sky is an endless, perfect blue, a shade of blue that just isn't the same as Tokyo's. It stretches for miles uninterrupted by clouds or skyscrapers. The sun beats down relentlessly on Nanami, and he pauses a moment to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt and loosen and remove his tie. Sweat is already gathering at his temples. He isn't dressed for the beach but he can't quite pinpoint how he got here. He crouches down at the edge of the water, the waves lapping lazily against the toes of his shoes, to dip a handkerchief he keeps in the pocket of his suit jacket. The relief is immediate as he continues walking, the damp fabric pressed to his neck, his cheek, his chest.

This place seems familiar in a way he can't grasp just yet. The sand is almost blindingly white, the crystal blue water on his right and lush green forests rising high on his left. He tips his face to the sky, the ocean breeze ruffling his hair and cooling the sweat on his skin. The chirps of various birds along with the gentle crashing of the waves bring a level of calm to Nanami that he hasn't experienced since…ah. He remembers now.

Up ahead the scenery shifts, shimmering like a mirage before it settles. He spots a house peeking out from the edge of the forest. There's nothing grand about it, just a simple wooden structure that seems to have been built around the trees rather than over them. On the sand in front of the house sit two yellow lounge chairs, a bright red umbrella open between them. One of the chairs is occupied.

The sand and surf muffle Nanami's approach, but you still look up as if able to sense his arrival. As if you'd been waiting for him. The fuzziness in his brain begins to fade as he finally understands what's happening.

Because you are dead. And now so is he.

Nanami says your name softly, on a sigh. It's been so long since he's said your name aloud and that simple act has the armour he's kept around his heart finally releasing. The near constant weight he's felt on his shoulders and chest ever since he'd lost you lifts, and it's like he can breathe again. He allows himself to take you in as you stand and walk towards him. You look as you did the last time he saw you. Forever twenty four years old. Young, beautiful, glowing with life and love. There's a smile on your face–god he'd missed that, your smile could light up an entire room and change the course of his day–but as you get closer he can see the sadness in your gaze, the shine of gathering tears.

You cup his face when you're finally in front of him, and he has to close his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks to finally feel your gentle touch again. His hands find purchase on your hips, grounding you to him and him to you. All the years of violence and bloodshed has to mean something if it got him here to you. To this specific beach in Malaysia that he visited with you so long ago. Where he realized he'd fallen in love with you as he shared his hopes and dreams for the future. Where he confessed to wanting a slow life and the time to read, and cook, and love you.

Your thumbs gently swipe away the tears from his cheeks as you press your forehead to his. "You can rest now Kento," you say softly. "Your work is done."

#i knew what was coming but it was so much worse watching it play out :')#i just really want him to be happy he deserves it #after this you take him to see haibara because of course hes there too and you all sit on the beach drinking and catching up #nanami x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x you #my brain rots

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blackjackkent · 2 days

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Heyyy, have you ever written your Hec and Karlach with the "blows up at the pier" ending? I am just not sure where to look for it lol but I always love imagining the "alt routes" but I understand if others are too sad to dip toes in

Oh man, anon coming in with the Big Feels out of nowhere. :D I love it. As per usual this got way longer than intended and very out of hand. XD

I have not written that before and it is indeed VERY sad to think about. But I am up for giving it a try! [rolls up sleeves, braces self]

(If you're interested, I also answered a similar version of this question a while back regarding Hector's life in a worldstate where Karlach got mind-flayered, which was ALSO sad. 😭 )

So anyway. Scenario, then: the brain fight didn't go super smoothly and Wyll is unconscious, so Hector is left with no other voice to save Karlach from her self-sacrifice.

-----

No one moves. The pier is suddenly deathly silent as the roaring of Karlach's engine falls to stillness. Hector sways unsteadily on his feet, clinging to the afterimages of the flame still burned into his eyes.

Don't breathe. Don't think. When you think, it will become real...

But there is no stopping it. Thinking is what he does best, after all. She taught him to live, for a while, to see the glory and goodness of the wide world outside the monastery, the bright intensity of its colors.

But she is gone, and he can see the grayscale already fading in again at the corners of his vision.

"No..." he whispers. His voice sounds choked in his throat. "No." Somehow he always believed, deep down, that something would come to save her, that they would find some way to make everything all right. "NO!" He falls to his knees, burying his fingers in the ashes; his palms blister in the lingering heat.

"NO. NO. NO, NO, NO, NO, NO NO NO NONONONONONO!"

He's screaming, he realizes distantly. Sobbing too. Everything has snapped; every ounce of the control that he wears like armor has vanished. He feels detached from his body, unreal, numb with grief. The tears pour down his face, blinding him.

It isn't fair. After everything they have been through, everything Karlach suffered, it isn't fair that this is how she ended, without even a body to bury in the city she loved. It isn't fair that he will never hold her again, never feel her arms around him, never protect her and be protected by her, never see the world at her side, never... never... never...

The world is so cold without her warmth.

"Gods, please... please come back to me!" he howls into the uncaring ocean view. "I can't... I can't..."

The first paroxysm of anguish starts to fade. He collapses forward on his elbows and knees, his face pressed into his fists, and sobs.

In the monastery, they taught him there was no pain that discipline and prayer could not soothe. They were wrong. He knows now just how wrong they were.

"The Moonmaiden sees me… no grief nor pain nor fury shall wrest me from her path…" He whispers the mantra brokenly, instinctively, desperate for the comfort it has brought him in other moments. But there is no comfort to be found even in Selune's light, not for this.

He is alone.

But no... not completely alone. A hand touches his shoulder softly; a form crouches gently at his side. Shadowheart. He can see the sympathy in her eyes, the compassion and shared pain.

"Come here," she says softly, and opens her arms to him, as he did to her after the House of Grief. And as she did then, he falls sideways into her embrace, presses his face into her shoulder and cries bitterly. Her armor feels cold after the furnace heat of Karlach's destruction, but the hug is tight and fierce and she rocks gently side to side, holding him.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers.

His voice is hoarse, almost inaudible. "It hurts..."

"I know... I know..." She looks up. The others are watching at a distance - those who remain, anyway. Astarion is gone into the shadows, Lae'zel to the Astral. Gale is crouched by Wyll's unconscious body, but his eyes are fixed on the back of Hector's head, unblinking. Minsc, his face drawn tight with regret, is standing a little closer, Boo balanced on one fist.

And Jaheira closes with them, moving to sit on Hector's other side. The druid rests a hand on Hector's back just above where Shadowheart's arms hold him. "Silvanus guide the light to the source," she murmurs. "Take her to what she justly deserves. By nature's will, what was given is returned. What was turmoil is now peace..."

Hector draws a long, slow, shuddering breath.

"May the Moonmaiden's light follow her into the dark," Shadowheart says softly. Her voice is still a little unsteady on the Selunite prayer, but she knows Hector needs to hear it. "The silver light always at her back..."

He swallows, sits up slightly, not pulling away from either woman's touch. They are grounding him, drawing him back to himself, and his heart rate begins to calm, the sobs slowing to unsteady, hiccuping breaths. "Perhaps," he whispers hoarsely, "perhaps had I served Shar, it would be easier... I would be prepared for such loss..."

He can feel Shadowheart give a single, sharp shake of the head.

"Do not think it," Jaheira says, her voice low. "You would be empty. It is no better. The grief carries all the meaning of what was; it is the love with nowhere left to go. In time it will be bearable, cub."

He does not want it to be bearable. He wants it gone. He wants her back. He wants the hole in his heart filled back in.

"My Lady..." he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. "See her soul as it travels outward. Take it where mine would go, I beg you."

Karlach once said that she liked the thought of her soul spreading out through the world, becoming part of it. He liked the thought too, for she was always full of life and loved the world so deeply, with such fierce devotion...

But he knows the truth, as it was taught to him. She will go to the Fugue Plane to be judged. And if no god fights for her soul, she will exist in limbo forever, trapped in another unending wasteland.

"Take her to you, My Lady... please. In my place, if you must, but do not leave her forgotten..."

----

Some months later, he and Jaheira travel at Withers' behest to a gathering outside the city.

It has been a good half-year, all things considered. The city is starting to rebuild, to regain some semblance of its former life. Hector has been hard at work among the Harpers, lending his strong back to building projects and his counsel to those in need of it.

He's filled out with new muscle and a sense of pride in the Gate. Jaheira has noted it more than once - with surprise, given that he once lived in such isolation from the city's life. But they both know, truly, where that pride stems from. Karlach could not live to see her city flourish again - so Hector must see it for her.

In his pocket always he carries the three copper coins Jaheira delivered to him a few days after the brain fell. Sometimes he listens to the message recorded on them. More often, he simply places a hand against them when the loneliness threatens to overwhelm him, feeling the soft warm buzz of the enchantment on them and imagining he can almost feel Karlach's touch.

Withers finds him wandering away from the party, late in the evening, and addresses him without preamble, grave as ever.

"Thou feelst it still," the skeleton says, with something oddly like kindness. "She is not here. She who means the most. Hast thy thoughts been with brave Karlach often?"

Yes. Of course they have. He doesn't speak of it much to Jaheira and the others, and he has tried to move on - and some days he can almost manage it. But her loss always sits in the back of his mind, inescapable. Every moment of victory bears its quiet reminder that she is not here to share it with him. Every failure brings the ache for her comfort and her warmth.

"I loved her so much," he says quietly. "It isn't fair."

"No," Withers says placidly. "It is not."

He feels a sudden tightness in the back of his throat. He has not spoken of her aloud for so many weeks, but Withers of all people coming to him with kindness brings the feelings rushing back, stinging into his eyes. "I don't know how I can go on without her," he mutters.

Withers's dessicated lips curl in a slight smile. "She battled in Avernus, fueled on naught but hope," he says. "And that hope came to become truth. In but a dozen tendays, an entire life was lived. More than mortal years-- mortal centuries were hers." He gives a slow nod in acknowledgment of Hector's grief. "Thou might endure a great eon of mourning. But thou must hope, as once she did. Her life... her happiness... was you."

Great, now he really is going to cry. That strain in his throat is rapidly forming into a lump that makes it difficult to speak. "And she was mine..." he whispers.

"Thy life was hers for a while," Withers says gently. "It is now thine again. Live it well." He reaches out a hand and rests it on Hector's shoulder. It is light and skeletal and bears no warmth, but it goes with the intensity Withers suddenly has in his expression.

"In the Fugue Plane," he says, "her soul burns so bright, it pains the gods to look upon. Recall that in time, all changeth and all is rejoined. Thou shalt be with her again."

Hector feels something tight come loose in his chest, and he nods unsteadily. These are not empty words; this is Jergal speaking, not Withers. This is, perhaps, the only voice available to him that could tell him truly what he needs to know - that Karlach is not lost to him, nor beaten into dim submission by the wasteland of the Fugue.

She is still bright. And she is waiting for him. And one day, when he has brought her city back to life, he will go to find her.

#hector carlisle #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #karlach #karlach cliffgate #tav x karlach #karlach x tav #karlach bg3 #bg3 drabble #bg3 fic #WELLP I'M FULL OF FEELS AND DIDN'T GET ANY WORK DONE TODAY #XD #things i love:#a) anon for sending me this unprompted <3 #b) that everyone calls Hector Hec in asks #c) that this somehow ended up LESS sad than the squidlach variant #d) withers <3 <3 <3 #this is all still very sad though and hector would like me to remind everyone that this is not canon XD #and that he and karlach are off for real killing devils in avernus and making out every chance they get :P

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theseshipsshallsail · 1 month

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Summary:

What Is Life (Without This?)

There’s a chimeric hush enshrouding the villa’s master suite. A sun-dappled, mellow sort of thing that basks in the dislodged pillows and lingering muscle strains of the previous night’s exertions. A rather dramatic change, all told, for a space he’d so long felt like a trespasser within, and which has only recently blossomed to life anew. The cloying silence of a room once abandoned by his parents’ divorce and the cruelty of Death, itself, now moulded into the satisfied quiet of two star-crossed lovers who’ve beaten the incalculable odds.

Not by chance, nor by fate, but because they’d both made a choice.

Laid their cards upon the proverbial table.

Figured out what, exactly, they were to each other, and perhaps, more importantly, what the future holds for them together.

Sometimes he feels too small to contain the reality, so it’s little wonder, then, that Elio’s entire being sings with contentment when his sluggish eyes settle on his silent alarm clock; his equally foggy mind intent on savouring the moment before his myriad responsibilities press in around him. And it works. To a degree. Until the rousing scent of espresso drifts from his gurgling Moka pot. If his caffeine craving doesn’t best him, his empty stomach surely will, so Elio accepts defeat with a jaw-cracking yawn, stretching every joint right down to his wiggling toes as he shifts glacier-slow to his left hand side.

Oliver’s answering chuckle is full of fondness, and Elio smirks in triumph when his questing palm makes contact with the thin cotton material of the other man’s boxers; the magnetic pull luring his covetous fingers upwards to the long-faded scar at his hip.

“Buongiorno…” he murmurs, voice decidedly gravelly from the vestiges of sleep. “Coffee?”

Oliver hums. “Will your usual mug suffice? Or should I just hook it straight into your veins?”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, mon cœur.”

“But the highest form of intelligence,” Oliver drawls, earning a snorting snigger as Elio burrows into his midsection: dislodging the copy of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 splayed open on his chest. “Everyone deserves a lie-in, I suppose…”

And with Little Ollie’s propensity for pre-dawn wake-ups, Elio intends to take full advantage. “Need I mention someone kept me up past two a.m? I dare say I’m entitled.”

“That’s one word for it,” Oliver teases, nuzzling into his crown. “Sure I can’t tempt you to a run?”

His grunt speaks volumes.

“Or a swim, maybe?”

The memory of Oliver’s mouth still burns his wanton flesh, so Elio chases the shallow dip of his collar bone: breathes in the subtle hint of night-sweat and beeswax soap. “There are much better ways to stay in shape, n'est-ce pas?” he says, not above a touch of shameless bribery, and Oliver sighs; a soft sound of contentment that would bring him to his knees if he weren’t already horizontal.

“And they say romance is dead…”

It’s a boisterous laugh that spills from Elio’s throat, then; uninhibited and weightless as it carries to all four corners of the vaulted ceiling.

A laugh that’s quickly accompanied by Oliver’s helpless giggles before he’s kissing him in earnest: morning breath forgotten in lieu of the heartfelt terms of endearment that flow unhindered between them.

#cmbyn fanfic #call me by your name #elio x oliver

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ashcal99 · 1 year

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Certain Things : Leah Clearwater VII

Chapter Seven

"Something about you, It's like an addiction, Hit me with your best shot honey, I've got no reason to doubt you, 'Cause certain things hurt, And you're my only virtue"

Summary: Conner Swan moves to Forks Washington in hopes to help his sister Bella through her breakup with Edward. In hopes to find happiness again. He finds much more.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only), oral (f! and m! receiving), fingering, mentions of death, depression, loss, antidepressants, general angst, slow burn

Words: 4k

A/N: Comment if I missed any warning or anything plz thnx.

Soundtrack

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

——————

March 31st, 2006

The next week and half had flown by, Leah and Conner having fallen into a regular routine. Leah would visit the diner on days that he worked, sitting at the bar to talk to him during their slow times. Conner had made a habit of driving out to the Clearwater’s house whenever he had time off. Whether it was taking walks with her, watching movies on her couch while they curled up under a fluffy blanket, whatever they did, they did together. The feeling of being near each other was so comforting, Conner wasn’t sure how had lived before her. The thought of losing her had began to feel suffocating to him.

His nightmares had become less frequent as well, although he did still find himself plagued by them some nights. It probably helped to not be woken in the middle of the night by Bella as well. Her nightmares had stopped when Edward had returned. Or at least when they did happen, Edward would comfort her throughout them before they got out of hand.

He could hear that Edward was there every night, his room being right next to his sisters. They weren’t exactly quiet when they talked and the walls of th house were thin. Charlie was of course completely oblivious to this fact. Conner had grown to ignore the presence of the immortal teen. Sure, he creeped him out, but he had stuck to himself for the most part, trying not to bother Conner.

He had just finished showering after his shift, dressing quickly in whatever clean clothes he could find. He had made plans earlier in the day, like most, to meet up with Leah, deciding on going on a hike since the weather had warmed up that morning. It was only early afternoon, the man only working a short shift that morning, so the sun was still high in the sky.

Time blurred around him, and before he knew it, he was standing at Leah’s front door knocking. After a few moments of waiting, the door swung open, revealing the woman. A smile grew on his face, the world fading around them. It never got old, seeing her face. She seemed to give him perpetual butterflies. “Ready?” He asked expectantly, offering his hand to her.

She took his outstretched hand, taking him up on his offer. “Ready.” She confirmed. The two turned, beginning the trek to the edge of the forest. Conner focused on the warmth of her hand, letting himself ease into the familiar comfort of her presence. They had found themselves touching more and more often, whether it was holding hands or Leah laying her head on his shoulder while they watched tv. Leah made sure never to push it too far, not wanting to scare him away, but Conner always found himself leaning into her embrace.

They would carry small conversations on walks like these, never straying to too serious of topics. The two were focused on getting to know each other and relishing in their company. Reaching a small stream, Conner climbed up the last ridge, offering Leah is hand to help her up. They sat together on the edge of the stream, ridding themselves of their socks and shoes. Conner dipped his toes in the warm water, Leah following after.

Leah stared ahead into the trees, looking deep in thought. Conner turned to her, taking in her beauty. “Penny for your thoughts?” He said, prompting conversation.

She looked to him, giving a fragile smile. “Just thinking about everything.” She started, glancing down to their intertwined hands. “Patrols have been really stressful lately, with the red head being so close.” She explained.

Conner didn’t buy it. He could tell there was something else going on, seeing the torment behind her eyes. “Yeah, but that’s not it, is it?” He asked. She looked into his eyes, coming to the conclusion that there was no point in keeping anything from the man anymore. He was already her whole world, so what was the use in not telling him everything? “I guess I’m just missing him. My dad I mean.” She clarified.

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she continued. “He would be alive if it wasn’t for me, you know?” She said softly. Conner’s stomach dropped.

He brought his hand to her chin, tilting her face up to his. “Leah, no one blames you for what happened.” He said, staring deep into her eyes. He hated seeing pain behind them, it made his chest ache just thinking about her being sad.

She tore her eyes from his, tears welling up in hers. She leaned into his palm, savoring his touch. “But you can’t deny it. He would be here, heart still beating.” She said, a single tear streaming down her face.

He frowned, staring at the small trail of wetness down her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Leah. You shouldn’t have to feel this pain.” He said solemnly, looking deep into her eyes. He slowly dropped his hands from her face, taking her palm back in his. He turned his gaze to the water, gathering up his courage. “You know, I understand your pain…” He paused, gulping, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “How it feels to lose someone you love.” He continued, eyebrows pulling together.

Leah turned her eyes to him, seeing the look of anguish on his face. “You don’t need to tell me if you’re not ready.” She assured him, her frown deepening. Sure, she wanted to know, but she didn’t want him to force himself to confess his pain for her benefit.

He nodded his head slightly. “I know. I want to tell you.” He said, gnawing on his lower lip. He gulped again, trying to swallow the lump growing in his throat. “Umm… I’m not really sure where to start.” He said letting out a deep sigh.

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking down to his submerged feet. “It was the night of my twentieth birthday when it happened… Mia was her name. We had been dating for about a year and I was planning on proposing. I knew something was wrong when she was just thirty minutes late. She was never late to anything and I just felt something was off in my stomach.” He paused, taking in a shaky breath.

She looked to him, heart aching as he continued to speak. “I rushed to the hospital as soon as I got the call telling me she had been in an accident. She died in surgery later that night.” He said, his eyes brimming with tears. Leah wrapped her arms around him, pulling his face into the crook of her neck. Conner wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing in her calming scent. “I didn’t know she was pregnant until after she was already dead. She was only three months along.” He said, his words muffled into her neck.

Leah tightened her grip on the man, feeling the wetness of his tears on her shoulder. Her heart throbbed in her chest knowing had been through such a terrible thing. “I’m so sorry, Conner.” She said, running her fingers up his neck, grasping the back of his head.

They sat like this for a while, just holding each other. Conner focussed on the feel of her fingers on his scalp, trying to soak in her touch. Eventually, he pulled himself together enough to remove his face from her neck, muttering an apology about her dampened shirt. It felt good, having confessed everything to her. There were no longer any secrets between the two, and he felt like he could finally breath freely. Like a weight had been lifted from his chest.

It hurt her to know the pain he had endured, but she was happy that he had felt comfortable enough to tell her about it. Sure, they were both broken and tattered, but now they had each other to lean on.

Eventually, they found their way back to the house. They decided to watch a movie, sitting on the couch together. They huddled under a soft blanket, Conner basking in her heat. She cuddled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. His hand rested on her knee, over the blanket, his thumb rubbing lightly back and forth. He never thought he would be happy like this ever again. He thought his world had ended after Mia died, but there he was, whole again.

——————

May 10th, 2006

It had been about a month and half since Conner’s confession, and the two had grown even closer. They now spent every moment available together, and gotten much more at ease with touching each other. Their available time, however, was growing more and more slim by the day. With the ongoing threat of Victoria coming closer and closer, Leah had been pulled to patrol more often. But whenever she found the chance, she found herself being wrapped in her comforting embrace.

The two were currently standing in the kitchen of the Swan’s house, Conner cooking lunch. It happened to be the one time where they both had the day off and both Bella and Charlie were out of the house. He flipped the chicken in the skillet, watching as the oil sizzled from the heat of the burner. They hadn’t had much time to spend alone in the house together, Bella always being home on his days off and having Edward spend the nights, so they made sure to take advantage of the empty house. In fact, now that he thought about it, they hadn’t been alone together in at least two weeks. People always seemed to hover around the two, not giving them a moment to themselves.

“You know, this is perfect timing, seeing as I don’t have patrol tonight.” She said smiling to the man. He nodded, sending a grin back in return. He stopped momentarily, adding more seasoning to the meat in the pan.

He turned back to the woman, smile still grazing his features. “I’m just surprised they gave me the day off. Since they usually give me the weekends.” He stated. He reached to turn off the stove, the chicken finishing cooking. Grabbing two plates, he plated the chicken, adding a scoop of mashed potatoes to each.

Walking to the table, he placed one of the plates on the placemat in front of Leah, setting the other in front of himself. He sighed, stretching his spine across the back of the chair, feeling slight cracks as he did so. A soft sound of a moan leaving Leah’s lips, broke his attention from his stretching.

He turned to her, eyebrow arched in question. She chewed the food slowly, savoring the flavor. “This is heavenly, Con.” She said, complimenting his cooking.

He laughed lightly. “Thanks.” He said, sticking a fork full of the food into his own mouth. They ate in relative silence, as they shoved their faces full the chicken, and soon they were done with their meals.

Leah sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Thanks for the meal, Conner. It was delicious.” She said, eyes turning to the man.

Conner stood, humming in response, grabbing the now dirty plates and taking them to the sink. “Anything for you, Leah.” He said, sending her a genuine smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He meant it too. Over the month or so since meeting her, he quickly found out that he would do anything for the woman. Anything to see her happy. To keep her safe.

He stood scrubbing the dishes, when he felt her arms sip around his waist, her head resting in between his shoulder blades. He dropped the sponge, turning the tap off, as he slowly turned in her grasp. He stared down at her, taking her face gently in his hands.

She got lost in eyes, the blue pulling her in, and suddenly her mouth was too dry and heart was beating too much too quickly. Conner leaned forward until his forehead was touching hers, his chest raising quickly. Slowly, ever so slightly, he closed the gap between their lips.

Electric shocks ran up and down his spine, feeling the tingle all the way down to his toes. The kiss was gentle, him just taking in the feel of her soft plump lips. Leah sighed into the kiss, allowing herself to fully embrace his touch. She had never been so happy in her entire life and it was all thanks to him.

Their mouths moved in sync, lips molding together perfectly. Conner felt as if he was flying. She could feel him begin to smile against her lips, pulling her closer to his chest. She smiled back in response, and they pulled away, resting their foreheads together once again. His hands dropped to her waist, his strong fingers gripping her hips tightly. Her hands snaked up to his head, threading her fingers through his thick hair. He closed his eyes in response to the touch, and they just stood there for a while, just basking in the love surrounding them.

Conner had said he wanted to take things slow, but surely a month and half was slow enough right? If it wasn’t, he didn’t really care. He felt in his heart that it was right. That he deserved to be happy after everything that had happened to him, and if she was the one to bring him that happiness, then so be it. Far be it from him to mess with fate.

Eventually, his legs grew tired from standing in one place, so he slowly pulled away, to look into her eyes. “How about a nap?” He suggested, tiredness suddenly hitting him like a ton of bricks. She nodded in response to his question, grabbing one of his hands from her waist and intertwining their fingers.

He abandoned the unwashed dishes in the sink, promising himself he would handle them later. He took their intertwined fingers and led them up the stairs. He had just reached the door to his room when he realized she had never been inside it before, and he was suddenly nervous. He had hoped it wasn’t too messy as he wasn’t expecting her to see it that day. He took the doorknob, twisting it and letting the door swing open. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, seeing that the room was fairly clean “It isn’t too much… but its mine.” He muttered, letting Leah enter before him, before closing and locking the door behind them.

She silently took in the view of his room, letting out a bark of laughter as her eyes landed on the wall next to his dresser. “Power Rangers?” She asked, turning to him, brow raised in question.

He blushed heavily, trying to sputter out an excuse. He had forgotten the thing was even there, but now he regretted not ripping it down immediately. She smirked, laying a reassuring hand on his chest. “It’s okay, I think it’s cute.” She teased. “Almost as cute as I think you are.”

He smirked, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress, tilting his face up to hers. “So you think I’m cute now do you?” He said, fingers gripping her waist, slotting her between his legs.

She smiled, placing a warm hand to his cheek. “Oh, I’ve always thought you were cute.” She said, leaning down to place a pec to his lips.

Her lips on his gave him all the confidence he needed as he pulled her forward to straddle his waist, and suddenly all tiredness had gone from his body. He tilted his head to the left deepening the kiss. Their lips moved fervently, the room seeming to raise in temperature by at least ten degrees. She hesitantly brought her hips down to his, gently rocking them back and forth. A moan fell from his lips and he felt like he would die any second. “You’re going to be the death of me.” He said, chiding the woman.

He was embarrassingly worked up already from the small amount of friction, a heavy blush coating his cheeks. He panted into her open mouth, gripping her hips and bringing her down further, causing her to gasp in delight. It was as if after one kiss, the flood gates had opened and now he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

She could feel his erection below her, the bulge growing bigger with every movement of her hips. The wonderful friction had her absolutely dripping with arousal. Suddenly, he grabbed her waist, lifting her from his lap and placing her at the head of the bed. He crawled up her body, lips attaching themselves to her neck. She moaned loudly at the graze of his teeth, the sound going straight to his cock. She ran her hands up the bottom of his shirt, raking her fingernails down his back.

He pulled away momentarily, yanking the fabric over his head, throwing it across the room. “Too many clothes.” He muttered, reattaching his lips to hers. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he continuously rutted himself against her clothed heat. One hand wandered up her shirt, fingertips brushing her peaked nipple as he cupped her breast in his palm. She pulled the shirt over her head, giving him a full view of her chest. He lowered slightly, kissing, biting, sucking anywhere he could get his mouth on.

Her legs dropped from his waist as she writhed underneath him, desperate for some kind of release. Conner noticed this, moving the hand that wasn’t holding himself up to the button of her shorts. He stopped, looking to her face for approval. She looked at him nodding her head vigorously. “Please.” She begged.

Only needing to hear her say it once, he quickly unbuttoned the shorts, yanking her panties down with them. He threw them to the side, trailing kissed up the insides of her thighs. She moaned in delight, urging him on further. He brought himself to her center, taking his finger and lightly swiping it up her folds, pulling it back to see it glistening with her juices. He brought his eyes up to hers, locking her gaze as he lifted the finger to his mouth and sucked, smirking as her mouth fell open at the sight of him. “You’re going to be the death of me.” She said pointedly, already gasping for air.

He lowered his face back down, licking a strip up her pussy, lips landing on her clit. Leah gasped loudly, the feeling of his tongue already overwhelming her. He slowly entered his middle finger, her squeezing around him. He moaned at the feeling of her, sending the vibrations straight up her spine. He tongued her clit as he pumped his finger into her, slowly adding a second. He rutted his hips into the mattress, desperate for some type of friction on his throbbing erection.

He had never been so turned on in his life and he didn’t know how long he would last, her pussy clenching around his fingers like that, especially considering how long it had been since he had been touched by someone other than himself. The thought of his cock buried deep inside her was killing him, and fingers began thrusting into her clenching heat at a faster pace.

He curled his fingers up inside of her, earning gurgled groan from the woman. “Right there. Fuck. Please.” She begged. He continued to rub the soft spongy spot inside of her, feeling her beginning to tense bellow him.

He continued the movements of his fingers and tongue, feeling a hand move down to his head, gripping his hair tightly as she began to buck her hips upward. The pulling of his hair had him moaning into her again, the feeling sending her over the edge.

Leah called out his name as she spasmed around his fingers, cumming the hardest she had cum in her life. Conner continued trusting his fingers in and out of her clenching pussy, helping her ride out her high, as she continued calling out his name. He was so glad nobody was home, or else this would definitely prompt an awkward conversation.

Pulling his fingers gently from her, he licked one final strip up her folds, causing a shiver to run up her spine. He climbed up her body, reveling in the glisten of sweat on her forehead and the far out expression on her face. She reached forward, grabbing his cheeks and planted a big kiss to his mouth, tasting herself on his lips. She pulled away, looking him deep into the eyes. “Your turn.” She said smirking softly.

Conner’s erection twitched at the thought, throbbing in his jeans, but he stopped himself. “You don’t need to.” He breathed out. He didn’t want her to do anything she wasn’t comfortable with, and if he needed to, he could go take a cold shower.

She looked to him smiling. “I know, I want to.” She assured him, rolling him over so that his back was pressed into the mattress. He scooted back, resting against his headboard, wanting to get a good view of her. She crawled up to his hips, slowly undoing the button of his jeans and drawing down the zipper.

She stopped momentarily, palming him through the fabric, causing a moan to leave his lips. “I’m not going to last long, it’s been a really long time.” He warned her, receiving a nod from her in response. She curled her fingers under the waistline of his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. He lifted his hips slightly, allowing room to slip them off of his hips. His cock sprang free, tip wet with precum.

She wrapped her hand around his length, bringing her mouth down to lick the tip. A groan left his throat, urging her on, her taking him fully into her mouth. “Fuck, Leah.” He exclaimed, feeling the warmth of her mouth wrapped around him. She bobbed her head, taking what she couldn’t reach into her hand, pumping him slowly.

He clenched the sheets underneath him tightly, knuckles turning white. She continued bobbing her head, twirling her tongue around his tip. “Shit. That pretty little mouth working me so well. I’m not going to last much longer, baby.” He reiterated, cock beginning to twitch. She wouldn’t have taken him for being someone who was so vocal in bed, but it sure as hell turned her on. She reached down with her free hand, circling her clit with her fingers, already worked up again from hearing his words. She moaned around his length, feeling his stomach tighten at her movements.

“Come here.” He instructed, hunching over to grab her ass, pulling her sideways on his lap, replacing her hand on her clit with his own. She groaned again, the feeling of his fingers rubbing her snapping the coil in her stomach as she came for a second time. The vibrations of her moans around him set Conner over the edge as well, his cock twitching as he came in her mouth. He groaned, a string of curses and her name leaving his mouth.

Leah lifted her head from his lap, licking her lips seductively. Conner threw his head back, letting out one more loud groan at the sight. He grabbed her face, pulling her lips to his in a passionate kiss. He lead her up the bed, laying their bodies down comfortably on the mattress. Making sure the blanket was covering their bodies, he wrapped his arm around her waist. He pulled her closer, her naked body flush with his chest.

He kissed the back of her head once, mumbling, “I love you, Leah.”

She smiled, warmth filling her chest. “I love you, Conner.” She said.

Next Chapter

#la push #leah clearwater x m!reader #leah clearwater smut #leah clearwater x reader #leah clearwater #edward cullen #eventual smut #twilight smut #twilight #charlie swan #jacob black #slow burn #bella swan #leah clearwater fanfic #forks washington

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persehoneswritings · 21 days

Text

Brother's Best Friend

Pairing: Cleven oc x John 'Bucky' Egan Notes: Might turn this into a mini fic, please let me know how this one goes. It's my first oneshot/imagine CW: unprotected sex, public(kinda??) sex, fade to black

Hazel and John had been friends ever since she'd shown up to the Thorpe Abbotts base as the first WW2 female pilot. She sat on the wing of She's Gonna, laughing and joking around as the sun just dips below the tree line. "You can't be serious." The blonde said as she shook her head, giggling softly as she swung her legs underneath the wing. She arched a brow, looking over at him as she grinned widely. "That's a story I have to see to believe."

"You calling me a bullshitter?" He chuckles lightly as he adjusts his position, leaning up against the wing behind her. "Maybe so. Whatcha gonna do about it if I am?" She grinned cheekily as she looked at him, biting her bottom lip, slyly looking him up and down. She'd always found him attractive. But her brother was dead set on making sure they didn't get together in that retrospect. Or rather had the opportunity to. "Gonna pick a fight? I can take you."

"I reckon that's an invite for me to pin ya to the ground, sweetheart." He says as he looks down at you, playfully rolling his shoulders back as he shifts a little closer. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as she snickered. She swore there was always some sort of tension when it came to what was between them. This was the height of that connection. "Ten bucks you won't." She arched a brow. "Ten bucks?" He questions, his tone hinting that he feels as though that's a little low. He shifts a little more into her personal bubble, his arms close to her waist and his tone teasing. "I reckon you want me to pin ya."

She couldn't help but shiver under his touch and she fought the urge to wrap her arms around his neck. Instead, she opted for one of her hands trailing down his chest as she leaned up close to his ear. "Maybe. You going to take the opportunity?" "You know, Hazel..." His voice is deep, low and husky, and it carries a seductive undertone as he looks down at you. He puts his hand on her hip and he brings your body close to his, their breath hot as they whisper in each other's ears. "It sure feels like you're tempting me to." He leans down, a look of mischief in his eyes as his lips just barely graze her neck.

She tilted her head to the side, granting him access as her toes curled in anticipation. She felt like the air was thicker around the two, nobody could cut through it, even with a knife. "Perhaps I am, John. I can't help it that you're a handsome man. Not to mention we get along so well." He runs his fingertips slowly up her thigh, just brushing against her skin and the material of her military trousers. His body heat is close, and his lips graze her throat just a little more as he lets his breath hit off her skin gently. "Maybe we do get along a little too well." He chuckles as his hands start to slip the top button of her shirt open while his lips trail close to her ear again, his breath hot again as he whispers. "Let's do something about it."

Her eyes fluttered shut as her arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him close to her, letting out a shaky breath before her lips pressed to his, hungrily. Tangling her fingers in his hair, the blonde tilted her head to the side, nose brushing against his jaw. What her brother didn't know wouldn't kill him. But she couldn't deny what she felt towards the man in front of her any longer. His lips met hers with such force, heat and passion, his tongue immediately exploring and dancing with hers. His hands explored her small frame, one resting on her hip while the other starts to slide the buttons of her shirt down, down, and down before he slowly starts to slip the top part of her uniform off. She arched her back, helping him slip the top off her shoulders as it hung from her hips, having been tucked into her trousers. Her own hands trailed down his shirt, quickly unbuttoning it as her lips trailed across his jaw and down his neck. She let out a soft moan as her hands trailed down his chest, fingertips dancing across his abdomen.

He shivered as she ran her fingers across his chest, and he helped her slip his shirt off, leaving it on the ground behind him as he lets his body press against hers, his hands starting to explore her body and the top of her uniform. He looks down at you, his lips dancing with yours as he leans into her and whispers again, "you sure I can't pin you down?" She giggled as she playfully nipped his bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth before she let it go. She looked up at him through her lashes, one of her hands tracing the outline of his jaw as she grinned cheekily, rolling her eyes playfully. "You can pin me down any day." "That so...?" He chuckles as he pulls away slightly, just enough that his lips aren't touching hers but his hands are still wrapped around her, exploring her body and tracing his fingers along every curve. "You gonna be okay when I slip these trousers off?"

She nodded, a flush forming across her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around his neck and looked up at him. God she'd been waiting for this moment for so long and now it was finally happening. She could feel her heart flutter against her chest as it heaved with each breath she took. "More than okay." "Good." He whispers, and there's a moment of silence as his hands start to unbuckle her belt...then the other hand starts to slip the buttons of her trousers down. The sound of fabric rubbing off against fabric is the only sound in the world, until his hands slide her trousers down her hips, off her calves as they fell to the floor. She shivered as she wrapped her legs around his waist, her lips attaching to his again in a fervent manner, tangling her fingers in his hair as she tugged at it gently. God she still couldn't believe this was really happening. She thought this were a dream. Even if it was, it was a really good dream, and one she didn't want to wake from.

For the moment, his hands are wrapped around her waist and holding her up as she's wrapped around his waist, his lips pressed to hers as his tongue dances with hers. He's breathing hard, the feel of her in his grasp the sweetest feeling he's ever had. He lets out a deep groan as the passion builds stronger, the heat coursing through the two as they're locked in a fiery embrace.

#masters of the air #john egan #bucky egan #mota #mota fanfic

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alex-guerin · 2 years

Note

Malex ♦: Slow dancing

🥰

Alex smiled to himself as he sat watching friends and family dance across the floor. The bride was absolutely beautiful -- but then, he was slightly biased since she was his daughter after all -- and the smile on her face as her new husband twirled her made his chest tighten in happiness. It still didn't seem real to him, that she was all grown up and now married. It seemed like only yesterday he and Michael had brought her into the world and spent hours dancing her around the living room to get her to sleep.

Tyler dipped Nora before pulling her in for a kiss as the band announced that other couples could now take the dance floor while the newlyweds giggled over each other and made their way back to their table for a short break. A shadow fell over him, a weathered hand suddenly held in front of his face. It was a hand Alex knew intimately. One with a gold band resting securely on the ring finger, exactly where Alex had placed it thirty-five years ago.

"Wanna dance?"

Looking up into honey-brown eyes that still shone just as brightly with love and laughter as they had when they were seventeen, Alex smiled fondly and shrugged.

"I dunno. Last I checked your idea of dancing was shuffling your feet and grabbing my butt."

"Only way to dance. Besides, you've still got a very good butt to grab. Can you blame me?"

Alex laughed softly as he took Michael's hand and allowed himself to be helped up and out onto the dance floor. His arms slipped up over Michael's shoulders, hands interlocking at the base of his neck as Michael slid his own hands low on Alex's back, pulling him in so they were pressed close from nose to toes. Their foreheads touched and Alex couldn't help but close his eyes and sigh as Michael quietly sang along; his lips brushing whispered love across Alex's.

And tell me that we belong together Dress it up with the trappings of love I'll be captivated, I'll hang from your lips Instead of the gallows of heartache that hang from above

And I'll be your cryin' shoulder I'll be love's suicide And I'll be better when I'm older I'll be the greatest fan of your life

"You played this for me at our wedding," Alex murmured.

Michael hummed in acknowledgement, one hand slowly running up and down Alex's spine.

"And every anniversary after that. Still can't believe Nora wanted to get married today of all days."

Another laugh bubbled up out of Alex as he pressed himself closer but tilted his head back enough to meet Michael's eyes. His fingers twitched to reach up and play with the curls that had become more like gentle waves in the years.

"She gets her romantic side from you, you know. Honestly, I can't believe she remembered today was the anniversary of our first kiss."

"With as many times as we had to tell her the story? I can," Michael huffed as he leaned in to press his forehead to Alex's again.

Their bodies swayed in time with the music and for a few moments in time the world around them faded away. For a few moments, Alex was seventeen again, being kissed by a boy for the first time and feeling a warm, hard body against his own for the first time.

Now, on the wrong side of sixty, Alex was still in the arms of the man that boy had become. He was still the one Alex kissed every morning and every night. The one that made Alex laugh and held him when phantom pains reared their ugly heads. Michael still took his breath away with his smiles and laughter and the way he was so patient with their kids. He was the only one Alex ever imagined having a family and growing old with.

As the song drew to a close, Alex tilted his head just enough to meet Michael's lips for a gentle kiss. Nothing heated, nothing that would embarrass Nora or the boys, or little Sandy. Just a gentle kiss full of promises they both intended to keep forever.

"Papa! Come dance with me!"

Michael pulled back from the kiss to smile down at Sandy, 12 years old and an absolute force to be reckoned with. She tugged at his arm insistently until Michael stepped back from Alex with a raised eyebrow. Alex smiled softly and nodded.

"Go ahead. I'm gonna see if I can steal a dance with our other daughter before Greg and Walt get to her again."

"Good idea," Michael leaned in for one more kiss. "Don't forget, last slow dance is mine, though."

Nudging his nose lightly against Michael's Alex smiled serenely and pressed one final kiss to his husband's lips.

"Always."

~*~*~*~

Kids are based off that Vlamburn interview where they were trying to decide their kids names and came up with Nora, Gregory, Walt, and Sandy. I've accepted this and run with it now. Ages are as followed in my headcanon...

Nora -- 27

Greg and Walt -- 21

Sandy -- 12

#Malex #Alex Manes #Michael Guerin #Alex Guerin #alex x michael #my fic #thank you!!!

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leam1983 · 2 years

Text

On Love

Warning: this is a long one, folks. Get yourselves a coffee or tea, cozy up - I'll wait.

Content Warnings: sex mentions, May-December relationship, grief, loss, death; some emotional distress.

Content below the cut.

It's his aftershave that really sticks out to me. It was technically Old Spice, but something to his cleaned skin gave it a sweeter undertone; like talcum. His teeth were crooked, sort of flat, and stained with coffee and nicotine. The first few times we hugged, the combination of his almost-exposed bony edges and compacted fat near the abdomen felt like returning home. I'd always hated the scent of cigarettes, but his were strangely sweet. They didn't quite smell like the Players I remembered from my childhood in Saint-Léonard.

We'd been student and teacher for a year, then graduate and student; and my leaving for the Postgrad circuit felt like a liberation. I remember the first time he placed his hand on mine, how elated and terrified I felt. I couldn't think of him in any other context than as the intellectual guide I owed my discovering Gabriel Garcia Marquez to - and something just unlocked itself in the back of my mind. I cancelled my paratransport ride back home and we headed to his own apartment.

The place was heaven. The smell of old books everywhere, everything in worn tones of brown and ochre - an almost terminally-poor old man's shot at creating some semblance of your stereotypical professoral Den of Knowledge. A few plants here and there, evidence of occasional indoors smoking, and a wall's worth of Jazz vinyls.

We shared another drink, pontificated over Magical Realism. He asked me to troubleshoot his absolutely ancient Macintosh Performa, thinking that my having dipped my toes in IT, at the time, meant I could charm everything that had a keyboard into total subjugation.

"See?" he asked me, "There's that bomb icon, again! I don't know what to do!"

He'd had that Performa for almost as long as I'd been alive, and he'd never learned to restore it on his own. He looked like Christopher Lloyd playing Doc Brown, with big eyes set in near-perpetual befuddlement. He never did anything with his crown of hair, let it all settle where it wanted once towel-dried. I needed a few old floppies and a trip to a restorer's community board, but I managed to upgrade the Performa's OS. The hard drive could almost be heard groaning in protest. I told him his baby was on its last legs.

The third visit made things obvious. It was all soft petting and brainy nonsense, as usual - until he corrected one of my assertions with a particular look. I've forgotten almost everything about that conversation, but that instant is crystallized in my mind.

That wry look turns almost suggestive, his thin lips hold secrets. Something passes between us. I slowly, gently grasp his head, and clumsily push my lips against his. He guides me through, his hands receiving me as I leave my side of the couch for his. I'm home, as our tongues touch. Old bruises on my soul heal as our teeth come close. He lightly moans. I need every ounce of strength I have not to start weeping out of gratitude. My strength fades after a few renewed liplocks.

I'm in my mid-thirties at the time, and I'm home in the arms of a man almost twice my age. He lets me cry, senses I need it. After a few minutes, he rocks me while holding me close. I drift off without really falling asleep. He does. What brings me back to awareness is his snores. There's a sense of genuine relief, somewhere in there.

I realize I've missed my ride back home. In my impulsive attempt to gather my things, I wake him up.

"Stay," he said. It's formulated in the imperative, but his posture - his eyes - are pleading. I agree to call back home in the morning.

I try and keep things distant, at first - being afraid to commit. I try facing the opposite wall while in bed, and he never tries to spin me around - not once. Eventually, I give in. The instant I place my hand in his, he loosens up and actively drifts off. He's snoring within ten seconds. I wake up spooning against him.

His snores change slightly, around 5 AM. There's a wheeze behind them. I'll later realize this is a preview of what it is that'll take him away from me.

Eventually, we make love. I learn the difference between sex and lovemaking, and it fills me with a quiet and tranquil power I didn't know I had. I can bring this man peace. Lovemaking is slow and undulating, and accomodates that. Sex is something wilder that'll become more of a stress-release valve for us than a marker of love. We make love with all of ourselves for weeks, and eventually devolve to simply bumping uglies together. At first I'm scared, I think this means we're not as serious as I thought we were, and then I learn to embrace it.

It's normal to eventually want your partner's flesh, to want to see them roll their eyes and turn limp as they climax. Push Prof hard, and he snorts and grunts softly. He buries his head inside his pillow and moans, hard, as we crest the hill. A thousand I-love-yous are waiting behind his look back at me, but I've spent him for the moment. He can't say a single word. I change our cadence, signal for him to take the lead.

There's entire weeks where this doesn't happen. I have a toothbrush at his place, at that point, and a small selection of clothes. He can't believe he's living what his students go through, here at the twilight of his years. He's in a constant state of amorous disbelief. I'm worse. I think some moral arbitrator's going to run us down. I might no longer be a student, the fact that I was one of his former pupils opens me up - and the alma mater - to a slew of erroneous assumptions.

Weeks go by with us living like roommates, plus benefits. We cuddle for comfort, bicker over recipe quantities, exchange dog-eared and marked-up copies of the same books to prove our respective points. I ghost-write one of his syllabuses and assemble his bibliography. The sex is good - merely adequate. Then, once in a while, at the favor of an event we attended together or a joke or my initiating him to console gaming, the sex turns astronomical and morphs back into lovemaking. We weep and laugh together.

We're desperately in love. I remember spending an entire hour stroking his cheek while he bore into my eyes. It feels like saying I love you just once would be cheap. We discuss it later on, and come to realize we couldn't live in a society like Japan's. Our declaring our love for one another feels like a ping, or a sound-off system. We hold hands everywhere, and Prof loves helping me for sidewalks or steep walkways. I love you crosses our lips so often you'd think we're looking to wear out the concept.

Our plan was simple: take this as far as it could, and leave some of his books and vinyls to me in an appended will. We both knew he'd die first, neither of us expected it to occur after a little over a year.

A little cough, a wheeze coming in every now and then, then a deep and stertorous wheeze every two breaths. Eventually, he's down to an oxygen mask. Near then, his little tummy all gone, he laboriously has me swear never to pick up the habit - to never smoke. I swear on our love, pause, and then give him the same look he first gave me.

"What about cigars? Do cigars count?" I'm kidding, but this is where I'd join him on the balcony: him with his Players and me with a Cristobàl Colon.

He squeezes my hand again, for one of the last few times. His eyes bore into mine. He so deeply wants me to unplug everything and have him be wheeled home.

He can't speak, though, and is too weak to write. That promise was passed on to me through a Notepad app. I'm not affiliated with any will executor, and can't share what he told me. It might as well be another rambling from a delirious mind, right?

His family don't invite me to the funeral. I wait until they're done and pop in while the chapel lies empty. Prof never really cleaned himself up: he'd always stopped at dress slacks, Oxfords, leather belts and Business Casual shirts worn so often they'd probably gained some grungy appeal. Hair like a shock of cottos wisps, teeth glinting like old and stained china as he smiled. Everything rumpled and covered in faint cigarette smell.

They'd cleaned him up, the bastards. A perfect comb-over he would've abhorred, a suit that didn't let his gangly energy surplus come through, clean glasses, when I'd never seen him without foggy lenses. I imagined him standing over himself, hands in his pockets.

"Jeeze, hon; look at that piece of meat!" he would've said. "I can't believe this was ever me, can you? The last time I wore a tie was back in '67!"

A more accurate exposition would've involved his writing desk and his old and ratty leather-backed executive desk chair that had probably cost a fortune way back when, but that looked about fit to fall apart. It would've involved his dosing off while grading papers, to the point where his forehead would've hovered just above the desk; his right hand suspended over an ungraded paper. If his hand fell or his forehead touched the desk, he woke up with a start and pretended he'd just stopped to rest his eyes.

Some students assumed the small wrinkled spots on graded papers were old water drops. Most of them were drool - tiny flecks of it. He really should've retired, the clerical aspects of the work were killing him, but a lecturer without tenure that still has enough seniority to act like he had tenure, in terms of office politics, barely makes enough to survive with an active pension fund and a continued salary - at least, by Quebec's standards.

I didn't need much to pick up the subtext, considering what I'd already known. His surviving family didn't want to confront their uncle's bisexuality, and the idea that he would've hit it off with a former student and now a T.A. probably set off alarms. We'd been friendly during my student days, even close to one another, but the Ethical barriers were obvious to the both of us. We acted as Teacher and Student, made sure everything was nice and clean - and first confessed our interest in one another three years before things began in earnest. We just couldn't act on it while I was still on-campus.

He waited for me, which is more than I could've ever hoped.

The last, serious hug we gave one another was just before he moved into palliative care. His battered tweed jacket didn't fit him anymore, now he'd lost thirty pounds, and he hadn't had time to buy new pants.

"You're sure you don't mind?" he asked me, a sob strangling his throat. "I look like Death warmed over!"

I hugged him and smiled through my tears. "For a year, Prof - you were my Life."

He's been dead for a while, now. Almost three years. I can still taste his sweat, smell every ounce of him, and hear his voice as we'd swap our favourite passages from books or poetry collections, while in bed. I remember waking up with his lips on the top of my head, timing a kiss with the first signs of my rousing. I remember how quiet he got if he fell asleep while preoccupied with anything, and how much he comparatively snored like an outboard motor after sex, how freed-up he felt. I remember him teaching me recipes, hands on my hips to keep me stable. I remember him being the most diligent mobility aid I'd ever had.

I remember our long evenings spent tangled in one another arms, watching TV. I'd play in his hair and he'd stroke the back of my head.

Long, heavy glances as I left for work or he left for the campus. Beaming smiles when either of us came back second. Even longer hugs, as if we were afraid we might lose each other. I made him watch Jean-Marc Vallée's Café de Flore and reflected on Kevin Parent and Hélène Florent's characters.

"They're us," I said. "Those last few months feel like decades to me. I've been so happy I could almost count the seconds."

I suppose it's why I never really cried for him. I can't think of him without remembering how happy we both were. It dulls the pain really well.

So, to that Anon who told me that gays couldn't know the first thing about true love if it hit them in the face; consider yourself on notice.

I've been happy - happier than I knew you could ever be. Not a day's gone by that hasn't seen me wishing the same for everyone else.

#long post #prof and me #relationships #love #death #grief

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catcze · 2 years

Text

Imagine going to Mondstadt’s Windblume festival with Thoma after the Sakoku Decree is lifted. Like, walking into the gates of Mondstadt with him, seeing how his eyes widen and a wide smile graces his face when he catches sight of the streamers and the balloons that decorate the streets.

After such a long journey, the first thing he does (after reuniting with and introducing you to his mother, who hugs you and gives you a peck on the cheek, thanking you for taking care of her son) is to bring you to Good Hunter, where he laughs at how familiar the place is, even after so many years, and how he hopes the food hasn’t changed. Imagine how Thoma would practically light up the second the food touches his tongue, because it’s so good. ‘But you being here with me just makes it all the better,’ he’d say, and how he’d laugh when you choke on your drink.

Imagine playing the numerous games with him, how playfully competitive he’d get, but how he’d almost always gift you the prizes at the end anyway. (Though when you win a prize and gift it to him, it’s cute how flushed he gets, and how all words suddenly seem to escape him.)

Thoma would take you around the city, too. Show you all the prettiest places to watch the sunset fade over Cider Lake, or where the you can feel the chilly breeze from Dragonspine blowing. He’d hold your hand as you walk, his excuse being ‘the crowds in Mondstadt can be really busy’ even when the streets aren’t nearly as hectic as he claims them to be.

And on the last evening of your stay in Mondstadt, the last day of the festival, he brings you to the twinkling square in the center of the market, where fairy lights have been set up and bards are playing the tunes of the wind. Amidst the wine and the song, people dance in the middle of the square, clumsily and fun, unpracticed and living in the moment. Thoma tugs you into the crowd of dancing people, where you laugh as he spins you and dips you, guiding you along as easy as breathing, both of you too caught up in the moment to care about stepped toes and how tired you’d be in the morning.

And when you two settle back into the room you stay in, the lights of the city never dimming despite the late hour, Thoma brings you to the balcony. You can still hear the lyre from the square here, distantly, as well as the chorus of laughter and cheers over dandelion wine.

You don’t know what it is he wants to say, but the look on Thoma’s face is so soft, and the look in his eyes fond. And when he thanks you for coming with him, producing a crown of dandelion that he placed on your head, he sounds so genuine that your heart hurts with love for this man. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you can’t wait for the Windblume festival next year.

#Thoma x reader #Genshin Impact x reader #Catte’s Concepts / Rambles 🦩#Cw GN reader #this popped into existence while I was damage testing and hasn’t left me alone since

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dylandrhodes · 2 years

Note

Slightly modified from the smit prompts, but 'I want to count every one of your [moles] with my lips'. This is too perfect for Dylan, I can't. Excited to see where you might take it!

- Trashy 😍

@theinternetisfulloftrash Thank you love!

For you! of course, Got a little carried away with this one lol but hope yall enjoy

Warning? mildish? smut below the cut 😊😊

Count (Dylan O'brien)

You were not drunk.

You were not drunk, you were just blinking away doubled vision as you tried to focus on the form of your man beside you.

No, it wasn’t that you were drunk, it was just that Dylan had decided he wanted to make the spicy margaritas that were your favourite at your local dive.

He'd come home from the grocery hope that evening (usually something you'd do together, but his sole responsibility this week when you'd picked up over time and he wasn't currently filming).

Dylan's excited explanation, between soft kisses after he'd laid out his in haul in the kitchen, had been that your block of days off and his press commitments being done for a couple weeks was cause for celebration.

Trying to recreate them perfectly had turned into endless rounds of taste testing until the blender was a mess in the sink and you and Dylan were sat on the cool tiles kitchen floor, backs against the dishwasher as you nursed the melting ends of recipe 6.

The heat of the room was trapped in your pinked cheeks and your hand pushed up to lazily press the strand of hair back behind your eat that had fallen into your eyes.

You hummed at the cool feeling of your hand against your warmed skin and pressed your fingers to your cheeks before you slipped your fingers down to rest on your neck, felt the fluttering of your pulse thrumming heavy under your skin.

Your tongue darted out from your lips, licked them wet and felt them tingle with the mix of tequila and spice that lined the rim of the glass.

A soft laugh drew your eyes back to the man beside you, lids heavy as you traced his shape. His own glass was loose in his hand, looking small in the span of his fingers, the other handheld his phone, fingers moved as he most likely added to the playlist flowing through the home speakers.

The pair of you had taken to the floor when you'd found yourself stumbling over each other's feet as you tried to clean the mess from dinner. It had mostly comprised of getting distracted in each other, Dylan pulling you in to spin you around, singing along to the music playing through the speakers; kissing against the counter and arguing which round of drinks had been the closest to the original.

The light of the kitchen was low, a wash of warm orange light that made the cropped fuzz of Dylan’s hair glow, a fire outline of his shape. Your eyes dropped to caress the line of his jaw, the pink pout of lips, the sheen of them illuminated by the light of his phone.

The song changed and you dragged your legs up from where they had been sprawled in front of you, toes now pressed into the cool floor. You raised your hand to cup your jaw, smiled as you held up your heavy head to watch Dylan raise his glass up to his lips once more for a long sip, head tilted back just so.

His throat stretched, head tipped to show the line of his neck, the strong cords of muscle and the swell of his Adam's apple. The neck of his shirt was loose, a faded old black T-shirt that was a favourite of his, stolen from a movie set years past now. It was worn in a soft to the touch, smelt of Dylan and their washing powder always.

Your fingers dropped and smoothed against the bare skin of your thigh as you watched him, your knees bowed inward just so.

He looked strong like this, you thought, the width of his shoulders against the dishwasher, the thick line of throat the dip before the meeting point of his clavicles just visible, the way his hand consumed the circumference of the glass easily.

You swallowed and swayed as you set your glass down to the left of you before turning in to let your eyes more easily keep Dylan.

With a tilt of his head, the glow of the light streaming in from the windows changed, illuminated the constellation of moles that mapped the span from ear to lips. You shivered at the brush of heat on your thigh and your gaze flickered to find Dylan’s fingers, skimmed up and down the line of skin, a hazy touch that Dylan barely seemed aware of himself.

His phone was abandoned in his lap, the hand not on you still held the almost empty glass, head laid back against the dishwasher, eyes closed lashes casting a long shadow. He was humming, you realised after a breath, lost in the swell of music, seemingly content with the lazy flirt of skin on skin as his fingers danced pattern on your skin.

Heat breathed up your spine, fire from Dylan’s fingers to the inside of your thigh, up through to the base of your stomach, a kiss of butterflies under your ribs.

You sighed, and watched, and wanted, licked your lips and returned your eyes to the map on flushed skin, the sun kisses dark landmarks that drew your eyes to the line of his ear, jaw, throat, soft skin hot from alcohol.

A soft sound passed your lips as you turned in closer to Dylan, blinked once, twice until you blinked and your nose and lips and eyelashes had found Dylan’s cheek.

Your next blink was an incidental butterfly kiss before your lips pursed in a soft press, under the mole that you knew was there, larger than the others just a breath away from his lips.

Dylan’s long fingers paused, greedy with the skin of your right thigh, palm flattened and fingers curled to take grip, a light scratch of nails as he relaxed his fingers before he took hold once more.

You had lingered, and finally exhaled before you drew your mouth blindly to the trio of lighter freckles that bridged to the next mole just lips away from the hinge of his jaw. You kissed the skin, licked your lips of his taste before you kissed again, leaving a brush of wet skin behind.

Your arms grew restless in your own lap then, the heat of Dylan close, under your lips, the stillness of him as he let you kiss on him. His frame was warm and solid under you, his body rose and fell with his breaths, chest jostled you just so with the subtle movement. His breaths and his grip on your thigh were his only participation.

Your touch blindly found Dylan’s shoulder then, fingers sought the side of his neck, held him as your mouth found its next target, your favourite mole perfectly below his earlobe.

you found it with lips and then the bite of teeth, a deep inhale through your nose and you pressed closer, limbs heavy and melting where you held onto him.

Dylan seemed to come to life with the nip of your teeth against his skin, hands found your waist, a hot thrill pushed through your skin as he gripped. His head turned, met you with his nose bumping your ear, breath hot against your skin.

“What you up to baby?”

You shivered, his voice was a low husking whisper, and some silly part of you twisted with an ache of longing, you wanted him closer still just from the hum of his voice like you weren’t already skin to skin.

You huffed, frustrated as if Dylan had ruined your plans, sprung you in your scheme, as a traitorous blush swallowed your cheeks and nose and chin.

“Nothin” you replied, scratched your nails in a circle against his neck, went back to your focus, hoping that would keep him still a little longer.

You pulled back just far enough to bridge to the next mole on his neck, pressed three lingering kisses there before nuzzling in, unable to help but follow the smell of Dylan. It was warm and clean and boy washed with the alcohol he’d been drinking and a light sheen of sweat glowing on the back of his neck.

“Oh, you’re not trying something on with me?”

Dylan asked again, whole his body had gone warm and relaxed in your arms under the simple scratch of nails and presses of lips. quiet smirk on his lips.

Despite the way he’d melted into you, you could feel the curiosity in his hands on your frame, the way his fingers fidgeted, played with the thin fabric of your tee between his fingertips, twisting it up lazily till the cotton pulled tight against your skin.

You smirked at his words, unable to help yourself when a small bundle of giggles grew and burst from between your lips, shoulders shimmered with it as your hand gripped tighter to his neck. Your lips vibrated against the freckled skin you’d been kissing at as you smoothed your laughter.

“Don’t really have to try it do I Dyl, you’re kinda an easy drunk”

It's an easy tease, but you can’t help yourself, really because it was true and you both knew it.

“Oh” was the only breath of warning you got before his hold tightened on you, strong hands took a grip of your waist and he positioned you in his lap easily.

You let out a small whimper of defeat and pulled you away from your target once more.

“I’m an easy drunk?”

Dylan asked then, his hand moved to hold you under your chin, tilted your chin up to lock your eyes in his. His gaze was fire warm and his lids were low, lashes a dark smudged frame around dark brown.

“Big words for the girl who was copping a feel”

his voice was low, steady and deliberate and your lower stomach pulled with it, you kept his gaze until the room bent around you and your drink warmed body swayed, eyes pulled away.

“Was not copping a feel” You refuted and found yourself a nice place to rest your head, the warmth of Dylan’s shoulder under your cheek.

“Big talk, girl, big talk” Dylan’s laughter shook his chest and rocked you with it, one of his hands found your hair and his fingers skimmed the strands.

You pulled back with a sigh and shake your head, the motion heavy and you let out a fumbled laugh at the way your vision blurred.

“I wasn’t putting the moves on you Dyl”

You paused to try to find the right words that didn’t show your hand.

“I just, um decided that- well I was looking at you like your face and stuff” your hand waved vaguely in front of yourself as your tequila sweetened mind stumbled around your words.

“I decided I wanted to count all your moles with my lips, because we don’t know like the official count, I guess in case we needed that, like, information”

You trailed off and reached quickly to pick up Dylan’s cup, sipping at the last of the mostly melted icy drink.

You were only maybe half hiding behind the glass to hide the dark red of your cheeks, the realisation that what you said out loud was maybe a bit more embarrassing than just agreeing that you wanted to get handsy with him.

The sound of your own heart pounded full in your ears and you exhaled, felt your chest rise and fall with the movement. The room was filled only by the sound of Frank Ocean's voice rolling around you both, sweet, steady and low.

A bead of water dove from the base of the stemware, the condensation dripped onto the fabric of your tee just to the left of your breast, wet the fabric through as Dylan’s hand met yours to ease the glass out of your grip.

You shivered with it, the drop of cold water, the touch, the tequila at the bottom of the drink that burned a hot line down the centre of you.

“That’s mine” Dylan breathed, placed his lips on the glass where yours had been, took the very last few drops on his lips before he set it to the side with his eyes locked on yours, held in them a dark intention.

It was a smouldering gaze that drew the lines of you, the shape he knew so well under the tee and small sleep shorts you wore.

You suppressed a shiver, licked your lips and drew a small breath. The space between was hot, a wire line coiled between you that had you pressing your hips down subconsciously, your thighs widened and you felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric of your shirt.

The tequila already had you spinning, skin hot, but it held nothing to the proximity of Dylan.

His hands found yours once more, thumbs and fingers circled your wrists and picked them up to place your palms flat against his chest. His fingers drew up the outside of your arms, thumb pressed in and smoothed over the taut muscles of your forearms.

The heat of his skin was thick even through the fabric of his t-shirt and your fingers pressed in, hungry for more of him, starving with the weight of Dylan’s eyes on you.

The brown of his eyes fell to your mouth then, lingered, but never pressed closer to follow through.

His silence and stillness were so unlike him, Dylan was all hands first followed by mouth lips and teeth and you ached for the familiar grip that usually accompanied that gaze, the pull of you into him over and over.

His hunger for you had never been so quiet.

You wanted to know what he thought, wanted his reaction, wanted him to follow through in the promises his eyes were making.

You pressed closer, a drag of your hips down, Dylan’s sweats bunched with the movement under your thighs, pulled your lower back in, arse pushing back.

The man underneath you didn't respond in like, didn’t find the cradle of your hips with his own, no pressure to the hottest part of you.

“Dylan”

“Yes baby” he answered unhurried, words diligent from his tongue.

You watched his face, calm and expressionless as he regarded you, a glow of softness under his eyes and a wash of deep red in the hollows below his cheek bones that held you in his want.

“Dylan?” you repeat, a whisper this time, a question, the only word you could find in your mouth.

“Yes baby?” he whispered back, voice earnest.

He swallowed and you watched, he wet his lips and let his eyes undress you once more in a slow pour of his brown eyes.

He shrugged, hands finally moving to take you in them once more, found your thighs and followed them up to the hinge of your hips, kept going until he pushed up under the fabric of your t-shirt to place his hands against soft skin.

“You want to count, then count baby”

The gentle command made sweat bead at the low of your back, lids felt heavy with it, and you felt as the pulses in your wrist thundered.

He smirked then, easy and warm and your body tightened, your fingers wound up in his shirt and you leaned in just so, eyes watched the easy rise and fall of Dylan’s chest, his slow breaths as he watched you, leant back and waiting.

“Don’t get shy on me now, got a lot of ground to cover haven’t you?”

Dylan muttered when you didn’t react, his thumb drew lazy circles on your skin and licked his lips.

You sighed, and really, Dylan didn’t ever really need to ask, to invite you to his body because you always wanted, and he knew that.

But something about him lying in wait for your touch, so casual in his command, the way he watched you with a lazy intimacy made the low of your gut twist with a kick of a thrill; something low and dirty that thrummed a heartbeat between your legs.

Your knees drew in from where they were tucked on either side of Dylan’s wide frame, you tightened around nothing with the movement, only a tease of Dylan's fingers at your hips. Heat bloomed through your core as you willed his touch to push closer.

“Guess so” you agreed.

Dylan smelt ever so faintly like the cigarette he suck a few hours ago and you want to be wrapped up in it, woven to him like the lingering scent.

Your lips found the corner of his jaw, the predominant mole you know well and you mouthed at it. The man's large fingers cripped at your body with the contact, and you placed small kisses to cover it and the smatter of smaller freckles that marked the skin like a spin out of stars framing its moon.

Your arms twined around Dylan’s neck, leveraged yourself to tilt down into the seat of his lap, closer until your chest was pressed to the muscle of his, your breasts tight to his body. A deep breath shifted his chest against you, a brush over your pebbled nipples that made your lips part.

“One”

You whispered under your breath, exhaled over the line of Dylan’s neck as you felt the rock of his hips underneath you finally, a press of growing hardness to the centre of you, hot even through the layers of fabric that pulled with each lazy grind.

“One”

Dylan muttered back to you, and between heavy breaths, his hand found you, the low of your stomach, skimmed down with a feather touch to trace the seam of your shorts.

The touch was barely there and your back arched to take more of it, to feel the pressure that was anchoring your body pressed to where you wanted it.

“Ah” Dylan breathed and his other hand found the back of your neck then, slid up into your hair and gripped, drew your face to the side of his throat.

“Count” He mumbled, his finger still tracing the seamed line of your soft shorts, just a breath away from what you wanted. needed. You shivered, ached, and your head spun with it.

“Two” you whispered into his skin, the single word a beg, teeth grazed the mole, turning the surrounding skin red.

Dylan nodded and his single finger became two pressed against you. He slid his hand down so that his palm was in line with the heartbeat of your pussy at its peak, fingertips laying at the spot where your panties had started to dampen with your want.

You nodded, understanding his game and clenched your thighs to keep still, to be good.

“There we go, my clever baby”

Dylan praised, a smile in his words and you flushed, would have rolled your eyes if it wasn’t for the tequila that had washed away your usual initial resistance that came with Dylan’s blatant praising of you, of just how much you liked it.

“Just need to count as many as you want”

Dylan whispered to you like a secret, the love in his words made your next breath catch, stutter.

He pressed the pad of his fingers up just enough that the pressure, the promise of it made you gasp into his shoulder, as your body throbbed with it. Your fingers twisted in the waist of his sweats.

“Count”

Dylan encouraged you again and you nodded, eyes closed as your lifted your heavy head to find the sun mark closest to his lips, pressed a kiss over it.

“Three”

#dylan o'brien prompts #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien fanfiction #dylan obrien x you #dylan o'brien x you #dylan o'brien oneshot #Theinternetisfulloftrash #feeback would me so happy #low key very scared to post this ahahahah #hope its not too awful #still getting back into writing #<3 #also its late and I was hungover writing half of this so? be kind about mistakes?#dylan o'brien x reader #my writing #dylandrhodes

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silversatoru · 3 years

Note

step-dad nanami + brat taming 😼?

dark content event!!!

yes yes yes yes yes yes yesyyesysyesy mmm so good mm very tasty idea ily and i got very carried away

nanami + brat taming

tw: nsfw 18+, f!reader, psuedocest (nanami is your step-dad), brat-taming, noncon/dubcon, impact play, power imbalance, mild size kink?, manhandling, fingering, nanami said fuck jujutsu and is a very rich business man au

wc: 1.7k

you knew your mother’s new fiancé was a moderately successful business man, but you certainly weren’t expecting to pull up to a security gate on the day that you moved in with him. a large house constructed with dark-colored bricks loomed over your mom’s dented toyota prius, and you wondered what the hell one lonely man needed all this space for.

the white-haired butler that opened the front door and offered to carry some of your bags seemed nice enough, but you couldn’t help but scoff at the entire situation. walking onto the pristine and shiny floors in your scuffed up sneakers made you wonder just how your mom had managed to gold-dig her way into this one. either she was terribly convincing, or this guy was horribly desperate — either way you weren’t opposed to reaping the benefits. a butler, a giant in-ground pool, a bedroom that was three times the size of your old one?

yeah, you’d settle in real quick.

and you did just that, taking whatever you wanted and not feeling a shred of guilt for it. this guy, nanami kento, had more than enough money to go around, so why shouldn’t you indulge yourself? why shouldn’t you throw unsolicited pool parties while they’re at work? invite boys over to spend time in your king sized bed? your mom forced you out of your hometown to move in with this rich asshole, might as well make the most of it.

and things were going pretty fucking smoothly if you do say so yourself, or at least they were until nanami caught you sneaking a boy through your window one night.

you thought your were so smart, so slick with the way that you used his house as your personal playground behind his back. but why would he own such an esteemed property and not have security cameras? you weren’t smart at all, in fact you were incredibly, incredibly stupid.

and you’ve been getting on nanami’s nerves for a while, sashaying around the house in tiny outfits surrounded by a horde of immature boys. he’d watch you through the security footage while he worked — blood boiling at the way you flaunted his home as if it were your own.

those boys were never going to be enough for you; you’d walk all over them with your inflated ego and terrible attitude. you needed a man, someone grown, who could put your back in your place — you needed nanami — and fuck, he’d wanted you since the day you walked through his front door. he’d been patient, very patient, but this was enough to snap the thin wire that was holding him back.

he didn’t hesitate to kick the boy right back out the window he climbed through, threatening to call the cops if he didn’t leave his fucking property right now. and then a firm hand was wrapped around your wrist, dragging you up the stairs and into his bedroom.

he gave your arm a harsh tug, tossing your body towards his large neatly made bed. the edge of the raised mattress whacked you in the gut, your face falling forward and mashing into the silky comforter.

“what the fu-,” you snapped your head back to look at him, but were immediately met with a rolled up black sock being shoved into the back of your mouth.

you coughed and whined through the fabric as he grasped both your wrists in his one large hand, his other weaving the leather belt that was previously looped through his trousers around your wrists. he had zero patience for you right now, and he was making that evidently clear.

“i’ve tried to stay patient with you, but you’ve forced my hand this time,” he looked at you with dark eyes, one of his hands undoing the zipper at the back of your skirt.

you tried to kick with your legs, tried to cuss him out through the sock, but it was entirely ineffective, his strong hands holding you down and the cotton preventing a single coherent word from leaving your lips. your skirt was gliding to your feet now, your bare ass exposed and looking nanami right in the eyes.

“sneaking in another boy? how many times should i spank you for that? five? ten? i think ten would be suitable in this situation,” he used one hand to keep you pinned to the mattress, and the other to caress the smooth skin of your upper thigh, “what do you think?”

obviously you tried to reason with him, tell him that you didn’t deserve any spanks, that you weren’t a child, that this whole thing was fucking weird — but none of that made it out of your mouth, not through the soggy sock that was still in your way.

“i’m glad you agree, ten it is,” he gave you a thoughtful look, raising up his hand in preparation to strike you for the first time.

“one”.

his hand swung down with incredible force, a piercing smacking sound echoing through the room as you squealed and kicked under his touch. it felt like a thousand pins piercing through your skin, a blazing fire that burned through his fingers and straight through to your brain.

“two”.

the second smack was brought down with even more strength, your whole body lurching in response to the impact. you still kicked, still fought, still screamed through gag for him to fuck off, but a small part of you was already anticipating number three.

“three”.

the third strike to your backside flipped a switch in your brain, your legs falling limp and your screams replaced with pitiful whimpers and whines. his hand on your skin was starting to hurt so good, bits of the sock becoming trapped in your clenched teeth.

four, five, and six came quickly after, only a few seconds of rest between each of them — and nanami knew that he’d won when your feet began to push up onto your tip-toes, your ass wiggling closer to him as you waited for more.

“you count the next ones,” he reached forward and plucked the disgusting sock out of your mouth, tossing it to the floor and caressing your cheek.

seven came down hard, goosebumps lining your arms as you yelped; your tied up hands grasping at air. a shameful “seven”, rolled from your tongue a few moments later, your shaky voice flooding nanami’s ears.

“good girl,” he cooed, “three more”.

the next three stung the worst, nanami hissing at how badly it hurt his own hand — but your were a lightheaded, dizzy mess; practically drooling on his sheets by the time he was done. you’d done exactly what he asked, taken all ten and even counted out the last four — you were so good for him, and it was so easy.

he helped you roll over onto your back and then slipped his hand under the waistband of your panties, pulling and letting them fall down to your ankles. you’d taken the punishment pretty well, so it was only fair that you were rewarded now.

he sat down on the edge of the bed next to you, one of his hands pressing down onto your puffy clit. you knew how inappropriate this was all becoming, but your head was much too hazy to care.

he dipped two of his fingers low, slipping them into your slimy cunt and gently pushing them up inside you. his fingers were long, a sharp whimper flying through your teeth as he curled his fingers against your walls.

what the hell would happen if your mom got home right now? if she saw her soon-to-be husband fist-deep in her daughter?

those were the things you should have been thinking, but they didn’t cross your mind once. how could you care about the what if’s when nanami was stuffing you full with his thick fingers on one hand, and expertly massaging your clit with the other.

no one your age had this experience, and none of the boys you’d messed with had ever made you feel this good with such little effort. nanami was opening your eyes to his expert hands, and you began to wonder how many sorry brats had ended up in this exact spot before. maybe this is what he did for fun — romancing middle-aged women just to prey on their college-aged daughters until they inevitably get caught one day — and then the cycle continues.

but right now, on the edge of losing yourself around his fingers, you didn’t care if you were the hundredth step-daughter he’d done this to — it was worth it.

your walls clamped around his fingers as he thrusted them deeper, his other thumb rubbing hard and consistent circles over your sensitive nub. it was impossible to hold out any longer, the ball in your stomach flying undone as you rolled your hips into his hand and creamed all over his fingers. the room was filled with the prettiest mewls and whines, your body shaking and lurching as he kept feeling you even after your orgasm was fading.

only once you accidentally kicked him from the intensity of the overstimulation did he unsheath his fingers from your cunt, his skin glistening with your fluids. he shoved them into your mouth, your eyes widening as he offered a simple: “suck”.

but you did what you were told, you’d quickly learned that disobeying him would only lead to something worse. he smirked for the first time after he plucked them from your mouth, your lips making a satisfying popping sound.

“never gonna invite those boys over again, right?” he taunted you, an obvious bulge sitting in his dress pants.

you quickly shook your head no.

but if breaking the rules meant this would happen again?

you’d be breaking them every goddamn day.

#dark content mini event #tw stepcest #tw noncon/dubcon #tw impact play #tw dark content #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x fem!reader #daddy nanami #silver.nsfw

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plasticferal · 3 years

Text

chasing highs | rafe cameron.

summary: you’re his lover, and he’s your brother’s best friend. both the secrecy and his addiction cause tension in your hidden relationship.

authors note: 2.4k words. explicit language, mentions substance abuse, angst and weaponry.

soundtrack: sober, childish gambino.

you struggle to support the grocery bags that are filled to the brim, and tearing at the seams. you use your elbow to pry the door open with a struggle and quickly dump the brown bags on the counter. you groan at the sight, the house is in disarray. empty glasses, crushed cans and powder residue scatter across the wooden table. the smell of dry grass that’s been tracked along the floors and a contrasting clean linen fills the small space.

“at least he did the washing,” you run the back of your hand across your forehead, looking around with a fatigued sigh. you begin unpacking everything into cupboards. your arrangement is disturbed by a banging at the door that rattles the wall, it seems desperate. you turn around to pull the handle, revealing rafe. you roll your eyes, murmuring an acknowledgement before leaving the door open for him to let himself in. “country club,”

he steps inside, looking around and acting neurotic. “only barry calls me that,” he counters. “well barry’s not here, so,” you fade off the last part of your sentence, not entirely being interested in conversation. you strain your toes to place a cereal box on the top shelf. rafe silently stands behind you, his chest pressed to your shoulder as he takes it from your hand to put it away, being able to reach with ease. you feel his warm hand crawl around the side of your hip. you grip the edge of the counter that’s underneath you, feeling his breath trickle down your neck.

“i missed you, you know?” he spoke softly. he smelt like faded cologne and dirt, an overall musky scent. it was oddly comforting.

you shrug him off and turn back to pull vegetables from the bags, excusing his body to reach the fridge. he follows your every action.

“did i do something?” he looks confused by your dismissive nature, and sudden sharp tone.

“wanna tell me what you’re here for?” you place the packaged food in the cold drawers of the fridge, slamming them closed a little more dramatically than intended. you know his answer, you just need to reassure yourself.

“i just, i just need a little bit-” he speaks apprehensively. you quickly turn around to look at him, your eyes are heavy and filled with dejection. you lick your lips and bob your head with thought, letting out a bitter chuckle.

“he’s all out,” you look up at him, “house is empty.” and once again, you go back to the groceries. rafe stands still for a moment, rubbing his knuckles. you can hear the friction of his skin.

“i know he’s got something in here, y/n,” he looks around, and you can hear the shake in his vowels. his heavy steps take over the creaking floor, a cabinet slamming, making you jump slightly.

“did you not hear me, or are you not listening? there’s nothing in here,” you follow the noise to catch the sight of rafe rummaging through any door that opens. you to reach his shoulder to pull him away from a brown t.v unit, knowing he won’t give up until he’s been physically stopped. the moment you reach forward he pushes your hand away, grunting and bypassing you.

“are you fucking serious?” shock seeping through. he freezes, hands digging through his hair as he bounces back and forth between his feet. he releases air from his nose in frustration, taking a step closer to you.

“i’m sorry, i, i just need you to help me out,” he lends a hand forward in hopes of taking you into his arms, but you step back.

“help you feed the drug addiction that my brother started?”

“god, not right now,” he shakes his head, shutting his eyes tight and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“help you come to realisation that you have a problem?” you continue, knowing that it’s only getting to under his skin more.

“i don’t have a fucking problem!” he screams. not a yell. a scream with chest, an angry reaction. a reaction you could handle from your brother, arguments often occurring in the house. but not from rafe. not from the man you go out of your way to protect and love.

“get out.” your voice is stern and your eyes are stinging. his tension quickly diminishes.

“i didn’t mean- i didn’t mean to yell, alright?” he bites his words back, fighting that belligerent tone that previously lashed out.

“i’m not repeating myself,” you shake your head, looking to the door.

“sweetheart, i’m sorry. i’m sorry, okay? i’m just on edge,” he rambles on his justification but it only seems to dig himself a deeper hole.

“yeah, that’s the only reason you’re here,” you mumble to yourself, looking at your hands while you squeeze the tips of your fingers. a distraction.

“what’s wrong with you today? talk to me,” he progresses a step closer, careful not to approach too fast, knowing you’d turn away.

“rafe, i know you have a lot going on but god, i don’t want you to pretend to want me if you care more about chasing a high,” you finally spill how you feel, wanting to take it all back the second you do, not because you didn’t mean it, because you truly didn’t want the confrontation. you look up to see his face drop, mouth open a jar and eye’s grave.

“are you kidding me? you’re the only fucking person on this earth i care about,” he speaks with a bounce of a laugh, more out of shock and disbelief that he has to say it aloud.

“i know i have a problem, alright?” he hold his palms together and digs his fingers into his chest, the fixed intensity on his face. he licks his lips, rotating back and forth between his heels before pausing to take a deep breath. he tests the waters in stepping closer to you, and this time you let him. you allow him into your space, admittedly craving his touch. his hand cups around your upper arm, sliding down your skin before his index finger slips around the belt loop of your jeans. he pulls your lower half forward until you’re touching bodies, and his forehead rests against the crown of your head.

“i’m gonna try harder, i promise,” his voice is soft, and assertive. it’s difficult to feel indifferently about him. you want a reason to be mad, a reason to get him out of the house before you run into more trouble, but you know he’s being genuine. in that moment, there were no doubts or fears.

“okay,” your voice faint, letting yourself fully sink into his touch. you reach up to drape your hands over his shoulders, fingers playing with the dirty blond hair that falls messily past his ears.

“i love you, you know that right?” he speaks, mouth now hovering over your lips. you laugh sweetly, pecking the side of his face. “yeah, i do actually,” your arrogant response prompts a poke from him into your side and you push his bicep with a giggle.

“shit, i think i fell in love with you the first day we met,” he pulls your body back to him, swaying you both back and forth. he moves when the gears in his head are ticking, can never keep still. so you allow your body to dance around with him while he ponders.

“you’re lying” you roll your eyes, assuming he was over compensating from the heat you put on him a few minutes prior. “no, i’m not,” he breathes out a smile.

“do you remember that day?” you dip your eyebrow at him.

“of course i do,”

six months earlier.

you slip into that grey shirt that hangs barely past your thighs, causing the shorts underneath to disappear. the heat within the metal surrounded home was intensified by the midday sun, making you irritated and desperate for a cold drink. you grab a can of soda from a cooler, not being your preferred means of refreshment, but better than warm tap water.

as you wipe the corner of your mouth slightly, you simmer in the feeling of the icy feeling in your palm. your moment of serenity is quickly disturbed by the front door being pushed open harshly, making you freeze in your tracks. your first thought was that it would be barry, but upon realising it was a complete stranger, your next thought was to grab that gun barry keeps under the couch cushion.

“barry, i need-” the tall mystery man speaks with heavy breaths, not being aware of your presence.

“who the hell are you?” he sounds mad to be confused, and you’re almost amused by it. given you weren’t afraid of strangers coming and going from the place, it not being an unusual occurrence, typically they have courtesy to knock.

“who are you?” you respond, standing your ground comfortably. the tall male washes his gazes over your body slowly, but snaps out of it swiftly.

“ah, rafe, rafe cameron,” he speaks quick, almost as if he has something more important to say other than his name. you let it sink in for a while, being more than thrilled to waste the home invaders time as you sip your drink. the name sounded familiar, and judging from his attire, you put the pieces together.

“oh! country club, yeah i’ve heard a lot about you,” you chuckle to yourself, knowing barry and him have a love-hate relationship.

“what have you heard?” he probes, face now taut.

“that you have money. no wonder you hang around here so often,” you return that judgemental glance he pulled on you, noting the polo shirt, then back up to his face. his hair fell over it, and his features appeared almost too perfect. it was unnerving. “and yet i’ve never seen you here?” rafe responds, still lost at the interaction he’s enduring.

“you’re way better looking than i thought you’d be,” you try to mutter, but he’s engrossed in your exchange.

“pardon?” he nods his head forward. you smile densely, placing your drink down on the coffee table behind you then waving your hand toward the couch.

“i said take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” completely dismissing his question.

you’re seated on the sinking lounge, while he opts for the single armchair beside it. you’re able to see each other this way. he taps is fingers impatiently against the wooden armrests.

“are you like his girlfriend or something?” he strings together with scepticism. you bite your cheek with a chuckle.

“sister,” you assure. he nods slowly, giving a look that says, ‘my bad’ for getting that wrong.

“good to know,” the words were under his breath but you heard. and you’re sure he wanted you to.

“so did barry say he left something for me, or?” rafe rubs his thighs, shifting in his seat. it slipped your mind, his initial agenda for being there, but you quickly come back to earth. you huff, standing up silently to retrieve the bag that barry did in fact inform you was going to get picked up that day. you walk into the bedroom that has a curtain as a replacement for a door, reluctantly taking it into your hands.

re-entering the room, you throw it onto the table, falling back into your seat. rafe leaps toward it like it was his lifeline. you rolled your eyes, pulling your knees up to your body, hugging them.

“that shit’s gonna ruin your life,” you voice.

“yeah well,” he sniffs, tucking the white packet into his pocket.

“you can thank your brother when that happens,” he gives a hopeless response, with attitude. he stands from his seat, and you follow, making your way back over to the front door.

you wanted to respond, but you’d be getting yourself involved in a sensitive topic. rafe halts between the door frame, his tall figure blocking most of the natural sunlight. you stand in front of him, one hand on the handle prepared to close it behind him, and this time lock it. you’re gazing up at him, wondering why he’s blankly staring at you.

“what?” you question, toying with the handle, apprehensive of what he’ll respond with.

“you’re nothing like him, are you?” his voice is gentle, almost like he’s only speaking loud enough for himself to hear it. your eyes are locked and it’s becoming an overwhelming feeling. you break eye contact, looking past him. there’s a sense of sadness that takes over. having always been a juxtaposition to your sibling, but often being associated, mean’t that someone seeing past the stereotype was a pleasant change. you shake your head, indicating a clear no. he nods, understanding. the silence spoke volumes.

“good. you’re too pretty for that shit,” and with that, his back was turned and he was slipping a black helmet on, momentarily returning to a stranger.

present day.

"and i still believe that,” he brushes a loose strand of hair from your eye. “so pretty,”

you’re fascinated by him. by the way you can tell that stash he was losing himself over has left his thoughts, and for a moment you remember the connection you two have. how powerful it was when he was with you, entrenched in your company.

“i know you’re trying, rafe,” you whisper, and his grip tightens. how much you believed your own words was uncertain, but the hope seemed stronger than any doubt.

“you’re the only high i wanna chase,” he uses his thumb to lift your face to him before he trails his touch along your bottom lip, gently prying your mouth open. he leans down and attaches your lips, yourself pushing toward him to deepen the kiss. you feel him smile against your mouth before you cup his jaw lightly to seperate.

“if barry comes home and you’re all over me, he’s gonna put a bullet in your head,” you look into his eyes. they’re glistening and bright, a drastic difference to how dark they were when he first arrived.

“i’ll take my chances,” before wrapping his warm hand around the curve of your neck, pulling you into another kiss, lasting for what felt an eternity.

the body heat between you intensifies. rafe rolling his hips against you every now and then, urging a response from you, and though you’re aware of the risk of that front door flying open, you dig your nails into his shoulder blades. earning a desperate groan from rafe, you’re utterly intoxicated by his touch, becoming lost and unbothered by any risk or fear.

for a brief moment you understand what he feels when that substance runs through his veins and why he chases it. in your own way, you understand that high.

#who:#rafe cameron #drew starkey #tags:#obx #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #outer banks imagine #barry outer banks

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besotted-eros · 3 years

Text

Obsessed!Eren Headcanons+

Genre: SFW Headcanons + NSFW scene under cut

Summary: Eren being helplessly in love with you, and the night where he could show you just how bad.

Content: Bit of toxic jealousy, obsessive thoughts, losing virginity, romance,established relationship,oral (female receiving), unprotected sex

AN: Take some fluff, take some angst, take some smut and don't say I don't feed you

Eren loves so deeply, so passionately, so possessively. From the moment his heart decides on you, you are twisted in him. Yours is the first name on his lips in the morning, whether he wakes up beside you, or in a barracks beside Armin. Or in a jail cell alone. He thinks of you obsessively, weaving you into everything he does.

He used to follow you, sorting his schedule by yours. You would find him by your door, by the table you liked to read at, waiting for you expectantly.

It's almost scary sometimes. He makes your breath falter with his intensity, his need for you. You know he means it that he'll go mad if he ever loses you.

He keeps a note you wrote him in the inner pocket of his jacket. It doesn't say much, a quick entreatment to sleep and eat, your name signed with love. When he salutes his fist rests over it. He pledges to more than the scouts. It remains there long after his last salute.

He steals your hair ties, often reaching up to touch his hair when your absence gets too much. When his hair is down, falling below his shoulders like a chestnut curtain, he keeps it around his wrist. When he loses himself in the fog of memories that don't belong to him, he snaps it. It reminds him of the way you'd tap the back of his hand, pulling him back into the world of the living. You are his anchor.

He refuses to keep his hands off you in public, even if it gets him in trouble. No amount of scolding from Levi will make him stop touching your waist as you pass by during training, or pulling you in for a kiss before zipping away. Your friends become use to it, the way Eren will pull you against him when you sit together, or move you into his lap. His hands will rest on your hips, rub your shoulders. But he loves holding your hand above all. It's the way the world knows you are tied. Bound.

There are only a few people allowed to touch you. Mikasa, Armin. Sasha on good days. One time Jean attempted to throw a casual arm around you as you spoke, and was quickly thrown to the ground. Yes, Eren and Jean fought. But this time was different. Eren spat in his face, baring his teeth as he delivering a bone crunching punch. "Don't. Fucking. Touch her." He growled, sounding more animal than man. He never apologised for that. You were careful to keep your space from other men too.

When you're apart he is hollow. Listless. He imagines what you're doing, if you're safe. If you're missing him. He pictures you in trouble without him, and it stirs him into action, to find you faster. To wrap you in his arms, the only place you'll ever truly be safe.

When you reunite, it brings him to tears. They quiver in the corners of his verdant eyes as he tenderly cradles you, large hands stroking through your hair. He buries his face in you so you won't see them. And he says your name. Over and over. Like a chant. Like a prayer. Like a thank you.

There is one time that those tears fall. It is when he takes you, when he gives himself to you.

The evening had been perfect, ignoring the upcoming trip to Marley that weighed heavily on all minds. You didn't want to think about that, instead focusing on the spiced wine that Levi had quietly pushed into your hands while Hange grinned from behind him. And the way Eren traced circles on your knee, his normal stoic face softened into a half smile.

You snuck away from your friends, leaving Connie and Sasha bellowing a war song while Mikasa tried to force Sasha's shirt back on. You had tapped his wrist, and soon you were out of the mess hall, holding onto each other as you stumbled into the moonlight. You kissed, soft and repeated, your lips unbearably supple under his. Eren wondered if the butterflies would ever fade as your head leaned against his shoulder. He never wanted them to. He wanted to love you like he was free falling from a wall, with his heart in his throat and life bursting from every pore.

Soon you found yourself at the door to the room you shared with Mikasa and Sasha. This is where you would usually part, with him kissing your forehead goodnight. He would quell his thoughts of you in the shower later, your name hot on his tongue as the cool water cascaded over his firm body.

But this time you pulled him in.

When he laid you on the bed, your soft hair splayed across the over the pillow like a sunburst, his heart stopped. He had seen this before. He had dreamt it. There was no god to Eren, no angels. But in that moment he knew he had found someone to worship.

But nothing could have prepared him for how it felt. Lips meeting like crashing waves, the soft gasps that left your throat as his hands found parts of you no one else would ever touch. He wanted to run his fingers across every inch, to discover you like a new world. Here, the dip of your hips. There they smooth into your legs, here into your ass where the flesh was soft and pliable under his fingers. His thumb brushed across your lips, and when you took into your mouth, tongue tracing the pad of it, he groaned.

He could have ruined you right then and there. But he held back.

Eren memorized you, the feel of your chest against his and the way you kissed his collarbone until it was a field of blooming bruises. Tomorrow he would wear his shirt unbuttoned, wearing your love like a medal. He returned the favour in tenfold, leaving blossoms of soft purple across your neck. They were rewards for every time you touched him. How good it felt. Eren had never felt this good. Soon your chest was littered with them, his mouth hot and desperate on your breasts. Here he seemed to say. I have touched you here, and here. I loved you there, and there.

You spoke his name into the night like a prayer. The want in it, the need of him. It twisted his stomach into a rosary as he held your face and kissed you like a blessing. He liked how your mouth formed him, called him forth into the world. He wanted more of that.

So he kissed his way down, teeth sneaking out every once in a while to nip at your supple skin. You found where you wanted him most, where you throbbed with want. You were so delicate under his fingers as he dipped them into you, walls fluttering as your toes curled. Your hands found his hair, encouraging him further as his tongue slid against your clit, making you buck.

He could do this to you. He could make you putty under his fingers. This strong, demanding woman who slayed those who threatened her, reduced to whimpering his name.

His. Eren was making you his. He was defiling you in the softest of ways, pressing your legs open, your slick slit parting for him. He dragged his tongue up, down, up again to circle your throbbing clit. When you looked down at him, his eyes were glazed green glass, your wetness making his lips shine. He pulled his fingers out, holding the soaked fingers towards you. Obediently you took them into your mouth, and he gasped against your warmth, sucking at your clit in response and making you throw your head back. Your throat exposed, vulnerable and ridden with angry bruises.

He couldn't handle it. His shaft was hard against the bed as he pressed into it, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough. And then you pulled up, tugging his long hair. You licked yourself off his lips, tasting how you coated his tongue. Your legs were still spread, exposed for him. Eren angled himself, his dripping head aligned with your wet entrance, while he kissed his love into you.

"Please," you asked, it was all Eren needed.

And then you were connected. His fingers found yours, and you held tightly to his hand as hips rocked against yours. Your eyes were closed, pinched tightly at the sensation of pleasure and pain radiating from the warmth between your legs. He was big. He was so big.

Eren whispered your name.

"Look at me. Look at me while we do this." He murmured, his nose tracing your cheek as he peppered soft kisses on your jaw.

You did, meeting his green gaze. His mouth opened, a kick of pleasure making his toes curl as he adored you. The way you stared up at him, a look he would never see you give another. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, breasts bouncing as his body picked up speed. He was desperate. He was aching. He had pictured you like this for so long, but his dreams held no candle to the way your walls gripped him.

"Never. Never let another man touch you." He panted, his heart soaring as you nodded, nails digging into his shoulder as you held on to him, feeling him rail into you. "Be mine. Be forever mine. Please y/n..." His voice broke as he picked you up from the bed, needing to feel even closer. Even tighter. Your legs wrapped around him in response as your moans hit a fervored pitch. He gripped your thighs, using them to bounce you up and down his veiny shaft, using you to milk him. Eren sat back, letting the moonlight bathe your back as your hair stuck to your skin, mingling with his.

"I love you." He said. It cut through your incoherent moans, your whimpers of satisfaction. You pulled back to rest your forehead against his, letting yourself stare at him. To be seen by him. He could have done anything to look at you forever, to live his world only through your eyes.

"I love you too, 'ren." You whispered, and it pushed him over the edge. He slammed you back into the bed, load whines ripping from his throat as his hips snapped against yours over and over. You. You. You. You invaded his every sense, his every particle. You were Eren's everything.

When he came, it was like a dam breaking. Flooding you, making you cream around him. You overflowed with him, and he was at once addicted to the sensation. You cried out with him, your moans mingling as his hot mouth overtook yours. His cheeks were wet. He shook as you kissed, collapsing against you. His body was hot and muscular, the scratches you left on his back steaming slightly.

You lay there for peaceful moments, pressing your face into the top of his head while he listened to your heartbeat. He would do anything to ensure that it would never stop. He was going to do anything to ensure it never stopped.

Even if that meant he wouldn't always be there to hear it.

860 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 3 years

Text

Rapacious - rə-ˈpā-shəs- excessively grasping or covetous, living on prey, ravenous

(A rapacious appetite only for you my doll)

Hello and welcome to my first formal collab with the lovely @lady-bakuhoe Our thirsty dms finally turned into a full blown collab where our writing melds into one. I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as we did writing it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

✧Triggers and Warnings ✧

Pro Hero Dynamight, aged up AU, adult themes, such as intense sexual interaction, yandere behavior, mind break (?), branding, and dub con. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable please do not read any further. Thank you.

The snow comes down heavily, beautifully as it sticks and clings to anything it can. Blanketing the outside world in an unsullied shimmer bringing a smile to your face as you watch the sun dip low over the horizon. The light painting the world in stunning reds and pinks as it filters in through your bay window that faces the street. A small shiver runs through your spine as you wait impatiently for your warm tea, convincing yourself that the chill has nothing to do with your outfit. An oversized Red Riot t-shirt, a pair of black dolphin shorts and black thigh high socks, it was comfortable and you felt cute. Even if it was just for yourself, besides what else would one wear to their solo Netflix binging? Surely not pants.

A rapid knock comes at the door. Harsh, precise as you jump out of your skin, nearly dropping your mug.

Lifting your cell phone to check the time, wondering who could be knocking at this hour, it was far too late for any visitors and it surely wasn't the post. The icy snow ensured that most people would be snuggled into their couches with a warm cup of tea, tucked away from the harsh weather. Much like you were trying to do, maybe if you ignored it the unsuspecting visitor would move on.

But another sharp knock echoes around your living room, urging your feet to move. You pad through your small townhouse, trying to get a glimpse through the window only for the unwanted guest to be standing just out of view. Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the thick oak door, debating on whether to open it or not as another knock sounded from the other side. Curiosity with a hint of fear compels your fingers as you click your door onto the chain latch. Opening it slightly, looking out between the crack in the door to see who it was.

“H-hi.” Your eyes caught sight of the man outside your house, pupils widening in surprise at the sight of him. Messy ash blond spikes on top of his head as his hair faded to a low buzz cut at the sides, “Dynamight?”

The man's scowl morphed into a smirk at your recognition, obviously proud that you knew who he was, his vermilion eyes glistening in the light gleaming from your house as you moved to take the door off the security latch, opening it fully so you could see him properly. His gaze immediately drank you in, glancing at the thigh high socks that hugged your thighs as he made his way up to the hem of your shirt, cherishing the exposed skin of your upper thighs until he noticed the shirt you were wearing. His nostrils flaring slightly at the sight of his best friend's face across your chest. It should be his.

“My car broke down.” He motioned to the car that now sat motionless at the end of your drive, fresh snow already falling and covering its windscreen, “Can I come inside?”

"Oh, um…" You're hesitant, technically you didn't know Dynamight but he was a pro hero. That meant he could be trusted right? Snow sticks to his blonde strands and shoulders. His hands and nose were a little red making it seem as if he had been in the cold a touch too long. Swallowing your fear you take a step back from the door, arm gesturing for him to come in. Silently elated he steps in as if he owns the place. What were the odds he would end up at your doorstep?

"Um, can I offer you some coffee? Coco? Tea?" Your voice sounds small, stupid. Nervousness prickles over your skin as he sinks into your couch.

"Tea is fine." His voice is silky and foreign in your warm home. He watches you with sharp eyes as you reach for a mug. Your short shorts ride up just a bit as your shirt gives him a tease of your back.

Meanwhile you're buzzing from head to toe, THE one and ONLY Dynamight, the man you'd been dreaming of since his debut, the only face and voice that you ever imagined when your hands ventured into your soaked panties, was here. In your home, sitting on your couch and oh Gods...Which blanket did you have out? Was it his that you sprayed with his line of cologne so you would feel less lonely in your apartment?

The kettle howls pulling you violently back to the task at hand. Should you ask him how he'd like his tea? You already know how he likes it, having read it in a magazine once committing it to memory in case you ever met him. But would that come off too strong? You settle on making it perfectly in hopes it would paint you in the light of a "great hostess." You grab onto the cup and turn to face the ill tempered hero head on.

He turns away in time, relaxed on your couch as you offer him his cup. He takes it from your hands, his cool fingers brushing against yours. He takes a sip, peering at you over the rim. His vermillion eyes cause your stomach to flip as you nervously twist the hem of your shirt. His eyes rake over you with a smirk before they land on your worrying hands and that damned Red Riot shirt. Suddenly you're hyper aware of your inappropriate outfit, tugging your shirt over your exposed skin.

His large palm settles on your thigh, starling you.

"The outfit isn't the problem. I just think you look much better in my shirt." He tugs at the hem, "Maybe you should take this one off."

“W-what?” You stammered, your body instinctively shrinking away from his touch.

“There’s just something about the way my face looks stretched against those tits.” He smirked, taking a sip of the warm mug before slipping it into your coffee table.

“What do you mean?” Confusion evident in your tone. What was he talking about? Your Dynamight merchandise? How would he have any idea about how much of a fan you were of him, just how many of his shirts sat in your closet right now.

“Don’t act all coy.” Bakugou continued, turning his body to face yours on the couch, a dark look in his vermillion eyes as his fingers danced higher up your exposed thigh, feeling a warmth begin to seep from his palm as his cool calloused fingertips dig into your skin, “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I assure you, Dynamight.” Bakugou groaned at the way his hero name sounded spilling from your lips, “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Every day you’re out there being a fuckin’ tease.” He growled, biting your lip as you felt his blunt fingernails digging into the plush of your thigh, “Prancing around in these short fuckin’ shorts and my shirts.”

Wait, had he seen you wearing his merch before? Had he seen you in his clothes? How? You were certain he’d never seen the multiple selfies you’d take of yourself to upload onto social media, always too scared to tag your favourite Hero. Instead proclaiming your love for him shamelessly on your socials, gushing about how he was the perfect hero. Still, even if he was lurking on your accounts, he couldn't possibly remember someone as lowly as you.

“You knew I was watching you, didn’t you?” He snarled, his other hand moving up to palm your breast through your shirt, the action catching you by surprise as you gasped, “You wanted me to see you acting like such a slut.”

“N-no, Dynamight. I wasn’t-” You stammer as you think back, trying to remember all of the times you thought you felt a weighted gaze on you. Only to look over your shoulder to find nothing before submerging yourself back into your mundane world.

"Wasn't what? You mean you weren't trying to show the whole neighborhood your ass when you bent over 'pulling weeds'?" His palm becomes uncomfortably hot as his voice dips lower, lips brushing your ear as you drown in his spiced caramel scent.

"Maybe you heard about your new neighbor Pro Hero Red Riot, wanted to show off for him? Or maybe you're just a slut who loves the attention?"

Your blood runs cold, icy despite his burning palm, you swallow thickly as he continues to recite your summer as if reading from a list.

"You know exactly what you're doing don'tchya? So many men have changed their jogging route to include your street, even if it is well out of their way. They slow their pace in front of your house when you're outside. Bent over, head lost in your garden and your skin tight shorts show your plump lips, your thick thighs and that supple, soft ass. Tits almost falling out from your crop tops as you must refuse to wear a bra. But you're such a good girl, reminding everyone who you belong to when you wear those shorts with my name across the ass."

He leans away from you to hold your gaze. A shiver runs up your spine, you had never posted those shorts. The fan made ones that say "Bakugou's" across the ass, fuck how did he-?

He reads the question across your face, a nasty smirk dances on his cruel lips as he takes delight in the fear that blows your pupils wide.

"I've been watching you Princess." You feel your heart beating out of your chest at the realisation, “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

You didn’t.

“That’s why you put on such a show for me every time, isn’t it?”

You hadn’t noticed your favourite Pro-Hero had been watching you all this time. You were beyond excited when Red Riot had moved into the neighbourhood, wishing you’d catch a glimpse of him each time you left your house. Getting up early some mornings just to see the red head stretching for his morning run, his muscles taut across his thick frame. But not once had Bakugou been anywhere in sight. You were sure you'd remember the ash blonde standing next to your second favorite hero.

“You do it on purpose.” Bakugou growled, his hand moving to your exposed waist, stroking against your naked skin as his fingers dipped underneath your top, “It turns you on doesn’t it? Everyone looking at your slutty little body.”

“No, please. It doesn’t- I’m not.” You tried to move away from him, but he already had your body trapped between the arm of the couch and his large, muscular frame.

“All those eyes on you and you don’t give a fuck.” Bakugou’s large palm grasps your round breast, groaning when he feels your nipple pebbled underneath his touch, “You want everyone to see you.”

Before you have a moment to object, to tell him how wrong he is, his lips are already against yours in a sultry kiss. Your mind hazy as he immediately prods your lips with his tongue, desperate for entrance as he invades your mouth. You couldn’t believe what was happening, The Dynamight was inside your house. Your entire body burning as his heat engulfed you, this was something you’d dreamed about more than you could recollect. The amount of nights you’d touched yourself to the thought of his hands dancing across your body. Trying to imagine how it would feel to be completely ravaged by him, but now that he was here in the flesh you were nervous. The reality of the situation slowly consumes your body as your heart beats with more intensity.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Bakugou rasps huskily as he tugs your shirt up and over your breasts, his vermilion eyes taking in the sight of your exposed chest to his prying eyes, “Even better than I imagined.”

You nervously tried to move your arms to your chest, trying to hide your body from his burning gaze, but his hand was quick to grab your wrist, tugging your arm away with a glare, “Don’t.”

You averted your eyes from his own, biting your bottom lip as he lowered his face to your chest. His tongue tentatively coming out to lap around your darkened areola, closing his lips around your hardened nipple as he began to suck on the tender skin. Your head falling onto the back of the couch as you let out a low whine, one of your hands coming up to brush through his buzzed undercut, stroking against the spiky hair as you arched your back into his touch.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this, sweetheart.” He murmured around your nipple, his warm breath fanning against your skin as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. An airy gasp leaving your parted lips at the sensation as you involuntarily arched your back into his touch, “Every fuckin’ time I saw you-”

Wait? Every time he saw you? How often did he seek out your address? How many times did his crimson eyes burn into your skin without your noticing?

Your eyes dart to the large bay window, holding eye contact with yourself as you stare at your reflection. A pitiful and clear sight as the blonde's hands groped your exposed tits. If the pro hero was brazen enough to peer through your unobstructed window, just how many other eyes fall onto you?

“When I saw you in my signed debut Dynamight shirt, I knew I had to have you.” His lips curving into a grin against your skin as his tongue lapped at your hardened nipple, rolling the other one between his thumb and forefinger, “There’s just something about the sight of you in my clothes.”

At the mention of your rare signed shirt your body goes rigid, numb. If he had seen you in the shirt you mostly kept tucked away for safekeeping, he had seen everything hadn't he?

“Don’t go all shy on me now, Princess.” He released your nipple with a pop, palming your breast with a grin as he pressed his lips against your own, “Weren’t shy when you were putting on a show for everyone, were you?”

Your bottom lip trembled at the suggestion, worrying it between your teeth as you felt Bakugou lean forward to grab your wrist in a large hand, the scent of his quirk filling the air as you felt the heat radiating from his palm. Vermilion eyes glancing down at your half-lidded ones, a glazed expression over your features as you focused on his touch.

“Look at what you fuckin’ do to me, sweetheart.” Bakugou tightened his grip on your wrist, moving your hand towards his crotch. His cock bulging against his pants, desperate to be released as he lay your palm against him. Gasping at the sensation as your palm made contact with the fabric, feeling just how hard he was for you underneath the denim.

All the while his thoughts are consumed by you, your smell, the look of surprise on your face. The feel of your skin against his and the heat of your breath tickling his ear when he pins you to the couch.

All of the things he'd been imagining for the last few months. Your small hand against his large, twitching cock. Even through the fabric your warmth is hypnotizing, drawing him in and captivating him with every inch of you.

Bakugou's problem is that he can be greedy, hungry for more. Wanting nothing but the best and much like his sun sign, once he had his eyes set on something nothing could overcome his stubborn ambition. Not even the small look of fear in your eyes but even he can see that it is fading, melding into desire. He watches your fingers flutter, teasingly trying to figure out just how big and girthy he really was. Your heart races as you stare into his clouded vermillion eyes. Blood running hot as your mouth salivates, imagining the same thing he is.

How does it taste?

You let out a soft whine, fingers prodding at the head earning you a borderline feral growl.

"Quit being a fucking tease and take it out, Princess." He groans, you freeze at his bold request.

"B..but…" He crowds you as your protests die in your throat. His lips brushing against your ear as he breathes in your sweet shampoo.

"But what Princess? Scared I'll fuck you stupid?" He nips at the shell of your ear, chuckling darkly when you shiver, "Or are you scared you'll get addicted to how I taste?"

"T-taste?"

"Aw look at you acting all fuckin shy?" He squeezes your thighs with a deadly grip, fingers creeping between them, "You weren't so shy last week sitting in this spot were you?"

You freeze as you think back to last week, knowing exactly what you were doing, eyes glancing over his broad shoulder to see the snow coming down in sheets through the large bay windows. You thought you were high enough and far enough away from the road, there, there was no way he saw right?

His fingers press against your clothed sex, rubbing rough circles unable to keep the deadly smirk off of his lips.

"Your phone in one hand and your other right here. Or maybe," He moves the dark fabric to the side, sliding his fingers to your clit, "It was here."

You bite back your moans as the rough pad of his fingers circle your clit, just barely grazing over it in an agonizing purposeful fashion.

"What were you watching again? Amateur porn right? POV with the guy's face hidden but he was in a knock off Dynamight suit wasn't he?" He pulls back to watch your face, twisting with pleasure and horror, body arching towards his touch as your head swims. Cunt clenching as he dips closer to your core for slick.

"And what did that slutty mouth say?" His smile is cocky, holding eye contact. Silence sits between the two of you as your eyes flutter. He pulls his hand away from your throbbing clit, squeezing against your pulse point.

"I asked a question, Kitten. Now answer it." His voice is dark.

"Dy-Dynamight." You gasp out, he ruts his hips against your leg.

"Again." His free hand slips back between your folds, fingers setting a rapid pace that already has you teetering on the edge already.

"Dynamight!"

"Again. Say my name again." His fingers work you over as the coil unexpectedly snaps in your stomach.

"Katuskiiii." You gasp and whine, shamefully cumming all over his thick digits. He groans, shoving his fingers into your cunt to feel you grip onto him, he cannot wait to feel that pretty pussy molding to his aching cock.

But he would wait, for now.

"Good girl." He praises, pulling his fingers from your core, licking up them. Savoring your essence as you watch his eyes flutter paying you a high compliment. In quick motions he throws a pillow onto the solid hardwood floor, pulling the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulls you onto the plush cushion. His free hand undoing his belt with deft fingers before he pulls his pants and boxers down. His cock springs free, the head leaking precum as you lick your lips.

"You're gonna keep being a good girl for me right, Princess?" He coos, dragging his cock across your lips, smearing his sweet and salty pre from cheek to cheek.

"Fuck do you know how long I've been dreaming of your lips around my cock?" He groans, pulling your hair back to force eye contact.

"How, how long?" Your question prompts that nasty smile as his crimson eyes gleam with cruelty and lust.

"Months."

And with that he pulls your hair back hard enough that you cry out in pain. Bakugou takes the opportunity to shove his cock into your mouth. Bottoming out at the back of your throat causing you to gag, your spit eases the roughness of his slow harsh thrusts as your eyes water.

Nothing could have prepared you for feeling Bakugou inside you for the first time, your wildest fantasies didn’t equate to this. The sheer size of his thick, bulging cock made it difficult for you to take him inside your mouth. The prominent veins that forked along the side dragging against your cheek as he eased you down on his length. Fingers stroking through your hair sweetly, a stark contrast to his previous movements. His husky voice cooing down at you, gentle praises that had you keening, desperate to hear more. The red, swollen tip prodding against the back of your throat as you gagged around him, a mixture of spit and pre dribbling down your chin as you tried to fit more of him inside your mouth hungrily.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” Bakugou grunted, his fingers carding into your messy hair and tugging harshly against the root, pressing you further down his aching cock. Watching the way your cheeks hollowed around him as you tried to adjust to his size. The movement causing fresh tears to clump in your lashes as you tried desperately to breathe through your nose. His coarse blond pubic hairs tickling your skin as he held your head down on his cock.

Struggling for oxygen as your tongue lashed against the underside of his length, the salty sweet taste of his cum mixed with the lack of oxygen making you light headed as you felt yourself falling deeper into him. Teeth grazing his sensitive skin as you tried to relax your throat, innocent eyes gazing up at him. The sight almost had him cumming on the spot, it was something he’d thought about for months, stroking himself raw to the thought of your lips wrapped around him. You felt gentle tremors flowing through your body as he finally allowed you a moment of respite, tugging you off his length roughly as you gasped for air.

“So pretty for me,” His warm palm stroked against your cheek, dipping his thumb between your parted lips as he felt you instinctively close your mouth around it. Your tongue swirling around the calloused pad of his thumb as you heard him groan above you, “Look at you.”

“How many times have you played with that slutty little pussy to the thought of me, hah?” Bakugou mused, his thumb slipping from your mouth as he pulled down your lower lip, watching the way your face followed after his hand to try and pull him back in.

“P-please.” You trembled, already feeling your clit throbbing painfully between your thighs, already feeling unsatiated as crimson eyes glared down at you.

“I bet you’ve never had anything this big inside you,” He wrapped his palm around his cock, smirking when he noticed your eyes hyper focused on him, “Have you?”

You shook your head nervously, even the toys you’d experimented before didn’t equate to his sheer size, “N-no, Dynamight.”

“I’m gonna make you feel so fuckin’ good, Princess.” Bakugou’s thoughts already flooding to how your tight little cunt would feel being split around his cock. Moulding it to his size so you’d never be satisfied with anything or anyone else. You were going to be his and his alone, and he’d do anything to ensure that happened, “Wanna feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock, yeah?”

His words sending more pleasurable jolts to your core, rubbing your thighs together in anticipation as he helped you to your feet, his large palms keeping against your hips as he dipped his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. Sliding the material down your thighs with one rough tug, exposing your naked body to his prying eyes. The sight of you completely bare in front of him had his cock twitching almost painfully, you were even more perfect than he had imagined.

“C’mere, Princess.” He cooed gently, a stark contrast to his earlier actions. You keened as you slid onto his lap, feeling his thick cock pressed snugly between your folds as you placed your hands on his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Your fingertips digging into his shirt as you tried feebly to get him to take it off.

“So needy,” He smirked, leaning forward to tug his shirt up and over his head. His chiselled abs now on full display as you focused in on each sharp ridge. He was even more perfect in person, and you couldn’t quite believe that the Dynamight was now in front of you.

Bakugou’s large palms moved back to your hips, pressing you down against his cock as you felt the length stroke against your slit, involuntarily grinding down against him as you tried to give your clit some much needed stimulation. The action did not go unnoticed by Bakugou who smirked at your desperation, digging his fingertips into your skin as he began to circle your hips against his cock.

“You’re soaking my cock and I haven’t even put it in yet,” He smirked as he felt your slick coating his length, watching in amusement as you continued to grind yourself against him, trying to give yourself some relief, “Bet you could get yourself off just like this, hah?”

“No,” You whined, “Please,”

“Please, what?” He coaxed, his fingers slipping between your bodies to tease your puffy clit, a harsh laugh leaving his lips when he felt the way your body jerked at his touch.

“Please,” You trailed off, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous and self-conscious that you were now very much naked in front of your favourite Pro-Hero.

“You don’t seem to want it enough, Princess.” Bakugou teased, moving you away from his cock as you groaned in displeasure. Your eyes looking down at his shaft that was now coated in a layer of your slick. Fresh pre spilling from the tip as you reached out to grab him between your fingers. Bakugou’s reflexes were quicker as he caught your wrist in his large palm, giving you a warning look as his nostrils flared.

“So fuckin’ greedy.” He moved his hands back to grab your ass, kneading the round mounds as he moved you to hover over his cock, vermilion eyes gazing up at you as he waited for you to speak, “You want my cock?”

“Yeah-” You felt your head nodding before you’d even had a chance to think, desperate to feel him sliding inside your warmth, splitting you open as he buried himself deep inside you.

“Yeah?” He mocked, tilting his head to the side as he pressed a kiss against your pebbled nipple, “Then fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Please, Dynamight.” You rolled your hips again, grinding against nothing as you tried to create some friction between your thighs, “Want your cock.”

A groan spilled from his lips at such blunt words leaving your pouty lips, calloused fingertips digging into your supple flesh as he pressed you down on the head of his cock. The tip stretching you out slightly as you tried to drop your hips down on him, wanting to feel him deep inside you.

“You want Dynamight to fuck this slutty pussy?” He pulled you away from his cock which caused a needy whine to spill from your lips, trying to angle your hips back towards his length.

Bakugou’s palm wrapping around his cock to drag the swollen, reddened tip along your sopping folds. Feeling your slick coat his skin as it mingled with his pre, watching the way your eyes fluttered at the sensation of his cockhead brushing against your clit.

“Yes.” You hissed, already anticipating the pleasurable stretch his girth would create inside you. The thick head already back at your tight entrance as he watched you shamelessly try and drop your hips down onto him.

"Yes what?" His voice is dark with pleasure as he glares up at you, a pitiful mess. He's toying with you, as a cat does a mouse and you feel utterly embarrassed. This was Pro hero Dynamight damn it, you wanted to make a good impression. You wanted to be sexy, not some whiny bitch in heat.

Little did you know how much Bakugou loved it, lived for it as he gently bounced you on just the tip. Driving you wild as you whined, all the while he smirked.

"Please Katsuki-sama." Your nails rake down his forearms, "Please, please fuck me."

"That's my good girl." He slams you down on his cock in one swift motion causing your vision to spot. He relishes the way you flutter around him, adjusting as a shiver runs up your spine.

"Now fuck yourself on my cock, Princess."

"But-" He wraps his hand around your throat, malice and lust dance in his eyes as his free hand travels to your thigh. Palm heating with each pound of your heart until it begins to become too much, too hot.

"Ride me like you did your fingers last week. You were thinking of me then weren't you, pervert?” You gasped at his crude words, the idea that he had been watching you while you dipped your fingers inside your tight cunt had embarrassment ebbing in your core. Your body trembling as the object of your affections degraded you, “Wishing it was me finger fuckin’ that pretty pussy, yeah?”

Unable to stop the shameless moan that left your parted lips, the sound restricted to a strangled gasp as he kept his palm wrapped tightly around your jugular.

“Or were you thinking of Red Riot since you love wearing his merch so much, hah.” Bakugou goaded, you could feel his grip against you tightening as his palms heated up dangerously, “Wishing he’d come in and bend you over like the little slut you are.”

“N-no,” You tried to gasp out, feeling lightheaded from the lack of oxygen that flowed through your body.

Bakugou loosened his grip around your neck, keeping his palm against your skin as he leaned his head closer to yours, his warm breath fanning your face as vermilion eyes bored into your own, “What was that?”

“J-just you, Dynamight.” You rasped, a rush of air filling your lungs as your chest heaved against him, “Only for you-”

“Yeah?” His lips curled into a cocky grin, immediately tightening his grip around your throat once more, “That’s fuckin’ right, you should be thinking about me when you play with that sloppy pussy.”

He squeezes both your throat and thigh harder. You rock your hips, fucking yourself on his fat cock as you gasp for air, hands desperately holding onto toned arms for support as the coil in your stomach begins to snap.

“Now I want you to fuckin' show me how much of a Dynamight fan you really are." He groans at the way you grip around him, tongue lulling past his smirk for just as second.

If you had to try and describe this feeling it would be something akin to euphoria, a constant throb ebbing through your cunt at the dull stretch his cock caused around your core. His cock moulding you to his shape as he bounced you on his lap, the thick jutting veins along his girth dragging against your inner walls with each pronounced thrust. Desperate cries of pleasure spilling from your lips as he fucked himself into you, hungrily searching to pull more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips. You felt pearly tears begin to clump in your lashes as he fucked into your tight cunt with vigour, uncaring for giving you a moment of respite as he hungrily used you for his own pleasure.

“Aw, you gonna cry, Princess?” He sneered, vermilion eyes gazing down at your own as he kept his pace, “I know you fuckin’ love it. I can feel you squeezing my cock.”

“Please-” You couldn’t think of the words, your mind foggy with the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain overwhelming you as he continued to fuck you with reckless abandon.

“Don’t tell me I’ve already fucked you stupid, dumbass.” He grunted, the calloused pads of his fingers digging into the plush skin of your thighs, crude noising filling the air as you could hear just how wet you were for him, “That sloppy pussy is drooling all over my cock.”

"Who do you belong to?" His husky voice wraps around you like a vice, pulling your heart into your stomach.

"You." You gasp as the heat of his palm on your leg begins to burn, skin warping beneath his touch. Hand glowing golden as if he were a God while his quirk begins to really activate. The smell of spiced caramel, smoke and scalded flesh cling to the couch and invade your senses as a crude whimper leaves your parted lips. The skin that he’d just burned throbbing under his touch, as heat surged through your body. His sharp thrusts helping to morph the pain you felt into a pure, unabashed pleasure as he watched you worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Good girl. Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to." Your eyes flicker away from his face before he uses his finger behind your jaw to meet his gaze, "Look at your King when you cum."

The combination of pleasure and pain paired with the thought of being his makes that delicate coil snap. Your body tenses and freezes as you shake atop his lap, biting nails drawing blood on his arms. He smirks, fucking up into you as another mind numbing orgasim washes over your body. Without withdrawing himself he flips the two of you against the couch.

“Fuck, look at you.” Your back presses into the cushions as he towers over you. Gazing down and into your eyes as he slowly thrusts into you, switching hands to place one on your unburnt thigh, “So fuckin’ pretty.”

The telltale sounds of his quirk sound in the room as his hands crackle, heating his other palm, readying himself to repeat the action. To mark your body and claim you as his own, so if anyone dared to look at you they would know exactly who you belonged. Permanent hand prints marking you as his. No one else was allowed to have you, not that you had a choice, at least not anymore.

Bakugou hissed as he felt your cunt continue to flutter around him in the aftershocks of your climax, snapping his hips as his pelvis hits against your puffy clit, head swimming from both pleasure and your primal need to breathe that was being wholly denied.

Bakugou was going to ruin you and you'd let him.

"Who owns this pretty pussy?" Another possessive question that rockets you to the edge, body hoping for another mark, to make you symmetrical.

Whole.

"You." Another raspy breath but it's enough for Bakugou to hear. A silent moan tears from your throat as you try to keep your eyes locked with his. Pain blooming on your thigh with a delicious bite.

“What was that?” He snarled, pressing your thigh up against your chest as his arm slid underneath your knee, resting your calf over his shoulder as he changed the angle of his thrusts, his cock delving deeper between your folds as you felt the swollen tip bruising your cervix with each hard rut of his hips, “Say my name.”

“Dynamight.” You called out, already feeling your body throbbing in the telltale signs of another orgasm, your thighs quivering as you felt Bakugou fuck your body into the couch hard before using his grip on your thigh to drag you back into him.

The crude sound of skin against skin vibrated around the room as his meaty balls slapped against the swell of your ass, Bakugou’s muscular frame dwarfing your own as he used you for his own pleasure. His own little cocksleeve that would succumb to his every request, you would be his and his alone to use as he pleased.

“Again.” A low growl sounded from the back of his throat, a possessive undertone to it as he urged you on, “Say it again.”

“Dynamight.” You managed to whimper through sobs, tears trickling down your temples now and soaking into your messy hair. The sound of his name spilling from your lips made him readjust his thrusts with newfound intensity.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Red Riot would never fuck you this good, hah?” He provoked, a clear sign of dominance over you, “You’re fuckin’ made for my cock.”

A cry slipping from your lips as he gave a particularly hard thrust inside your aching cunt, the tip of his length pounding against your cervix as he worked to claim your body as his own, trying to wipe thoughts of anyone else from your mind so all you could think about in this moment was his fat cock buried deep inside your tight heat.

“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect.” He grunted, his eyes mapping out your body as he worked himself against you, “Feel so good.”

Your breasts bounced with the intensity of his thrusts as he felt your inner walls quivering around his cock, already feeling another orgasm creeping up on you, the coil inside you impossibly tight as you tried to remember to breathe. Your vision hazy as you felt yourself becoming lightheaded, white dots blanking your vision as you shook beneath him.

“You gonna cum again already? Greedy fuckin’ bitch.” Bakugou’s lips curved into a grin as he felt your fingernails dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shapes in their wake as a dull ache tingled against his skin at the sensation, “My cock’s better than your fuckin’ fingers, yeah?”

“Yes,” You hissed, your toes curling as you felt yourself succumb to the pleasure. Your tight heat clenching around Bakugou’s cock as an usual sensation flowed through you, an intense throb in your core as you felt the unwavering urge to pee. Tightening your thighs around Bakugou’s firm body in an attempt to stop it from happening as wracked sobs left your body, your lower lip trembling as the sensation became too much. Too intense, too overwhelming as you allowed it to take over, your body crying out as you came. A clear stream of liquid gushing from between your thighs and soaking Bakugou’s crotch, his pace never once faltering as he fucked you through the sensation.

“Look at you, you messy fuckin’ slut” He howled in pleasure as he watched the liquid seep from your folds, “Look at your sloppy little pussy soakin’ my cock.”

“I’m sorry-” You cried out in embarrassment, feeling your heart pound in your chest as you saw his abdomen glistening with your release, “I didn’t mean-”

“What? You never fuckin’ squirted before?” Bakugou’s lips curled into a sly smile, his chest puffed out in pride, “Let’s see if you can do it again.”

Bakugou slipped a hand between your connected bodies to press four fingers against your clit, rubbing it frantically side to side as he tried to prolong the sensation, watching to see more of the clear liquid escape your heat.

"I can make this pretty little cunt do what I want. Wanna know why?" He leans in with a deadly grin on his lips, "Cause I own it."

You cried out as you felt the sensation flowing through you once more, a dull ache in your lower body as more of the clear liquid gushed from your folds. The sight made Bakugou smirk with glee, his fingers relentless against your sensitive nub.

“Couldn’t help yourself, could you?” He goaded, feeling your body trying to shy away from him as you withered beneath him, the pleasure becoming overwhelming, “That fuckin’ desperate.”

“P-please,” You whimpered, your entire body felt unbearably hot. Unable to think coherently as Bakugou continued pounding his thick girth into your core, his warm breath fanning your face as he hovered above you.

“P-please,” He mocked, tilting his head as he glanced down at you, “Please, what?”

“‘S too much,” You stammered, your hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist, trying to tug his fingers away from their assault against your clit.

The movement made him growl, baring his teeth as his hand moved from your clit, reaching up to wrap around the curve of your neck instead as he instantly tightened his grip against your jugular. The action caused your eyes to widen in surprise before your soft whines turned into hungry pants as you tried to gasp for air. Bakugou’s consistent thrusts into your sloppy hole made it difficult to think straight, your body fully focused on the sight of him above you while his hand wrapped tightly around your neck.

“Gonna fill that sloppy little pussy with cum, yeah?” You flushed at the suggestion, already feeling your inner walls fluttering around his cock at the thought, squeezing his girth as it created more friction as he dragged his cock along your velvety walls, his grip on your neck tightening as you felt your cunt clench around his cock in response, “You’re gonna look so pretty for me all full of my cum, Princess.”

A guttural groan spilled from his parted lips as you watched his eyes roll back, his thrusts stuttering as he came, bottoming out inside you as white hot spurts of cum splashed against your inner walls. His palms stroking along your exposed skin, sliding against the thin sheen of sweat that coated your body as he came down from his climax, humping a few more sloppy thrusts into your cunt as he cherished the sweet way your walls continued to flutter around him.

You whined as Bakugou slowly eased his hips back, slipping his softening cock out of your quivering folds. His eyes immediately focused on your abused hole as he watched his cum begin to trickle out of you as it dribbled down towards your ass. Unable to resist reaching a finger out to collect the mixture, scooping it up as he slowly pushed it back inside you. Smirking at the way you tried to bat his hand away from your overstimulated folds, this only making him want to tease you more as he moved his finger to press against your inner walls. Swallowing thickly as he felt your body involuntarily clamping down around him in an attempt to pull him back inside you.

“Such a good girl for me, Princess.” He moved his fingers up to stroke against your puffy clit, laughing at the way you arched your hips away from his touch, trying to stop him from teasing your satiated clit, “Took my cock so well.”

You mewl in response, clutching your arms to yourself as you shake from the previous events. You looked so small and scared causing a sharp pain to bolt through Bakugou's chest. God he wanted you in his care even more now.

“You were even more perfect than I imagined.” He pulls you to him, trapping you in his embrace as he presses your face into his chest. Hand smoothing your damp hair as he hums lightly. His eyes catching sight of the Red Riot shirt he’d discarded to the floor, a thought occurred to him, one he cannot keep to himself, as another sadistic smile settled on his lips.

“Kirishima told me not to come over here, said to leave you alone-” He pulls you back so you can look at him, and gods the look you're giving him. Eyes soft and submissive, hazed over in mind numbing pleasure as you float off somewhere far away. Only Bakugou's arms are keeping you bound to Earth. “But I was right wasn’t I, Princess?”

You'll never be able to escape his gravity now.

“He just wanted you for himself.” His fingers feather over your body before he stands, guessing where the first aid could be. You clutch onto his shirt, eyes desperately glued to your new God as the fading sun washes him over in deep hues of red. The way you look at him makes his cock twitch, feeling the intense power he already holds over you.

"You'll let your King go." A growl as his fingers find your throat, you nod with fresh tears catching on long lashes as he steps away. Sobbing from his absence before he returns.

"Don't be a baby, I wasn't that far Princess." His voice all bite while his hands speak the truth. Calloused and scared fingers pressing ointment into the fresh burns tenderly.

“But you’re mine now aren’t you Princess?” He dots over the burns, rubbing the salve in gently, “All mine.”

He leans away from you, cruelty ever plastered on his smirking lips.

“Maybe I should show Red Riot what you look like right now, hah?” He pulls out his phone, going to snap a picture. You're hesitant at first but then move to strike a pose, wide eyes looking into the lens of the camera as Bakugou angles it to get the dark bruises and scars that now marr your perfect skin. "Fuck, I think showing him what a good girl you are in person would be much better."

“W-we shouldn’t-“ You mumble, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of your sweet neighbour seeing you like this, utterly debauched because of Pro-Hero Dynamight.

“Don’t be shy, pretty girl.” He coos uncharacteristically, almost mocking you as he watches your lower lip tremble, “I’m sure Red Riot would love to see you like this. Probably jerks himself raw to the thought of you.”

He eases you to your feet, sliding your shorts over your thighs as you hiss when they get to the fresh brand. Your mouth waters from pain as you look down at them. His perfect palm prints etched into your skin forever. You bite your bottom lip, wanting more from Bakugou who slips his jacket over your shoulders before putting your snow boots onto your feet. He makes his way to the door.

"Comin' pervert?" He asks before you rush to your feet, “Shall we show Red Riot what a desperate little slut his neighbour is?”

He wraps his arm around your shoulders, engulfing you in his mesmerizing scent and heat. You nod slowly, wanting nothing more than to please your new caretaker.

“Gotta remind that asshole who the fuck you belong to.”

#bakugou x reader #tw: dub con #tw: branding #yandere bakugo x reader #tw: mind break

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earlgreydream · 3 years

Text

gentle.

| zemo x reader | fluff | smut |

soft dom zemo 🤍 ✨

cw: d/s, daddy kink, praise kink

Zemo walked through the door, closing it behind him quietly. He searched for you quietly, aware you’d likely be asleep at this hour. He found you on the couch, where you had attempted to stay awake for him.

A yellow knitted throw blanket was wrapped around you, and you were half sitting up, having fallen asleep mid-episode of a sitcom.

Zemo smiled at you, amused by your sleeping figure. He shut off the television before picking you up, carrying you to bed so you could have a proper night's sleep.

His heart melted as you snuggled into his chest in your sleep, unconsciously recognizing the presence of your lover. He kissed your forehead, brushing stray hair from your face. He listened to your steady breathing, contently watching you sleep before drifting off himself.

“Good morning,” Zemo greeted you.

You were yawning as you walked into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes sleepily. You looked darling, and Zemo watched you in adoration.

“What’re you doing?” You slurred softly, still half-asleep.

“Making you breakfast, pretty girl.”

You leaned up on your toes for a kiss, being happily indulged by Zemo. He carefully hauled you backwards, away from the hot stove.

“I don’t want my little love to burn herself,” Zemo explained to you, making you roll your eyes at his tendency toward being over protective.

His large hand grasped your jaw, holding your head to look at him. He didn’t hurt you, only displaying his strong dominance by manhandling you gently. His grip was only tight enough to hold you, putting you in your place without being harsh.

“Cut the attitude,” Zemo warned softly before holding you still so he could press a firm kiss to your lips.

“Yes, daddy,” you murmured, feeling especially submissive. He’d been gone on a work trip recently, and you were happily well behaved, loving the way he indulged you in attention and doted on you upon his return.

“Go set the table,” he nodded, and you did as he asked.

“Why don’t you come back to bed with me?” Zemo asked, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You nodded, gently laying a hand on his cheek and giving him sweet little kisses as you stood in the kitchen, the tile cold against your bare feet. He tapped your bum, signaling you to walk toward the bedroom.

Before you even made it there, Zemo was pulling your shirt over your head— one you had stolen from his side of the closet. Your breath hitched softly, your hands going to your chest to cover yourself as you walked through the house.

“No, my love, let me see your pretty tits,” he scolded, prying your hands away. You shivered, feeling a bit shy in front of him. You giggled as he mouthed at your chest, kneeling in front of you. The hair on his face tickled your skin, creating an odd sensation. He kissed down to your navel, kneeling before you in just loose gray sweatpants.

He hooked his fingers into your shorts, pulling them swiftly down your legs and tossing them aside. You were left in just your panties, barely covered by pale lilac fabric, plain except for a tiny bow sitting between your hips.

You were so innocent, and Zemo couldn’t get enough.

“Yours too?” You questioned, touching his waistband as he stood up.

“No, pretty girl, I’m going to leave mine on.” Zemo shook his head, sitting down on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. You stood beside the bed, unsure of what he wanted.

“Come here, why’re you being so shy?” He teased lightly, taking your hand and helping you onto the bed.

You were surprised as he pulled you to lay over his lap, your ass in the air as you bent over his thighs. Your arms folded under your head, and you turned to look up at him.

“Are you going to spank me, daddy?” You asked, a whine lilting your voice. You were startled, you’d been so well-behaved, and you didn’t feel like you deserved to be punished.

“No, of course not. I just want to play with you,” Zemo bent down and kissed your lips, easing the uncertainty in your mind.

“You need to relax.”

You nodded, exhaling a slow breath, trying to obey. The tension slowly left your muscles as he trailed fingertips up your bare spine, his touch finding the dips in your back. You gazed at him from under your lashes, admiring the gentle man who loved you. He smiled down at you, brown eyes locking with yours.

“I love these,” he mused, touching the lilac thong that curved along the swell of your ass.

You let him part your legs a bit, allowing him to see more of you. His strong hands squeezed the flesh of your thigh, pulling them apart on his lap.

Zemo couldn’t tear his eyes off of you. You felt him harden under your belly as he got a full view of your cunt practically spilling out of the thong. The fabric barely covered you, providing a filthy sight to Zemo.

His fingers dipped down, squeezing your puffy sex, cupping your mound and touching your lips. The action made you breathless, and he ran his fingers up and down the light cotton, until a dark patch started to form, your arousal soaking through your panties. He tugged up just slightly, monitoring your reaction at the pressure it put on your clit, the little bundle of nerves that was now throbbing with need.

You’d grown warm on his lap, despite being almost entirely naked. You felt observed, strangely aroused and overly shy as he practically inspected your pussy. You tried to swallow a small whine as the fabric pushed against your clit, biting back the noise.

“Daddy, why are you looking at me?” You whispered, squirming under his touch. You’d done your best to hold still and let him touch you as he pleased, but you were growing needy and embarrassed.

“Because you’re beautiful, little love. Do you want me to bring you pleasure? You’ve been so sweet, I do feel as though you’ve earned a reward,” he offered, the gentle gaze in his eyes completely sincere.

“A reward?” you questioned softly.

He hummed, nodding at you. You smiled shyly, lightly kicking your feet.

“You’re all wet, darling.”

You buried your face in your arms, sighing as Zemo ran his fingers over your sex before pulling the fabric down your legs. He prodded at your pussy, spreading your lips with his fingers and lightly pinching the puffy skin.

“Daddy, you’re teasing,” you accused, pouting a bit.

“What do you want?” He asked, a small smirk adorning his gorgeous features.

He wanted to hear you say it, trying to ease you out of your shyness.

“I want you to touch me properly, please,” you asked politely, pushing up on your hands to kiss him.

“I would be happy to, my love.”

You relaxed back on him, humming as he dragged his fingers through your folds, bringing them down to rub lazy circles on your clit. The small movements had heat spreading between your hips, tension starting to form.

Zemo eased off of the direct stimulation, pushing one of his longer fingers past your tight muscles, feeling your velvety walls swallow his digit. He slowly pumped it in and out, your body squeezing around him as he inserted a second finger.

He listened to the soft sigh that left your lips, morphing into a moan as he stroked forward, pressing against your g-spot. He relished in the mewels that escaped you, your back bowing as he rubbed your clit while moving his fingers inside of you, brushing sensitive areas that had you seeing stars.

“Oh... daddy,” you whined, the pressure tight in your abdomen, settled just above your sex. Your muscles contracted around his fingers, clamping down as goosebumps rose over your delicate skin.

“Are you close, darling?”

You nodded, unable to trust yourself not to scream if you tried to speak. You squirmed on his lap, your thighs shaking.

“Let go for me, pretty girl, I want to see you come all over my fingers,” Zemo encouraged, smirking as you squeezed your legs around his hands, trying to stop the stimulation as you came. Your fingers gripped the begging and you squealed, arching your back as you lit like a match, pleasure spreading through every inch of your body.

Zemo gently kept up his slow thrusts, his fingers dipping in and out of you, helping you ride out your orgasm, prolonging it as long as possible.

The tension in your muscles faded with your release, leaving you relaxed and dazed. Calm settled over you, deep breaths making your back rise and fall.

“That’s my sweet girl, taking my fingers so well. You look so pretty when you come. I’m so proud of you.”

You glowed at his praise, savoring the gentle moment with your dom. He took the time to carefully clean you up before pulling you up to sit on his lap. Your fingertips ran through his facial hair, beaming as he gazed at you with his kind brown eyes.

He pulled you into a kiss, strong arms wrapping around your back and closing you against his chest. His lips moved against yours perfectly, Zemo an expert scholar in your body and your kisses. He swallowed your quiet, happy sighs, enjoying the intimacy.

“I love you,” Zemo spoke, a Sokovian accent lilting off of his words.

He was massaging lotion into your body after a shared shower, protecting your skin from the dry air. A cup of jasmine tea was in your hands, steaming and filling the room with a sweet scent, mixing with the smell of your lotion.

“I love you too. I’m really happy you’re home.”

“I won’t leave for that long again. I missed you, I’ll stay local from now on,” he said, surprising you.

“You’re staying local? But you’ve always traveled with work,” you questioned, thinking you misunderstood.

“I have, but you’re everything to me, and I can’t stand to be apart from you.”

He melted at the grin that spread across your face, your joyful kiss tasting like jasmine. You leaned back into his chest, his arms snaking around you to hold you in a tight hug.

“I can’t imagine anything better than waking up to you every morning. So that is what I plan to do, as long as you let me,” Zemo said.

“I’ll let you stay forever.”

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