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bruciemilf · 1 year

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Okay besties, I have an idea for you;

AU where the justice league was rooted in a small town; everyone knows everybody and no one knows anyone. Not really. But them? Oh, they know eachother.

They knew Clark and Bruce would tie the knot right after graduation.

They knew Diana would take new York museums by storm. They knew Hal would grow into his dad's aviator jacket. They knew Barry would wear gold around his neck in the Olympics. They simply knew.

Except for the fact that Clark had no idea Bruce would go on to divorce him just to marry an old sparring buddy, -- Khoa something; he doesn't know to this day, and he refuses to learn, -- for reasons he wouldn't divulge.

And bruce didn't anticipate his ex husband being the one who would investigate his husband's murder.

Funny how death brings people together.

Not until Dick, their boy, his boy, too, - He's Jon and Kon's brother just as much as he's Jason's, Tim's, and Damian's, and no piece of shit paper could take that from him, - told him, a bone white paleness to his cheeks the day of his weekend.

Their home is chaos; Not a chaos he knows, a chaos he loves, but a disservice on their once home.

Four different cars parked in front of Bruce's manor, dark enough to blend in the depth of night, give Clark a pretty good idea of what he'll find.

" This is bad. This is really bad, right? Oh god, is he moving? He just looked at me, I SWEAR he just looked at me,--"

'' Who gave Barry coffee?" Clark doesn't want them to be shocked when he enters, because really, he's not supposed to be here. The spark of twisted pleasure when they see him Is small, but it's there. " Who died?"

Hal skips over the corpse currently occupying the living room carpet, a frenzy in his eyes, " We do NOT have time for your shit, Kent. It's bad enough Wayne dragged us along to his little graveyard shift,--"

Clark doesn't particularly want to know who's that Oliver tosses Russian words with over the phone, but he takes a pause, only to point sharply at the pilot, " As if you have anything better to do you plane crushing fuck--"

" One time! One time!"

" Quiet down! You're upsetting Bruce," Command and order came to Diana as naturally as flight does to birds; Out of them all, -- jaded and secretive and wore out by life like a pair of shoes, -- she holds the crown of stability for sure.

Clark envies her. Maybe because she's her, or because she has an arm around Bruce.

He's tired; And scared. Clark's pretty little ghost.

Blanket over his lean, strong shoulders, knees nestled to his chest, shivering under Diana's arms. His eyes haven't left the living room.

Not until Clark walked up to the bottom of the stairs, where he could catch a better view of purple and blue rendering Bruce's sharp cheek.

There's something undeniably demure about Bruce Wayne; Youngest of them, softest of them. Clark adored it; He's always been a beast of a man, -- granted, raised with Martha Kent's southern loving ways, but you can't make a puppy from a wolf.

Bruce very much disagreed, and told Clark as such. That they compliment eachother.

Clark can't help but be sad at Bruce's softness now; But he's not stupid enough to think Bruce weak, and God help you if you're that man. Maybe Khoa was that man.

Bruce's eyelashes flutter like a butterfly's wings, " ...Clark." You came.

" Hi, baby." You called.

He closes his eyes, silently letting embarassment take him. Hal facepalms behind him.

" Not to interrupt your weird Eye Make Out slash Emotional Hug contact, but seriously, we need to call the police!"

" No!" Bruce raises to his feet, fingers twisting and fiddling, a nervous habit. Clark wants to capture him in his arms and never let him move, " No. No police."

Diana's voice is gentle, " Why not?"

" Because he did it!" Hal says, " I mean, it's pretty obvious!"

" Oh shut the fuck up-"

" That's absurb--"

" Hal, you're scared I get it, but Bruce would never,--"

" I did," Bruce declares, sentencing them to silence. " I did it. "

A tension filled cloud slowly drips over them. Hal begins pacing even more. Barry joins him. Oliver's yelling gets louder, and the Bruce's fingers shake worse.

Clark, wordlessly, pulls him upstairs, hands gentle on his smaller wrists, ignoring the call back from downstairs, where death still lingers.

Bruce won't look at him when he asks, " Did you do it? Really?"

" He was going to hit me."

" He was already hitting you," Clark spits the hateful truth, acid hissing over his tongue like a well-sharpened knife, " He was already hitting you. And you didn't kill him then. "

A shiver, a tremble, Bruce turning his back as if to protect himself. Clark's heart hurts. He's never been someone Bruce needed protection from, " Please, --"

" So you were either going to stop him from hitting you... Or from hitting someone else," Bruce's frame moves from him, departs again, and Clark follows, because he let Bruce walk away one time and it got them here, " ...Or someone was gonna stop him from hitting you."

Bruce freezes, gaze wide. Only he's not looking at Clark. He's looking at what's behind him.

Clark follows the line of sight.

There's Jason, their youngest, their tallest, terrified, and teary, and blood soiling his hands.

#basically i saw a gifset of henry cavill in nighthunter and HAD to do something with it #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #dc #dc comics #bruce x clark #bruceclark #tw murder #writing #batfam #superfam #super batfamily #protective clark kent #protective bruce wayne #angst #soft bruce wayne #dc imagine #writing prompt

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bi-ss · 4 months

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~ Ties that bind ~

Bucky x reader- arranged marriage.

Warnings - non, I don't think..

(This is a little bit of part 1, so I made write more I may not, we'll see. I'm also going to give the reader and her parents a positive relationship. idk I think it suits the best

You always knew you were to be married off. Your mother was always transparent with you about that. She always told you that you may not like the man or woman, but love was always hard to find anyway. So one day, when you were 16, you typed up an agreement and gave it to your father about if you were married off, what you wanted, you do have your mother's stubbornness after all.

*knock knock*

"Come in," hearing your father grumble, you push the dark wooden doors which you are a lot heavier than your dad and his men made it seem. You stand in the doorway for a second before your dad gets up from behind his desk. He slowly walked round, motioning for you to come in and close the door. He pulled a comfy seat out a bit before sitting on his desk. You sat out looking up at him, handing him the typed papers in your hands. He looked at the title and gave it back to you.

"Read it to me, Ladybug." You smiled at the nickname he used and has used since you were a baby. "I see your mother as prepared you for this, and I see you listened for once," he joked, knowing you never liked working or school for that matter.

"I don't want to be a housewife, can't think of anything worse," you scoffed at your remark while your dad just laughed, still smiling down at you. "But I would prefer if you read it then get back to me as I told mother I'd help her cook.. it's burrito night!" He slowly nodded at you. Reading aloud wasn't something you liked doing. Taking the papers stapled together, you got up and started walking towards the doors, dreading the embarrassment of trying to open them again, but you didn't have to. Your dad was right behind you, holding it for you like you didn't just use all the strength to pry it just a little.

That's how you life's always been, your mother, a housewife. Your mother was the most beautiful and mature woman to probably ever exist, her long vibrant curly ginger hair, her pale soft skin loaded with freckle, her forest green eyes complemented everything about her even those rosy cheeks and lips. She adored your father as much or even more as he adored her. They do say opposites attract, fitting for your parents as your father, the breadwinner. Your father was a handsome and smart man, with dark chocolate hair which your mother loved putting into pigtails, his skin is covered with tattoos front to back, up and down, his toned and tan skin barely visible, his one good eye a smokie light grey colour, is other eye was sew shut while being littered with scars. Your dad has become more careful and gentle when your mother is pregnant. It wasn't hard to see that his men liked this change to, according to your mother. An example is when the twins joined, Wanda and Pietro maximoff joined, and they were put through uni with help from the family in case they wanted an out, making sure they had a choice. They stayed by the family's side.

Now, 6 years later, you're sitting in your fathers office it hasn't changed a bit, you can't say the same about them, he was sitting on the worn-out leather chair with your mother behind him, their hair turning grey and with smile line proudly on display. You sitting at the side of the desk, not next to your dad and not next to Mrs and Mr Barnes, with their irritated son, James Barnes. The meeting was already off to a bad start when his girlfriend Sharon demanding to attend, but met with your dad saying he didn't have business with her and if that's know they did things, he'll call it off. You listened in on the conversation when your dad wasn't there, and to sum it up, Mr Barnes threatened, saying he'll disown his son and give it all to Rebecca. She's now at the bottom of the stairs being watched secretly by maids, workers, and guards. The elderly guest were very shocked at the fact they didn't even know you were there when they were giving the to toddler a reality check, which made both your parents proud and all 4 laugh about it. Before the definition of cantankerous, egocentric, and many more adjectives, you couldn't ever walk in.

. . . . .To be continued. . . .

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gummydummy19 · 7 months

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Sometimes I just crave slow, soft, gentle… nothing extra, nothing special, no spanking, no choking, no slapping or teasing, no games…

Just you and me...

Soft kisses and loving smile’s….sweet words while we just feel each other…

Your hands gently touching everywhere they can reach…fingertips tracing goosebumps up my skin…you whispering my name as I whisper yours…

I love you so much…

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viking-raider · 9 months

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Soothing A Wolf

Summary: Geralt recalls the memories of a troubled time in his life, while visiting a place that always brought him peace.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warning: PG - Fluff, Language, Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Soft!Geralt, Character Death, Projecting, Farm Life, Light Domestic Bliss, Anxiety

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I know I've already written this subject, with A Witcher's Soul, but I've become unhappy with it and decided to give it another try. I'm by far happier with this one. Hope you enjoy!

Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!

I do remember bits of my life with her.

You had curled up for a late morning nap, after completing all of your morning chores. The sun filtering through the large window above your headboard. It was warm and pleasant, as you drew to the surface of the waking world. You tried fighting it, wishing for a few more moments of rest, before you had to rise and begin the task of the afternoon chores around your quiet, little farm. However, you were drawn out of your slumber, at the sound of someone's approach into your dooryard.

Sighing, you sat up, taking a moment to fix your hair and smooth your skirts, before standing and going out to find who had decided to visit you. You froze on the porch, watching a huge, black Friesian horse come charging up the well-worn path to your cottage. A muscular, broad shouldered man clad in all black clothing in its saddle, his silvery-white hair tied back in a Rivian style flowing in the breeze created by his haste.

“Geralt!” You called out, as the Witcher dismounted from the horse, Roach. “What are you doing here?” You asked, as he stamped through the drying mud towards you, his pale face pinched and set in an expression more agitated than usual, with a tint of something more you couldn't quite put your finger on yet.

The two of you had met nearly fifteen years prior, when you had heard of the White Wolf being in the area and enlisted his help to rid your property of a Graveir that had been threatening it. Not wishing for the alternative, which was moving off the property. You had little to pay him with, offering him the small amount of gold you had. Instead, Geralt had simply asked for a hot meal and permission to camp on your land for the night and use the water from your well, to bathe with after the bloody business of killing the monster.

Naturally, you agreed.

However, after he had killed the creature and washed up to join you for supper, a tension grew between you that popped before the meal ended. Leading to the pair of you being intimate. Ever since, when Geralt was in the area or was taking time off the Trail, he would come to spend time with you. But, you were surprised to see him now, knowing that he should be with Ciri, keeping her safe from Nilfgaard and the Wild Hunt that dogged their heels at every turn.

Instead, he mounted the porch steps towards you, catching you up into his arms.

She smelled like embers.

Geralt buried his face into your neck, taking a deep breath of your skin as he did, drawing in your scent. Your skin had a natural earthiness to it, accompanied by the fresh and calming, citrus-y snap of lemon balm and sweetness of licorice root. He wished many times on many occasions that he could bottle it and take it with him. Always finding comfort, calm and desire in your scent.

Like he had in almost no one else.

“What are you doing here, Geralt? I thought you were with Ciri.” You asked, breaking the silence as you embraced him, pressing yourself against his solid body, feeling the dampness of his clothing, from the sparse rains that had been occurring off and on all week.

“She's safe enough for now.” He mumbled into your neck, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. “But, I needed to see you.” He said, pulling away from you, his hands grasping your shoulders.

“Well, here I am, my wolf.” You cooed at him, resting your hands on his sides and staring up into his face. “I didn't know seeing me was such an urgent thing.” You teased, pushing up on your toes to kiss him, knowing there was something deeper bothering him, but knew better than to press the Witcher for information.

Especially in the matter of his thoughts and emotions. He would tell you in his own time.

“Are you staying or are you riding back off again?” You inquired, looking towards Roach, who was grazing in the damp grass of your dooryard.

“I want to stay the night.” He told you, squeezing your shoulders. “If that's all right with you?” He added, softly.

“Nonsense!” You chuckled, slapping him on the chest. “You know you don't have to ask, Geralt.” You assured him, clicking your tongue. “Are you hungry? I was just about to make lunch for myself. I can add a plate for you.” You said, moving away from him, to go back inside.

She used her magic to create elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.

“I could eat.” Geralt replied, following you inside the cozy home, that always brought him peace. “Especially if it comes with a slice of one of your home-made sweets.” He added, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched you move towards the kitchen.

You looked at him over your shoulder, an impish sparkle in your eye. “I don't have any made.” You told him, coyly. “But, if you behave yourself, perhaps there'll be something after dinner.” You teased with a wink, before rounding the corner into the kitchen.

Going into the pantry, you grabbed a large, earthenware jug, carrying it out and set it on your counter, removing the cork. Taking a whiff of the contents that were inside, your nose was greeted by the sweet aroma of honey and blood-orange mead. You had brewed it yourself. You took down a cup and filled it, taking a wee nip for yourself, before taking it out to Geralt, who had made himself at home. He'd taken his shoes off, but stood before the fire, tossing a log into it.

“You don't need to do that, Geralt.” You frowned, holding the cup out to him. “I could have done it.”

“I know.” He answered, watching the strong flames catch the edges of the wood, before he took the cup from you, taking a deep gulp. “You really should sell your own spirits.” He commented, licking his lips and looking into golden liquid.

“Ha.” You chuckled, shaking your head at him. “I have enough to do around the farm, Witcher.” You quipped, going back into the kitchen.

Geralt chuckled at you, taking a seat before the fire, flexing his sore toes in the glowing warmth with a soft and tired sigh, while sipping his mead. He listened to you bump about in the kitchen. The opening and closing of the pantry, the thud of cabinet doors shutting, after you searched through their contents. He finished off his mead and set it on the table beside him, before standing and going to the threshold of the kitchen, knowing better than to go into your kitchen, while you were active in it.

You'd chased the Witcher out more than once, with either the rolling pin or a dish towel.

I would have done anything to make her smile.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked, cocking his head around the corner to look at you, seeing you wielding a large knife to cut into a small wheel of cheese. “Do you need anything?”

“I need you to sit your butt down.” You answered, turning to look back at him. “You rode, god knows how far, to here. So, you need to relax.” You told him, adamantly.

And yet, the day she left me, she was sick. She needed water, so I went to get her some.

“But, I want to help.” Geralt insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sighed softly, giving him a gentle smile. “All right, Geralt.” You conceded, nodding. “My other big brute needs to be fed. So, why don't you go out and do that for me, while I finish getting our lunch done.”

“I can do that.” He nodded, daring to step into the kitchen to kiss you on the cheek, chuckling as you popped him on the bum on his way out.

“That, man.” You giggled, smiling to yourself as you turned back to your task.

Geralt tugged his boots back on and went out, heading towards the small fenced off area to the right of your property, where the few farm animals you had lived. He found the bucket beside one of the fence posts and snagged it up by the rope handle, heading towards the grain storage that was around the other side, filling the bucket.

“Hey, Martigan.” He called out to the brown and white dairy cow, standing in the center of the pen, nibbling on a bale of hay with an expression of no care on his face, but twitched his ears to the sound of Geralt's voice. “And you.” Geralt huffed at the animal you had dubbed your other brute, a solid white goat with horns that nearly curved in on themselves, they were so long. “I see you, Goat-Bert.”

The Witcher called to the Goat, who stood clear on the other side of the pen, as he opened the latch to the gate. But that meant nothing, and Geralt knew it. He had dealt with this Goat-Devil before on your behalf. He had even considered taking one of his potions to increase his odds in dodging that swift, easy to anger, creature. Not even Little Bleater was a match for this fiend. So, keeping one golden eye on the Goat, Geralt moved towards the feeding trough and dumped the bucket of grain into it. It wasn't a split second later that Martigan let out a loud, agitated moo and Goat-Bert bleated with his evil intent, setting his head downward as he charged across the muddy pen towards Geralt's shins.

“Fuck!” Geralt barked under his breath, tossing the bucket over the fence and himself with it. “You damned Goat!” He cursed at him, fuming at Goat-Bert rammed his head into the trough, at full steam. But it was your howls of laughter from the porch that drew Geralt out of his choice words for the farm animal. “You find that funny?” He asked, picking up the bucket and moving towards you, as you grinned and giggled.

“I find it hilarious!” You wheezed, wiping tears from your face. “Watching a Witcher jump a fence to get away from a little goat!”

“Now, you know damn well, what mischief that demon can cause.” Geralt told you, but smirked at your amusement. “I don't need Lambert or Eskel busting my ribs, because I got a broken leg because of a wee goat.”

“Well, no harm done.” You said, catching your breath. “And lunch is ready and waiting for us on the table.” You told him, turning to go back inside.

Following you, Geralt was greeted by a laid out table, containing a round and fluffy loaf of bread with a blossom score on the top of its beautiful, caramel-brown crust. Beside the loaf, was a glass decanter of the mead you'd served him earlier, half a roasted and glazed ham hock, that glistened in the light of the fireplace, and a plate of the cheese slices you'd cut. There were other tidbits, to make lunch more pleasant and filling, as well.

“It looks delicious.” He commented, pulling a chair out and sat down.

You looked at him with soft surprise, cocking a brow as you sat beside him. “Ciri and Jaskier must really be leaning hard on your lessons.” You chuckled, picking up a knife and cut a slice out of the bread, laying it on Geralt's plate, before cutting another and putting it on your own. “Would you like a second piece?” You asked him, knife hovering above the loaf.

“Yes.” Geralt nodded, popping a cherry tomato into his mouth, before reaching for the decanter, pouring you both a tankard. “I appreciate this.” He said, watching you cut thick slices of juicy ham from the hock and set them on the edge of his plate, allowing him to build his own sandwich.

“Of course.” You answered, brow creasing as you placed the ham and cheese on your bread, closing it with the second piece, using your knife to cut it in half. “I can't let you starve, now can I? Silly Witcher.” You chuckled, taking a bite.

Geralt hummed, putting together his own meal and allowing the table to fall into a comfortable silence as the two of you ate. Nothing, but the pop and crackle of the fire with the occasional moo or baa of the farm animals outside filled the space. Neither of you moved, once you had your fill, but you watched Geralt, smirking as you saw his lids struggle to stay open and his chin from falling against his chest. You stood, causing Geralt to start and look up at you with wide molten-gold orbs, but you just offered him a sweet smile, as you started to clear away the table, putting things in the pantry, sink or scrap barrel.

Once you were finished, you moved to your bedroom, fluffing your pillows, fixing and folding back the blankets, then pulled shut the curtains, plunging the room into darkness. Satisfied, you returned to Geralt, smirking as you found he had lost the battle with his sleepiness. His breathing was slow, coming out in gentle huffs, arms crossed and chin resting on his chest. He looked so peaceful and relaxed, the muscles under the loose black material of his tunic were slack, making the various scars pull taut. Biting your lip, you moved around him and knelt, taking one of his booted feet in your hands, eyes still trained on his face. In case you startled him, knowing it could cause him to burst into defending himself, when startled awake.

But Geralt didn't stir, as you carefully pulled his muddy boots off, setting them in front of the fireplace. You stood, moving around him to open the knot of the string that held his silvery-white hair tied back out of his face.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his ear, resting your hands lightly on his shoulders. “Geralt.” You said, a little bit louder.

“Hm?” He hummed back, taking a deep breath and shaking his head, causing his loose hair to fall forward.

“Why don't you come lay down?” You suggested, patting his shoulders and kissing the back of his head. “You'll be so much more comfortable in bed.” You persuaded him, gently.

Geralt sighed, licking his lips and stretching his legs for a moment, before standing up and allowing you to guide him to your bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it into a chair in the corner and dropped into the bed, looking up at you, as you stood before him.

“Lay with me.” He cooed, resting his hands on your hips.

“I have chores to do, Wolf.” You smirked at him, cupping his neck and caressing his stubbly jawline with your thumbs.

“They can wait until tomorrow.” Geralt said, pulling you between his legs. “I'll do them for you.” He smiled, making you sit in his lap as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Before, I go.” He promised, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“Very well.” You conceded, breaking the kiss and rubbing noses with him.

“Good.” He rasped, laying down and pulling you against his chest.

And when I came back... she was gone.

Geralt woke up sometime later, feeling refreshed. He hadn't slept well or very long in the weeks since he and Ciri left Kaer Morhen, with the Wild Hunt and Nilfgaard after them, worried that every moment his eyes were shut, was a moment they'd come and take Cirilla from him. He reached out for you, wanting to feel you against him, but you weren't in bed any longer.

I called for her.

He got out of bed, calling your name, as he searched the house for you. The fireplace was still roaring, telling him you hadn't been gone long. But where could you be, that you wouldn't hear him calling. He yanked the front door open and stormed into the yard, uncaring that he had no boots on, yelling your name even louder, as he turned in circles. His only answer was the breeze through the trees, Goat-Bert, Martigan and Roach.

Not a peep or appearance from you.

But she was gone.

Geralt felt his chest grow tight and his slow heart skip a beat, then another. The dooryard started to spin and blur, a rock-like lump formed in his throat. He flexed his hands and shook his head, trying to get a handle on himself. He wasn't supposed to act like this. He wasn't supposed to show his emotions, let alone allow them to take control over him.

“Geralt!” You frowned, coming out of the treeline, a basket resting on your hip as you found him standing barefoot in the muddy dooryard. “What's going on?” You asked, setting the basket down and hurrying over to him, as you watched tears drip from his sharp jaw. “What's happened? Are you hurt?” You asked, looking him over, searching for a wound you felt you had failed to notice before.

“Where is it? Show me!”

“I'm not--” He rasped, swallowing at the lump and shaking his head. “You were gone.” He said, pressing his lips together and pushing his jaw forward, trying to bring up his walls against the raw feelings he was being crushed under. “I woke up and you were gone. I called for you.” He said, failing miserably. “But you didn't answer. I thought--” He choked, looking away from you.

You blinked up at him, confused and afraid, never seeing this side of Geralt before. “You thought what?”

He chewed on his lip, his face hardening as he slowly started to gain control of himself again. “I thought you left me.” He admitted, deciding not to shut you out.

“Left you?” You echoed softly, blinking up at him with surprise. “No, Geralt. I'd never leave you. I didn't leave you.” You told him, taking his hand in both of yours. “I just woke up from our nap before you did, and you seemed so tired that I didn't have the heart to wake you. So, I went out to pick some blueberries.” You explained to him, half turning back to where you'd set your basket, full of plump, indigo orbs. “I plan on using them to bake you a pie.” You said quietly, looking back up at him.

Neither of you said anything for a long while, before Geralt looked down at you, a sad look in his eyes.

“I'm sorry.” He whispered, bending his head to rest his forehead against yours.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” You assured him, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles.

Nodding, Geralt pressed his lips to your forehead and sighed, looking down at his muddy feet. “I'll rinse my feet off.” He said, moving away from you and towards the well.

Watching him go and drop the bucket into the well, you knew the Witcher didn't have the easiest of lives, that he had a lot of trauma in it. But, he would tell you what was bothering him, when he was ready. It seemed too raw, at the moment. So, you went back for your blueberries and carried them inside to the sink, so you could rinse them off, prepping them for the pie.

Deciding to be there for Geralt, when he was ready.

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princessamericachavez · 1 year

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It’s really a crime that Henry Cavill, a man who looks like THAT, has the power to put so much emotion and gentleness into his eyes. Every time he plays a grumpy and closed off gruff man, he has to give him 5 dimensions of complexity and pour the softest sweetest looks into them and destroys me. It is inconceivably rude.

#henry cavill #sherlock holmes #geralt of rivia #Clark Kent #(but he was always soft)

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sherlocksoft · 11 months

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Soft Sherlock Headcanons

Sherlock Holmes x reader fluff and comfort

Masterlist

Authors notes: I’ve been a Sherlock Holmes fan for years upon years, but this is the first time I’ve written him. It’s written with any Sherlock in mind but I’ve been particularly taken with Henry Cavill recently

Warnings: mildly sexually suggestive at the end, tobacco mention

Sherlock kisses you with fierce passion when he gets a spark of inspiration and is momentarily excited about a breakthrough in a case. He’s vanished the next moment, already ten steps ahead of where he was a moment ago, but his soft lips and the traces of his strong hands gripping your cheeks leaves your head spinning

When he’s struggling with a piece of the puzzle, he needs you just as much. Although he often requires silence in these moments, solitude isn’t always preferable. He will occasionally pull you to him and guide you to lay on his chest in complete silence, the pattern of your breathing and the weight of you against him soothing him endlessly as his mind works overtime

Melts when you make notes on his ramblings so he can revisit thoughts he would have otherwise discarded. You know this because his mouth fleetingly curls into a smile and he exhales slowly before resuming his usual pace

You’ll catch him watching you on occasion, when he’s supposed to be breaking some code or other and you think he’s still working on it, but actually he finished with that half an hour ago and, curiosity sated, has been gazing at you lovingly since

Nuzzles into your neck when he actually makes it to bed, your warmth and scent calming him immeasurably. He never realises how touch starved he is until his mind isn’t occupied with riddles and mysteries and your body feels so soft against his

His scent varies depending on where he’s been investigating, which tobacco he’s used, what he’s experimented with in his makeshift lab, and whether he’s been dressing in disguise. But there are always staple scents underpinning his aroma; white musk, honey and something smoky with a slightly bitter twist of ink

When he’s bored, he will find ways to occupy himself with you whilst trying his hardest not to appear needy. It always fails, however, and usually ends up with you both tangled together on the little sofa, whispering sweet nothings, giggling and kissing like lovesick teenagers

When he’s feeling sentimental, he calls you his Little Problem, because despite being far from problematic to him, he’s endlessly fascinated with you

Never believes you when you tell him he’s handsome, particularly when he’s been wearing pyjamas for three days and hasn’t bothered to comb his hair, but your extra little touches and kisses go a long way to convincing him that at least you believe it to be true

When he’s finding a social situation tricky, he surreptitiously grasps your hand in his. No one else can see, but the reassurance of your fingers squeezing his back makes his breath even out and his heart slow down

Adores the tender moments of domesticity that you share. They’re all too rare with his erratic schedule, but you bring him tea in a morning when he doesn’t want to get out of bed, or lovingly help him dress with gentle fingers carefully buttoning up his shirt, or smooth his hair down with a smile at his soft, natural curls, and he practically swoons

Always having being a fan of A Touch of The Dramatic™, he’s a hopeless romantic when he has the energy to pour into spoiling you, pulling out all the stops to make you feel special and loved. He knows that his work can make you feel lonely sometimes, so he likes to balance that out when he can with his attention solely focussed on you for a while

After a particularly taxing case, he loves nothing more than to hibernate with you. It starts with a hot bath, laying together in the silky water for hours as blissful silence washes over him, counteracting the overload of his previously racing mind

When he gathers enough energy, he whispers in a low grumble, ‘I’ll always come back to you, darling. You know that, don’t you? No matter where a case takes me, I’ll always return.’

Then, if you encourage him, he will join you for a meal before bed, where he can finally sleep soundly, relaxed in your arms — but not before spending a few more hours relishing in your touch (and your reaction to his)

#sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock holmes headcanons #sherlock holmes fluff #sherlock holmes comfort #soft sherlock holmes #henry cavill sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes #victorian sherlock #any sherlock #sherlocksoft writes

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mandos-things · 2 years

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Cold - Geralt of Rivia

Relationship: Geralt x gn!reader

Warnings: mild swearing, nothing but fluff

Gif by @kh-ael

~~~~~

"You're chattering."

"Am not."

Jaskiers snores ripped through the silence of the forest.

You, Geralt and Jaskier made camp not far from the main road. The night air was light, relentless. Despite the crackling of the fire, the air tore right through your covers and into your very bones.

"Mm. Suppose its a squirrel then. Must be dearly regretting not buying the extra skins their wise friend had suggested they buy only two towns over."

"F-fuck off," you shivered. You would've laughed at his Geralt-like attempt at a joke if you weren't so fucking freezing...

"Come here," the gruffness of his voice slices through your regret-riddled thoughts.

"Wh-what?"

He deeply sighs, and moves to hold open his thick fur coat. An invitation. One that any other day you would've had the sense to question.

But you would sacrifice your dignity for warmth tonight.

So you shuffled, albeit clumsily to where he sat, just next to a fallen log. You pretend you don't see the little smirk he makes as you trip and shake your way over to him.

"A-Asshat," you huff as you move to lay down, his arm moving to rest over your waist once you've settled.

You breathe a relieved sigh at the heat. His warmth hugged you tightly, shivers dying down with every stroke of his hand along your spine.

"Mmmthankyou," you sleepily murmur. He kisses the top of your head in response.

"We'll stock up again tomorrow."

His other hand rests lovingly along the side of your face.

"Rest now, little one. I've got you."

~~~~~

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joelslegalwhre · 1 year

Text

Stay with me, okay?

pairing⁀➷ august walker x reader

word count⁀➷ 570+ (just a short drabble)

summary⁀➷ you get shot by the men that want Ethan in Paris. What no one knows is that you and Walker have a past together and he would do quite literally anything for you.

warnings⁀➷ use of y/n, spoilers obvs, soft!august (just for the reader), violence (people getting shot including the reader), angst, no mentions of gender or physical appearance, use of nickname (angel)

a/n ⁀➷ tell me if I missed a warning pls! And I’ve got some requests for a part 2 so if you have any wishes that I should add, let me know x

You felt like going on a walk today. Normally you would just stroll around the neighbourhood but today you felt like changing things up a little. You haven't been to this part of town, it was just a feeling that dragged you towards it.

Apparently, this part wasn't as crowded as the other places, which was quite nice. Ever since you moved to Paris, your mind didn't really settle. There was always something going on, not quite as romantic as some would think the city was. So to find a place this quiet, even if it wasn't the most beautiful, you enjoyed it.

As you walked across the street, a large garage was being opened. You glanced at the door out of pure curiosity. But you didn't look away after you'd seen his face. One that was way too familiar to you.

You stopped in your tracks and inhaled sharply. What on earth was he doing in Paris?

But then, why wouldn't he be in Paris. He did god knows what, things you only knew so much about as to not be endangered by it. You shouldn't be surprised.

You still stood there, visible surprise on your face that mirrored the others faces, as you looked back and forth between them.

How you weren’t even wondering why there was a, most probably, kidnapped man about to be sat on the backseat, you didn't quite know yourself. It just fitted the whole situation.

August stood there, slowly letting go of the door, his eyes fixed on yours. But before he could do anything, you heard a gunshot. You didn’t only hear it, you felt it. What on earth? You thought as you dropped onto the pavement. It felt like someone had punched you in the ribs, and you couldn't comprehend that the bullet actually hit you.

„Walker!" you could hear one of the guys at the car yell.

August was raging with anger, how would they dare to harm you, to harm what's his.

The next thing you heard were more shots. You couldn't see much, but what you saw was August, in front of you, and a gun in his hand. He had shot the men, all three of them. They had said something directed at one of the guys August was with, but you couldn't hear it, for you were groaning in pain.

„Y/N!" August called out name. „Y/N, Angel please…" he repeated your name over and over, turning to you.

As he kneeled down, his large hands cupped your face and his fingers lightly brushed your cheek. The angry expression on his face changed and he looked as if his worst nightmare just happened. „August.." you whispered, panting heavily. You were about to pass out and he knew it. „Stay with me, okay?" he whispered.

His voice was raspy. You could just nod in pain.

August slipped his arms under your knees and your neck, as he lifted you up. Still watched by the others in shock of his actions.

His strong hold made you feel safe. The way he carried you but looked at your face every few seconds to make sure you still had your eyes open.

„You're going to be fine, you hear me? I won't let anything happen to you. I won't leave you ever again." The moment you looked into his eyes, filled with worry and sincerity, you knew he would keep his word this time.

༄ Don't copy, translate or republish any of my works on any app or other platform please. I only post my work on Tumblr and Wattpad.

Reposts are always appreciated, they really make my day🧡

#e writes #henry cavill x fem!reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #soft august #august walker mission impossible #august walker x reader #august x reader #august walker #august walker x female reader #angst #august walker angst #fluff #henry cavill angst #mission impossible fallout #mission impossible #em's masterlist

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whumpypepsigal · 9 months

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“We didn’t come this far just to abandon each other.” — “Then don’t abandon me.”

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itsjustmeok · 2 years

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It's not about the sex...

Don't get me wrong. He is amazing. Like no other man. But it's not about how good he is doing the delicious dance with you in bed. It's about the after-game moment:

It's about how Walter just wraps you with his whole body, it's almost like both of you are in the same body, wet, hot, and naked on the covers completely messed up. He knows how to use the whole bed to his favor. You are so small next to him and it is not a bad thing because you feel safe, satisfied, happy, and loved. He does not talk much, but his act of just pulling you closer is him saying "I love you".

Or maybe about how August asks you if you're ok, dancing his hand on your back and your buns, feeling your respiration getting calm as he talks to you softly. He is a storm, intense and so firm, but after all that, he just wants to take care of you. "Are you ok?", "Do you need something?", "Do you want to rest?". It's enough for you to feel loved, especially when you are almost falling asleep and he lay down behind you, kissing the top of your head and smiling. You're his good girl.

Or maybe the heat is still around you two when Syverson grabs your ass smiling ear to ear. You can't help but smile too, he is a walking sin. Can't stop touching you even after both falling exhausted on the bed. And it's a good feeling. He can't control himself next to you, he needs you more than anything and he loves to show it. Talking about how amazing you were while on top of him moments ago, praising you by saying how hot your face is when the climax hits. He makes you laugh a bit by asking "when did you learn that?". What a man.

#henry cavill #august walker #walter marshall #captain syverson #Moments #Soft #Love

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waternilly · 1 year

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Sherlock Holmes Fluff Alphabet

A - Activities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Honestly, Sherlock's main passion are his cases. So if he wishes to spend time with you, he is most likely to take you along on a case or tell you about all the thoughts running through his mind.

It is, however, not the only thing he does in his life. In between cases, he likes to read or play music. You could thus those together, or you could do any activity you might like whilst he does one of those.

On occasion, you might have a drink together, but it is more likely to happen in the privacy of your own home.

B - Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Sherlock likes someone with wits; someone who likes to cultivate their intellect through any means they see fit. He does have a certain admiration for emotionally intelligent people too, who are empathetic and capable of understanding their feelings.

C - Comfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

When you first meet, Sherlock is at loss on how to comfort you. It first takes some observing from him and conversations with you for him to learn what to do. He is however a fast learner and will constantly try to improve upon what he already knows to work.

D - Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He may not be very likely to admit it, but Sherlock can no longer imagine the future without you being beside him. He has no specific plans regarding what he wishes, he only knows he wants you to be a part of it.

E - Equal - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Sherlock has his habits and he cares about those being respected. He may also take some decisions regarding both of you without consulting you first when your relationship starts, often because he believes he knows better.

If it is something that bothers you, however, he will hear you out and make sure not to take any important decisions without talking them over with you first.

F - Fight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

I don't picture Sherlock as the shouting type, unlike Mycroft. He is, however, very stern and serious, and honestly quite intimidating.

He cannot stay mad at you very long though. He does not want to. Fights are fun for no one and he prefers to avoid them altogether by having a calm conversation.

G - Gratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Sherlock is very observing, so he is likely to notice small things you do for him. Some he might take more for granted than others though. What he would appreciate the most would probably be when you help him on a case, either because you let him ramble to you or because you actually engage and give your opinion.

H - Honesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

This man is far from being an open book, so yes, Sherlock has secrets. But they are usually not intentional. He is more likely to consider something is not worth sharing than actually try to hide it from you.

I - Inspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You definitely changed him in ways. I can picture Sherlock as being more open to his relatives after starting a relationship with you. He bothers trying to understand his feelings, instead of bottling them all up. Because now, cases are not the only thing that matter anymore, you are there too.

J - Jealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Once you are in a relationship, Sherlock is not very worried when it comes to your honesty or loyalty. He believes you to be a good partner, who would not do such a thing. He does remain a bit warier towards strangers or even acquaintances that could attempt to court you.

However, before your relationship was properly established, he was worried someone would court you and win your heart, although he would never have admitted it.

K - Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Sherlock has very little experience in this regard and he does not kiss you often. He is however very gentle whenever it happens, unless you initiate something more passionate. In which case, he will follow your lead and adapt to your pace.

Every once in a while, he might be the one to initiate a more passionate kiss however. Maybe after being absent for a prolonged amount of time or after either of you were in danger but you made it out safely.

L - Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

A confession from Sherlock can not be as simple as him just telling you he loves you. The first time he attempts it, it probably flies over your head, because it barely even sounds like a confession. "I appreciate your presence." or "I value your opinion." are sentences that take you aback, but there was no reason for you to read into them you thought.

He finally confesses clearly when he starts thinking his feelings aren't shared. That is when the puzzle pieces are finally able to click in your brain.

M - Marriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose?

Considering the era, you would be bound to marry. Not that Sherlock minds, however, since he likes to picture you growing old together.

He would talk about his proposal ideas with Enola before going through with it. No one wants a repeat of his confession not being clear.

N - Nicknames - What do they call their s/o?

I don't picture Sherlock as a nickname man. He prefers to refer to you by your name directly but he occasional "dear" may slip out.

O - On Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Sherlock definitely tries his very best to hide his feelings. And for most people, it works. They would not be able to tell if he was in love or not. Enola might be able to read through it, though, because Sherlock would let things slip. He would mention you by name, stop to greet you and actually speak, and sometimes even smile. Knowing her brother, she can tell something is different about you.

Despite hiding it relatively well, Sherlock's mind is racing. At first, he does not understand why his thoughts keep going back to you, but as time passes, he starts accepting it and lets his mind flow freely.

When it comes to you, Sherlock is quicker to compliment you than most people. He may even offer to walk you somewhere, which he would ordinarily never do.

P - PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Considering he does not kiss you a lot even when you are married, kissing you in public would be a big no-no. The only acceptable gesture would be for you to hold onto his arm, or to dance at a ball (if Sherlock agrees to that in the first place).

Boasting is not really his style either and would not be very acceptable anyway. At most he will compliment you in front of others.

Q - Quirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

It is Sherlock Holmes we are talking about, so of course his observational skills are an advantage. They can however be an inconvenience if you try to surprise him.

R - Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Not a big, grand gesture type of romantic, Sherlock would however accept to do small things to make you happy. Dancing in your living room, playing music for you, buying you flowers etc.

S - Support - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Of course he does. Sherlock would be your number 1 supporter, even if it's not always explicit. He would listen to you talk about your goals, dreams and plans for the future, and he would help you find ways to achieve them.

T - Thrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Like I said earlier, Sherlock likes to have a certain routine. I think it's especially the case in your relationship because the rest of his life is usually not like that. Every case is different, so every day is different. But having a constant, through your relationship, helps him ground himself.

U - Understanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Because he is so observational, Sherlock knows a lot about you. Or at least about all the physical things that regard you: your hobbies, your likes, your dislikes etc. He struggles more with knowing and understanding your thoughts, however. But with time, he learns and gets better at it.

V - Value - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Would Sherlock give up on being a detective for you? Probably not. But is your relationship important to him? Yes, definitely. Especially once you confessed to each other, it becomes one of his priorities to keep courting you properly until he can propose. After that, keeping your relationship steady and making sure you are happy remains at the top of his list.

W - Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Sherlock likes to hide little things for you, wondering if you will find them and realize how they winded up there. Things like dried flowers or small notes in books.

Besides that, even if he almost always manages to deduct that you are preparing a surprise for him, he will occasionally play along. Not every time, because he thinks he would be too obvious. But every once in a while, he will pretend you managed to trick him just because it clearly makes you happy.

X - XOXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Only ever in private and usually at night, when you are lying in bed together. Sherlock is not a big one for physical affection, hugs are rare and kisses even more so. But holding you close and pressing his lips against your forehead as you quietly talk to each other before falling asleep... that's a yes.

Y - Yearning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Distraction, preferably a case, something that can keep his mind busy while you are away. Else he is likely to spiral like he sometimes does between cases.

Z - Zeal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

The furthest I can picture him going would be to drop a case if your life is in danger. If it is his own, no. But you, yes. He cannot afford to loose you.

Original Post

I am a simp and I need more Henry!Sherlock content so please if you know any, hit me up.

For the rest, if you liked this, please do let me know by liking, commenting or reblogging. And don't hesitate to come drop a request :)

#henry!sherlock holmes #henry!sherlock holmes x reader #henry!sherlock x reader #enola holmes #enola holmes 2 #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes headcanons #alphabet headcanons #race neutral reader #gender neutral reader #nille writes #nille is soft #enola holmes headcanons #henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill headcanons

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cerealbishh · 10 months

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"Triss! It's good to see you." "And you."// "It's good to see you." "You too."

#the witcher netflix #the witcher s3 spoilers #the witcher s3 #the witcher 02x04 #the witcher 03x05 #anna shaffer #henry cavill #triss merigold #geralt of rivia #geralt x triss #i feel like the distance keeps getting smaller and smaller in each of their first scenes together of the season lol #i find it so sweet that their first lines together after s1 are telling one another that it's good to see the other #idk if that even made sense tbh #idk he just seems so soft around her and i've never really seen him get super pissed with her after s1 #a great friendship #like they clearly respect and care about one another #lol and the stares after #i love how there's a blonde in the middle in s2 it was ciri and now it's sabrina #i feel like she expected him to be disappointed with her or angry about not being to help ciri in that first s3 gif cuz that's how she feel #so she's taken aback when he genuinely tells her that it was great seeing her #no scenes in the woods for them so far...#tw: fire

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mdemontespan1667 · 1 year

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STUPID GIRL

BLIND SPOT (3)

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

THE LONG WALK (1)

JANE DOE (2)

18+ ONLY

SOFT DARK WALTER MARSHALL X READER

SUMMARY: YOU'RE JUST DOING YOUR JOB. TOO BAD SOMEONE DOESN'T AGREE.

(I moved the dates of this to the current year instead of 2018 so hopefully my dates match. I used what character information I could find for Walter and either filled it in with the actor's info or just winged it since no explanation was ever given for his accent. I did my best to research the neighborhoods and streets mentioned. If I made a mistake I apologize.)

SERIES WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON/GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/TORTURE/DEATH/DESCRIPTIONS OF DEAD BODIES/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX/ANAL SEX/REFERENCES TO SEXUAL ASSAULT/REFERENCES TO MURDER/STALKING/CHOKING/SLAPPING

“Detective Marshall, Is this the 8th victim of the Hennepin Hatchet?”

“No comment.”

The man bristled at the name, barely concealed disdain in his expression.

You didn’t like the name any better.

Giving murderers cutesy names took the focus off the victims.

But the Press, yourself included, had to call this psycho something.

“Get out of my fucking crime scene”

“I’m not in your fucking crime scene.”

You gestured to the yellow police tape, flapping in the bitter wind, which you were currently behind, barely.

Detective Marshall grunted, clearly annoyed.

“I’m just trying to do my job. The public has a right to know if a serial killer is operating in Minneapolis.”

Crossing his arms, he fixed you with a bored stare.

“What makes you think this is serial? Prostitutes get killed all the time. Hazards of the profession.”

“You’re joking right?”

You rolled your eyes.

“All the victims were last seen in the Hennepin area, all petite blondes, all sexually assaulted, stabbed and mutilated. There’s no way in hell this isn’t the same guy.”

“No comment.”

The dark haired Detective walked away, effectively dismissing you.

“Can you confirm Madison Harper was missing her left breast?”

Turning back he lumbered toward you.

Oh shit.

Detective Marshall was a veritable bear of a man, with a rumored temper to match.

And you?

You’d just poked him, big time.

“Where did you get that information?”

“No comment,” you sassed.

Apparently you had no sense of self-preservation.

“If you don’t get the fuck out of here,” he growled, “I’m gonna have your ass arrested for interfering with a police investigation.”

“C’mon. Give me something, anything.”

You tried your best to bat your eyes.

“Officer Barton,” he shouted to a uniform, “I need you to..”

“Ok, Ok,” you threw up your hands, “I’m going.”

You stomped to your ancient, beige Subaru.

“Fucking prick.”

Driving away, you shivered, convinced the killer was just getting started.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I sincerely hope you're hitting submit as we speak.”

“I’m working on it.”

You glowered at your laptop, its blank Google Docs page taunting you.

“Uh, you know deadline’s in 3 hours?”

‘Yeah Brent, I know. I’m..I’m working on it.”

You hit the red dot, ending the call.

Brent was a great colleague, an even better friend.

SInce moving to Minneapolis a year and a half ago he was the only person you had gotten close to.

Even so, the last thing you needed right now was more pressure.

FUCK FUCK FUCK

Milton Turnbaldt, the editor of the Digital Division at the StarTribune, had finally moved you from Special Interest to the Crime Beat.

It was the next step in “THE PLAN” you’d mapped out since graduation.

Imagining yourself a modern day Helen Thomas, visions of Pulitzers had danced in your mind.

Reality had been a bit different.

Two years writing bar reviews for Bar Fly and one disastrous year at Chicago Suburban Family had been followed by a three year stint at the Chicago Sun Times, where the closest you got to reporting anything was letting Maintenance know a lightbulb was out in the Ladies room.

Getting hired at the StarTribune had seemed like a dream come true, even if you’d had to move to Minnesota.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

It was obvious this woman was the 8th victim.

Problem was every other reporter knew it, even if the cops refused to acknowledge the fact.

Your one advantage was your intuition.

The women had to have been comfortable with the killer, therefore, he was most likely good looking, charming and came off as harmless. Every victim had voluntarily left their comfort zone, something sex workers usually refused to do.

The pre- and post-mortem mutilation meant the killer felt confident enough in his surroundings to spend hours with the women, unconcerned about noise or the mess. His secondary location had to be isolated enough for his purpose but close enough to Hennepin Ave that the victims had been willing to take a chance.

Unofficial autopsy reports on each victim listed copious amounts of lube found in the vaginal and anal cavities. It wasn’t unusual for sex workers to use lube but this seemed excessive. The ME had attributed the internal micro-tears and bruising to the sexual assault. That, coupled with the lube, had you leaning in a different direction: The killer was having sex with the dying women.

Too bad you couldn’t prove any of it.

Neither could you publish the information about the missing body part or lube without totally outing your source at the morgue, although that ship had kinda sailed when you showed your hand to the detective.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

Praying for Divine intervention, you started typing.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think Claude?”

The overweight Tabby cat yawned.

“Thanks for the support. I’ll remember that next time you want a treat.”

Looking at your reflection in the full length bathroom mirror, you critically assessed your outfit: short, pleated black polyester tennis skirt, metallic silver cowl neck top, dingy, thigh high, white spiked boots, and a cropped, pink fake fur bomber jacket.

Heavy eye makeup, red lips and purposely mussed hair completed the disguise.

This classy ensemble, courtesy of the local thrift shop, had cost you a grand total of $53.98, an amount you really couldn’t afford.

But since the police, one surly detective in particular, weren’t talking you were just gonna have to find someone who would.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your feet were numb.

Whether it was from the insanely high heels or the -2 degrees (F) windchill you didn’t know.

Or care.

After walking the Hennepin Ave circuit for 3 hours you had a whole lot of nothing.

The sex workers definitely knew something.

Clustered in groups of 3 or 4, they murmured to themselves, cell phone cameras flashing, warning potential customers they were being watched, however, no one was willing to talk to a stranger.

A midnight blue, extended cab pickup pulled up, idling at the curb.

“Come here.”

“Uh, sorry, I’m..uh.. off the clock.”

He wasn’t the first guy who’d tried to engage you.

Maybe your refusal to leave with a client had given you away.

“Come here or I’ll bring you here.”

Tentatively you stepped closer.

“I said I’m not…Are you fucking kidding me Marshall?”

He sat hunched over the steering wheel, eyes blazing at you.

Beyond annoyed, you hissed, “Go away.”

“Get in the truck.”

“No.”

“Get in the goddamn truck now.”

Mimicking his earlier behavior, you crossed your arms.

“You can’t tell me what to….”

The cab of the truck flooded with light as he opened the driver side door.

“Fine!”

In a huff, you climbed in, fastening your seatbelt before throwing him a scowl.

He ignored you, smoothly merging with the heavy Friday night traffic.

“Where’d you park that piece of shit car?”

You refused to answer, making a show of sulking.

“Answer me or..”

“Or what?” you interrupted, “You had no right harassing me, asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

His harsh tone was a clear indicator you’d pissed him off.

“Your car?”

“It’s at my apartment. I took an Uber.”

The Detective sighed.

“Exactly what the hell were you trying to accomplish out there?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“You’re no help so I…”

“You what? You decided to play fucking dress up? Do you have any idea how dangerous the streets are? Some freak is killing prostitutes and your stupid ass is running around pretending to be one.”

“Are you finished?”

He clenched his jaw, cheek ticking.

“Contrary to your belief I’m not stupid. I can take care of myself.”

You reached in your bag producing a sleek, highly illegal taser.

“Plus I have this. And yes, I know how to use it.”

Taking a sharp left turn he headed South.

“Um, where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“How do you….”

“Born and raised in the Gold Coast area of Chicago. Only child. Undergrad at University of Chicago, Masters in Communication from Loyola, which your ridiculously rich mother paid for. You worked at two small time local papers then the Chicago Sun where you, what? Got coffee for three years? You took a job at the StarTribune 18 months ago writing online fluff. You live in the East Phillips neighborhood, don’t drink, smoke or do drugs and generally have no social life. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock, more than a little angry he’d checked you out.

“Pretty good,” you retorted, “My turn.”

“Born in the Channel Islands. Strict Catholic upbringing, four siblings, three boys, one girl. Attended St Michael’s Prep before transferring to Stowe School your Sophomore year, sorry, you call it Year 11. Joined the London Metropolitan Police Force in 2008, the same year you married Angie Stultz. She was interning for Warrener Stewart right?”

You rambled on, not waiting for an answer.

“Your daughter Faye was born the next year. Four years later you were promoted to the Criminal Investigations Department. You started out in Street Crime, then Organized Crime, until landing in Major Crimes in 2015. January of 2017 you and the little family moved to Minneapolis, where your wife was from but you didn’t start with the police department here for another 5 months so I’m assuming you were a house husband until your emigration papers cleared. Apparently you weren’t a very good husband, house or otherwise, cause your wife filed for divorce under “Irreconcilable DIfferences” a little over a year ago. You live alone, don’t smoke or do drugs and are generally recognized as a bully. I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

You flashed a Chesire grin.

Uh, oh.

If looks could kill, you’d be dead, buried 6 feet down, “Here lies a stupid idiot who wouldn’t keep her mouth shut” carved in the marker.

“Um, this is me.”

You pointed to a two story brick building, an empty storefront on the first floor, your studio apartment on the second.

“Why do you live in this shithole? With mommy’s money you could be living in the Carlyle or Legacy.”

“I wanted to prove I can make it on my own. And this neighborhood? It’s not as bad as people think. The Pizzeria over there? The old, Italian couple that own it let anyone who needs to use the free wifi. On the weekends they stay open late and offer a free slice and drink so the kids have a safe place to go.”

You became animated, warming to the topic.

“Mrs Freemantle, in the brownstone next door, invites me over three or four times a month. Her oxtail soup and mac and cheese are freaking amazing. She doesn't get around too well so I run errands for her once or twice a week.”

You peered out the windshield.

“Those two guys on the steps, the ones you gave the stink eye to? Andre and Tony? They fixed my car for a six pack and a pizza the last time it crapped out.”

“Probably with stolen parts,” he mumbled.

“I bought the parts, you judgemental ass.” you spat.

Jerking the handle, you exited the vehicle.

Snow swirled in the open door.

“People here care more about each other than anyone ever did in the swanky condo’s I grew up in. Thanks for the ride.”

You flung the door closed with a thud.

Trekking up the sidewalk, you quickly unlocked the outside door, your mind already on a molten hot shower.

“Honey, I’m home,” you announced to the tiny studio, tossing your bag and coat on the fifth-hand orange and green couch.

You stretched, exhausted, looking forward to…..

It happened so fast.

One second you were contemplating splurging an extra ten minutes in the shower, the next you were slammed against the kitchen wall, Detective Marshall’s forearm across your neck, other hand over your mouth.

You flailed at him, hitting and kicking.

It was like fighting a marble statue.

He leaned in, leg slotted between yours.

“Taser ain’t much help now is it.”

You pushed at his arm.

“How fucking stupid are you? You didn’t even lock your fucking door. Anyone…”

You bit his fingers, drawing blood.

He let go, surprised by your counterattack.

“Get the hell out of…..”

His hand closed around your throat.

Your chest heaved from adrenaline, his booming heartbeat matching yours.

Without warning, his lips crashed to yours.

The kiss was desperate, all consuming, his beard scratching your delicate skin.

His hand slipped under your top and cheap push-up bra, palming your breast, rough fingers pinching the already pebbled nipple.

The kiss deepened to something dark, Marshall taking control.

You rocked your hips against his muscled thigh, your core on fire.

Snaking down your belly, he slid his hand beneath the waistband of you skirt, callused digits gliding through your damp, plumped slit.

He circled your clit, applying light pressure with each pass, thumb randomly sweeping the bundle of nerves.

Lost in a sea of sensation, you mewled, the sound swallowed by his warm, searching mouth.

“Tell me to stop.”

Afraid he wouldn’t stop, even more afraid he would, you remained silent as you unzipped his jeans, freeing his heavy cock.

Gathering the sticky wetness from the tip, you stroked his length.

“Fuck.”

The whispered obscenity went straight to your cunt, fresh slick coating his hand.

He tore your black tights in one motion, leaving you bare.

Marshall lifted your leg, curling it around his waist, his cock poised at you sopping entrance.

“Last chance.”

You draped your arms around his shoulders, balancing yourself.

Taking that as a sign, he pressed into you, you channel stretching painfully.

You cried out, the burn almost too much.

His lips latched to yours, tongues sparing until his cock was fully ensheathed in your heat.

He pulled out, briefly hesitated, before thrusting in again.

Breaking the kiss, you buried your face in his neck, fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He fucked you now, hips pistoning, his fingers digging into your flesh.

Marshall’s feral grunts mingled with your needy moans.

Tendrils of electricity surged along your nerves.

He lifted your leg higher, changing the angle of penetration, his cock hitting the soft, spongy spot repeatedly.

“Please,..please..” you choked out.

“I’ve got you.”

You came with a sob, hips pumping in time with his, cunt clenching, the sheer intensity of your orgasm frightening, wave after wave threatening to drown you.

He drove into you faster, chasing his own release.

All you could do was hold on, tears staining his coarse, coal gray sweater.

You felt him swell, hips stuttering.

His muscles flexed as he came, pushing you against the wall, milky ropes of cum splashing your walls.

Fevered lust dissipating, he rested his cheek on your head.

Untangling limbs, Marshall fastened his jeans.

He didn’t stay, instead turning towards the door.

Hand on the brass knob, he paused.

“I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.”

His words froze the question in your throat.

Door closed, you collapsed to the floor, head bowed, knees to chest.

“What the hell just happened.”

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oddduckthatgirl · 1 year

Text

Words Are Power

Pairing: Daddy!August Walker x Fem!reader

Warnings: little pet names, degradation, praise, cock warming, mentions of bad relationships

Ratings: Mature

Summary: Books aren’t the only things he can read. You are no different.

A/N: not beta’d. We die with our mistakes like men.

He can’t describe it but he knows something is off. Not in a huge way but even the way she’s sitting seems wrong. Even though she had said many times that she’s “fine” he can sense something just beneath the surface.

If it’s one thing he’s glad he’s learned from his job it’s how to get people to open up and talk. He makes you a cup of tea and brings it to you by your perch on the couch.

You smile up at him and he caresses your cheek. He sits opposite of you and you continue trying to read the book in your hands. The smell of the warm liquid calls to you and you give in. Finally reaching over to let the first drops of it warm your body it feels like a warm blanket being pulled around you.

“How did you know I needed some tea,” sighing as you place the mug back down on the table.

“It helps you to relax.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“Angel,” his fingers stroke your bare thigh, “you’ve not turned the page on that book in over thirty minutes. So you’re either distracted or tense.”

You shrug as a way of conceding defeat.

“Come here. I want to hold you.”

You hesitate for a split second but crawl your way onto his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you close your eyes and fight off the fountain of words threatening to bubble out.

“I know you insist that you’re fine after last night,” whispering as he runs his hands over your back, “but I think I’ve hurt you and you’re not telling me.”

You shake your head.

“Sweetie, please don’t lie to me about anything like this. Remember you must always be honest with me. Especially if I’ve crossed a line.”

“You didn’t. Not on purpose,” sniffles swallowed up by his chest.

He sweeps your hair off your forehead and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, “just tell me. I want to fix it.”

You take a shuddering breath, “at the time I liked it. It was a turn on. I’ve never been degraded before. But…”

“Go on.”

“It’s….just one word. I don’t like it. It makes me feel wrong. Even if I only act like one for you. And I’m yours that way. I don’t like it.”

“Can you say it? Or do you need to write it down?”

“I don’t think I can say it without getting upset.”

He opens up a note in his phone and hands it to you. He watches as you type the word “whore.” He felt a stab in his chest when he thought about you hurting over this. He quickly erased the typing and tucks his phone back into his pocket.

He squeezes you tightly in his grip, “I’m sorry. I should have been more specific.”

“To be fair I said you could call me anything you like and I knew my safe words. At that moment I was okay. Just sitting with it ....”

“You don’t need to give me any more reason than you don’t like it. It will never leave my lips again. Were there more that you didn’t like after?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Perhaps we should have a longer talk about what words you do like for that play.”

Your skin heats and you wiggle in his lap, “well I really liked when you said I was your needy girl or that my body was needy. And,” swallowing down your desire, “how you said it was pathetic the way I begged for you.”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’ll keep that in mind. What’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Just that,” sitting up slightly to meet his gaze, “I just think that even when I’m open and honest you’ll be mad at me or you won’t want this. I know it’s just putting my bullshit on you….”

“Easy now. When I asked for you to be with me and for us to do this, I would have to see the hurt and damage left by someone else. I knew I would have to face it with you,” wiping unshed tears from your eyes, “nothing you ever say that is open and honest will make me want you less. Now I might have to adjust things but it would be important especially then to tell me how you’re feeling. The last thing in the world I ever want is to cause you pain and make you feel abandoned. I can’t do that to you. I can’t ever let you feel that again.”

You snuggled into him again and sighed. You let yourself be held. His words felt like a warm blanket over you because you knew he meant it. In all your time with him, no matter what, you knew he cared for you and he was there.

“Would it be okay if I held you and told you what I’m thinking?”

You nod and wrap your arms tightly around him.

“You’re so brave and I’m so proud of you. You put your trust in me. I know it scares you because of your past. In spite of that, you trust me. You submit to me in ways I’m sure you’d never even thought about. It’s beautiful, just like you inside and out. It nearly brings me to tears when I think about how far you’ve come. Seeing you come into a more confident version of yourself, it draws me to you even more.”

Your cheeks heat, “August, you’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m going to do it more. Do you have any idea what you do to me? I pride myself on control and one little pout from you and I’m broken. Or even one little phrase and I’m a mad man. One little text, one sentence, that’s all it takes.”

“Like what,” your skin is warm all over.

“Tease,” he growls into your ear, “but I’ll play along. Hmm, let me see. Begging for anything, even if you're just politely asking, never fails to make my train of thought go to all the ways I can make you say please,” his fingers dig into your hips as he whispers, “my very good girl.”

You rock your hips forward and groan at feeling him harden beneath you.

“You like what you do to me Angel,” you frantically nod at him, “it’s because you’re such a good girl. Obedient and shy but willing to be dirty just for me. Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

Gasping as his hips rise to meet yours, “yes Daddy. Only for you.”

His lips crash against yours and you’re lost. He hadn’t intended to be this aroused but praising you also makes his list of things he becomes a mad man for. Pulling away he gazes at your face, “I got carried away. Forgive me. I’m supposed to make you feel better and not force anything.”

You shake your head, “you’re not. But I need to… I mean, could,” you huff in frustration as embarrassment steals your words.

He holds you even tighter to him, “darling girl, don’t be ashamed. Nothing you need is wrong. I will never look down on you for using your words and telling me what you need. Now, take a breath and just ask.”

You close your eyes and breathe deeply. You know he wouldn’t think anything of it, “I need to feel you close to me. Inside me. Please Daddy.”

Even though you’ve never asked for it, he swells with pride at how you were able to say it aloud, “good girl.”

He reaches between you to free himself. Your eyes dip to watch so he strokes himself a few times just to hear the little gasps that come from you.

Rising up on your knees, he slides his fingers over the front of your shorts. He smiles as he moves the fabric to the side and finds your bare slit. His fingers glide over the wetness that has gathered, “very good girl.”

He lines himself up with your entrance, “go on. Sit.”

You sink down on his length and exhale. It’s wonderful and right. Your eyes meet his.

“Lay against me princess.”

You do as you’re told but a small groan passes your lips as his thick length presses against your cervix.

“I know. You’re so full. Be a good girl and don’t move now,” he picks up your discarded book, “I’m going to read to you.”

“But Daddy,” whining aloud.

He spanks you sharply, “I said be a good girl. No whining. No moving. Just feel me inside you. Listen to me read to you,” he kisses your temple, “then maybe when you’re so needy you can hardly bear it Daddy will give you more. Can you do that, be Daddy’s good girl?”

Nodding, “yes Daddy. Please.”

“Tease.”

Tags: @littlefreya @viking-raider @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @inlovewithhisblueeyes @mary-ann84

#henry cavill #august walker x y/n #soft august #soft dom #aftercare #henry cavill fics

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