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gojomamashouse · 6 months

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Taking Care of You

Pairing: Mike Schmidt x babysitter!reader

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral sex (M receiving), breeding kink, praise kink, Fem!reader. Very minor mentions of injury & blood.

Description: He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home.

A/N: crossposted on my Ao3 and Tumblr.

3.7k words

18+ content! Minors and ageless blogs dni!

You remember the first time you came over to babysit for Mike all too clearly. You remember the way your eyes went wide when the door opened, and how your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. More importantly, you remember thinking that Mike Schmidt was far too hot for his own good, a clear image in your mind of how he had greeted you with tired eyes, messy hair, and a hand gripping the doorframe.

"Mr. Schmidt," you had blurted, ignorant to how his nose scrunched at the words leaving your mouth, "It's nice to—"

"Don't tell me I look that old?" His tired expression tried a smile, and you found yourself standing there, unable to formulate a proper response as you were already convinced you messed up the job before you even started. "Just Mike is fine.”

Back then, the only thing you knew about him was that he was hot, overworked, and clearly exhausted. So you did your best to make his life easier, even if those things were small, like cleaning all the dishes before he came home, tidying up all the clutter left behind on the table and kitchen counter. It wasn’t much, but you figured he could use whatever help he could get. He came home the first night, too tired to even notice before collapsing on the couch. Suppressing a giggle, you threw a blanket over his sleeping form, lingering a moment longer than you should have just to observe his face. Even in his sleep, you weren’t sure you could find even an ounce of peace in his expression.

—

Mike remembers the first week of your babysitting, when he returned home at some ungodly hour that Friday. While most babysitters in the past opted to lay on the couch, sleeping or watching TV, he had discovered that you preferred to be a bit more proactive. That night, in particular, he recalled your humming in the kitchen, rinsing the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher.

A strange feeling filled his chest at the sight, the smell of dinner still lingering and the radio playing some old song from his childhood. It was a feeling he shouldn't have been feeling towards the babysitter looking after his little sister. You had jumped when the floorboard creaked beneath himself shifting weight, still shy and jittery around him at the time.

“I didn’t see you come in,” your voice is still shaken from the scare. You turned to the oven, “Oh! I kept the food warm, in case you wanted some. Are you hungry?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, blinking a bit to shake the thoughts from his head, “Ah, you don’t have to do all this, you know. The cooking and cleaning stuff.”

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” you returned your gaze to the dishes in the sink, “Besides, you work hard. It’s the least I can do. Just let me take care of it.”

Just let me take care of it.

A phrase he hadn’t yet forgotten, either. When was the last time anyone had taken care of anything for him? He’d taken on the role of being Abby’s caretaker the moment his parents were out of the picture. He had made countless sacrifices, dropping out of school to work full-time, losing his social life. His old friends preferring to go out partying rather than hang out with the guy who has a kid sister and a full-time job. Every day was work, only to mess up at work. Then go home, stress over a dirty home. Drive Abby to school, stress over her education and development.

He didn’t have it within himself to deny you, not when you were so kind and helpful. Even if the guilt ate away at him, reminding him how he couldn’t even afford to pay you close to what you deserved.

His eyes wandered to an image on the counter. There was himself, a familiar stickman with brown hair. There was Abby, of course, given the height difference. And then there was another figure, the hair undeniably similar to yours. All three figures were holding hands together inside a square home.

“What’s this?” He picked it up.

“Abby told me it’s us,” you had laughed, placing a dish in the dishwasher. “Cute, right?”

There was a thumping in his chest as he looked at you, before looking back down at the paper. All he could manage was a smile as he pinned it to the fridge.

You soon felt his presence at your side, his hand picking up another dish while you rinsed yours.

“Let me help with that,” he said.

—

You’ve fallen into a routine. Every day, when he returns home, he is met with the same thing. You, in the kitchen, humming. You, greeting him with a smile. You, sitting down to eat with him. You, always asking him about his day even though you know by now that he has nothing interesting to say. He prefers to hear you talk instead, to listen to you ramble about your shitty college professors and annoying roommates. He likes it like this. To be able to pretend that he’s not some deadbeat who can’t hold down a job to save his life or some traumatized freak haunted by the memories of his dead brother and parents. With you, he gets to pretend like he’s normal.

But, of course, just because he can pretend things are normal, doesn’t mean they are. Reality soon hits him when he’s sitting in his boss’s office, asking Mike for his badge and ID. It hits him when he’s driving home, remembering how he beat an innocent man, his knuckles still bloody as he grips the steering wheel tight. He walks through the front door, hearing you greet him from the kitchen, a sound that would have been music to his ears any other day.

“Mike?”

He doesn’t have the energy to reply. No, all he can do is walk over to the chair in the living room, sinking into it with a sigh. He loosens his tie and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the sound of dishes clattering in the sink followed by your footsteps against the hardwood floor.

“Hey, you okay?” Your voice is soft and gentle. His eyes shoot open when he feels your even softer touch against his forehead, laying the back of your palm flat. “You’re not sick, are you?”

In all the time you’ve been babysitting, neither of you had done so much as touch each other at all. The few times he could remember was how your fingers brushed when you reached for the same dish in the sink or the innocent hand you placed on his shoulder that one time you laughed so hard you couldn’t hold yourself up. He had always made sure to keep his hands firmly placed in his pockets or at his side. Now, you were touching his face, and he thinks that’s the first time anyone has touched him like that in years.

“Don’t worry about me.” He pleads, his body betraying his words when he leans into your touch, your hand drifting to caress his cheek, “You don’t have to.”

You ignore him, and your eyes scan over his form, before landing on his bloodied knuckles. A gasp escapes you, followed by the scolding of his name. He hears you stumble towards the bathroom, rummaging through whatever you can find and returning with a washcloth and disinfectant. You kneel beside him, cleaning the dried blood from his wounds and he winced from the sting of the alcohol.

“I know I don’t have to,” you finally break the silence. “I worry because I care.”

“Why?”

You avert your gaze.

“I just do.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.” He presses. There’s another pause.

“Because this feels like home.”

The answer is enough to render both of you silent, you out of humiliation, and him out of shock because he hadn’t realized you thought the same way.

You finish wiping the last bit of dried blood from his knuckles and there’s a lingering feeling left on his skin, where your fingers held his hands. Soft. Familiar. You’re still kneeling in front of him, but you’re wearing an expression he hadn’t seen since the first week he met you. It’s that look of shyness, the way you used to squirm under his gaze or shrink your presence out of fear of overstepping a boundary.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?

“Let me take care of you. Please?”

He knows it’s wrong. He knows that “messing around with the babysitter” has never been a good idea in the history of ever, but when he sees you gazing up at him like that, sitting on your knees between his legs, your eyes wide like that. Well, what the fuck else is he supposed to do?

The chair isn’t too high from the floor, so he easily finds himself at somewhat your level when he leans forward, his hand lifting your chin to look him in the eye. He pauses, analyzing your face just for a moment. Your lips are parted, so prettily, and your eyes are filled with a look of lust and desperation.

“Please,” you repeat, this time in a whisper.

Any semblance of self-restraint he had before was all lost the moment his lips met yours. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was until he got a taste, a groan escaping his throat when he feels your tongue in his mouth. And you, you are so pliant. So eager to please. Still timid, hands hesitant as they rested on his knees, but so willing to let him handle you however he pleases, moaning when he tugs on your hair, whimpering when his hands grope your chest through your shirt.

“Quiet,” he mutters between kisses. You feel him pull away, the ghost of his lips at your ear, “we gotta be quiet, yeah?”

You nod, and he kisses your forehead, a tender change from his rough kisses shared only moments prior. He looks down at you, a flustered mess, but knows he must look the same. He couldn’t even remember the last time he let himself indulge like this. He feels your hand slither up his thigh, fumbling with his belt, groaning when you feel him through his jeans.

“You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?” You ask, looking up at him through your lashes as your hand dips into his boxers.

“You have no idea,” he says, his hand caressing the side of your face, making circles with his thumb against your cheek. He can feel your skin heat up under his touch. Your hand wraps around his hardening cock, and he has to stop himself from bucking into you. You’re just so gentle and sweet and he knows you’d let him take his frustration out but he just cannot allow himself to do that just yet— not without a little guilt.

“Then talk to me.”

“Got, ah, fired,” he chokes out, feeling your thumb swipe over his tip, gathering his pre-cum and helping you stroke up and down with more ease. “Was my fault, too.”

“You started a fight, didn’t you?”

“Something like that.”

He looks down at you, his cock now fully hard in your hand. He can’t hold but admire the sight, how you hungrily stare at him, or how you press your thighs together to relieve yourself of your own desires. He feels his breathing become heavier with each passing stroke of your hand on his dick, and he forces himself to look away, his hand that had previously been caressing the side of your head now digging his fingers into the back of your scalp.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do now,” he leans his head back, in an attempt to stop himself from busting in your hand before you’ve even done anything. He swears he’s not usually this sensitive, but the fact that it’s been so long, and the fact that it’s you, had him feeling like he was a teenager getting his first handjob all over again. He tries not to think about it. “I’m already behind on bills. I don’t think I can even pay you. Probably won’t even get another fucking job after what I did.”

“You don’t need to pay me.”

“You’ve got to stop saying shit like that,” he shakes his head, almost in disbelief. He looks down at you again, and you’re pressing your lips to kiss the underside of his dick, then kissing his tip. He shudders. “You’re too good for this. For me.”

He’s about to continue, but your lips wrap around him and he can’t think of anything. Curse words slip from his lips, feeling your tongue work around him, your hot mouth taking him. He still has his hand on the back of your head, tempting him to force your head down, but he’s more curious about whether you’d try to take him all yourself— which you do. He feels your throat contract around him as you try to push yourself down his cock, determined to take it all. Sometimes, you really were that predictable. Sure, you were a timid little thing, but you were equally if not more stubborn. He grips the back of your head to pull you off, a cough rising to your throat as you catch your breath and he smiles lazily.

Your quick to take him back in your mouth, and he cherishes the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, and your hands that reached for the base of him to stroke whatever you couldn’t take. He gives an experimental thrust and he’s in bliss when he hears you moan around him. And as much as he wishes he could do this forever, watching you take him in your mouth, he knows his own limits and he knows he won’t last any longer. Besides, he’s neglected your needs for far too long.

He pulls you off of his cock finally, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, your lips puffy from their earlier actions. Then, he’s lifting you to the couch, hovering over your form as your back hits the cushions. Mike is thankful that you chose to wear a skirt tonight because with your legs spread like this, he gets a full view of your white cotton underwear, as well as the wet patch your arousal has created. He brings his hand down between your legs, feeling you through the fabric. He can hear your breath hitch and he watches you bite down on your lower lip to suppress your noises. And as much as he wants to tell you not to, he is reminded by the fact that you are both doing this in the living room, and the last thing he wants to do is traumatize his little sister, who is sleeping a few doors down the hallway.

“Didn’t know you wanted me this bad,” he whispers, finally slipping his hand past the fabric barrier to gather your slick at his fingers and rub your clit with his thumb, his other fingers prodding at your hole but not yet entering.

“Wanted you for so long,” you admit, sucking in a breath when you feel his thumb circle around your clit again. “You’re really fucking hot.”

“Yeah?”

Two of his fingers finally sink into you and you’re gripping the fabric of his uniform at his shoulders. Rough, long and so much bigger than your own— you have to grit your teeth even harder to stop any sinful noises from escaping you.

“Always thought you were real pretty, too.” He continues, “You’re prettier right now, though.”

He continues to pump his fingers in and out of you, the wet sounds making you burn up in embarrassment. He’s obsessed with the way your eyes roll back, how your pretty lashes flutter open and closed, and how your hips buck to meet his rhythm.

“More, please,” you finally let out, your eyes going down to his cock, which was still very much hard. “Need you inside.”

You whimper at the emptiness you feel when his fingers leave, but quickly forget about it the moment your panties are removed and you feel his cock rub against your cunt, the tip resting at your entrance. You expect to feel him push in, only to see that he has paused.

“I don’t have any condoms,” he says, a pained look on his face. He had no reason to keep any around any more, not since providing for Abby had become his number one priority. He mentally kicked himself for it now.

“Mike,” you whine, trying to roll your hips up, but his hands remained firm against you, keeping you down. “I don’t care. Just pull out or something.”

You feel like a pathetic idiot for saying it, and he feels even more of one for considering it at all. All he can manage is a sigh. He’d already crossed so many lines tonight that he shouldn’t have. What difference would crossing one more be?

He hesitates before pushing in, but once he feels your tight walls around the head of his dick he can’t find it within himself to have any regrets. You’re so tight and warm and wet and he loves the way you stretch around him, gasping with every inch he gives you. He pauses when he’s buried at the hilt, mentally trying to cool himself down because the fact that he’s fucking you raw and you’re taking him so well is driving him mad.

“So good,” he coos, his hand on your face, thumb on your lower lip, “so fucking good.”

He pulls away until he’s nearly out again before thrusting into you fully, and he has to slam his hand over your mouth to stop the moan that would have escaped you. He continues to fuck you like this, slowly, and deeply, before it’s not enough, and he finds himself taking you faster, harder, wanting to see how much you were willing to take.

You feel every inch of him inside you, and you can’t help but clench around him every time the tip of his cock hits the spot inside you that you can’t reach with your own fingers. You feel so full and it’s everything and more that you’ve needed for so long.

He pushes up your shirt, revealing your cleavage. Your breasts are still covered by your bra, but he pinches your nipples through the lacy fabric anyway, content when he hears you make a sound, muffled by his other hand which remains on your mouth.

He can tell you’re close from the telltale sign of your pussy clenching harder, and how you start to freeze up, too fucked out to do anything else. He, too, starts to feel himself approaching his limit but knows he has to hold out long enough to let you reach your high first. He finally removes his hand from your mouth and uses it to rub your clit.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes.

“I’ll always be good for you,” you keep your voice a whisper, “Always waiting for you when you come home.”

Your words ignite a desire within him he never realizes he had. He had never considered himself too fond of domestic life until you came into his house and made it feel like home. Now, as he’s fucking you, the only thing he can think about is how deeply he wants to cum inside you, over and over again until he gives you another kid to take care of. He doesn’t care if he can’t afford it. He’ll pick up as many jobs as he can get just to take care of you.

He feels your back arch and your walls clench around him, immediately going to kiss you to swallow your cries. He ruts into you, over and over again and though there’s a sinful voice in the back of his head telling him to fill you up until he’s dripping out of you, he knows he should stay true to his promise to pull out. That is, until you tell him otherwise.

“You can do it inside,” you choke out, still fucked out from your orgasm, “I don’t mind—“

Before you can finish your sentence his hips come to a stop and he’s finishing inside you, as deep as he possibly can, as if to not waste a single drop. When he finally pulls out, he can’t help but watch in awe as his seed drips from your cunt down to your ass, ruining the couch cushions beneath you both. He tries not the think about the consequences that will bring. Instead, he’s pulling you close, catching his breath while laying his head against your stomach. Moments later, he feels your hand running your fingers through his hair and he sighs, leaning into your warmth.

“I don’t want you to be Abby’s babysitter anymore,” he starts, his voice hoarse and worn out. He can feel you tense up when he says it, before immediately continuing, “I want you to be my girlfriend.”

He hears you laugh.

“Does that mean I won’t get paid anymore?”

“I’ll repay you in other ways,” he flashes you a suggestive smile, earning him a snort and a flick on his forehead. Still, the guilt gnaws at him from within. “Seriously, though. I will. I’ll take care of you, too.”

He doesn’t care what job he picks up next. He’ll take any job in the world, so long as it means he can provide for you and Abby.

—

You wake up the next morning, the scent of pinewood and campfire surrounding you. You don’t remember exactly how, but you remember, after being fucked mercilessly, being carried to his room, cleaned up, and falling asleep in Mike’s bed. Now, you find the place next to you empty but can observe Mike standing at the door, speaking in a hushed voice while holding back the door.

You stand on shaky legs, still wobbly from your earlier affairs, approaching the argument.

“Abby, go away!”

“No! Let me—“

“What’s all this?” You interject.

Mike loses his grip on the door and Abby opens it wide. Her arms are crossed, adorning a frown while Mike is bringing his hands to his face.

“Abby, I can explain—“

“Why didn’t you tell me you guys were having a sleepover?” She fumes, “We could have built a pillow fort!”

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #fnaf movie #mike schmidt x you

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jaebeomsbitch · 3 months

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Slow (E.M.)

Summary: Only Eddie can cure the blues that cling to your skin like he’s balm made for your soul.

A/N: will publish the extended version later, just needed to get this out. Not edited!

Warnings: MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BURNED AT THE STAKE, eating pussy, depression, cursing, making out

You’d been feeling sad for a while, there’s this unexplainable ache in your chest pressing into your ribs until you feel like they’ll almost crack. Eddie sees the way your eyes have dimmed. How could he not? You’d been living together for over a year now but he’s never seen you like this. So quiet, so demure. Yes you were introverted, sometimes having bouts of energy where you won’t shut the fuck up and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The way your eyes light up, you hands moving wildly.

So when you lay in your bed sheets quietly, no book in your hand Eddie looks at you with this sadness in his eyes. It’s not pity, it’s concern. His girlfriend so quiet, so meek, not eating. Fuck his heart aches seeing you like this. He crawls into bed softly asking what’s wrong but you don’t have an answer. You don’t know what’s wrong but this black cloud looms over you like your own personal rain cloud.

Eddie makes the ache better, he takes some of the pressure of your chest especially when he pulls you into his arms. His nose in your hair breathing in your shampoo, pale arms holding you tight as he rubs your back. He brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear whispering “you’re so beautiful.”

You can’t help the way you automatically mewl under his big brown eyes, hiding in his neck like a safe haven. He holds you tighter against him, nuzzling into your hair again.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs softly, breath warm against your ear. “I want to see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”

You reluctantly relent, cheeks pink as you slowly look up at your boyfriend. There’s a certain vulnerability in your eyes. He gives you a small smile stroking your cheek with his thumb as he grabs your face.

“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, y’know? I’m here for you no matter what sweetheart.”

“You make me shy when you say stuff like that” you whisper, not trusting you full voice and afraid to break the quietness between you two.

He chuckles softly, the reverberation dancing into your chest straight to your heart. “Then I’ll just have to keep saying it then,” he replies teasingly.

His hands trace gentle patterns on your back, it’s soothing but electric at the same time. Like lightning striking the sea. He leans in close to you, nose ghosting over the bridge of yours as he whispers, “I love you so much, princess.”

“I love you too” you manage to murmur back. It’s like you’re stuck in a trance. Your eyes flicker to his lips and back to his eyes as he closes the gap. Your lips move against each other in a dance full of love and understanding. Tongues gliding against each other as Eddie strokes your cheek.

“You’re so pretty” you whisper as you pull away from his lips. His cheeks flushed, lips half swollen, big brown eyes boring into yours.

He grins preening at the compliment squeezing you just a little tighter. “So are you, baby” he replies. His thumb stroking your cheek tenderly “you take my breath away,” he whispers pressing a soft peck to your lips. You hum softly, feeling the blues cling to your skin like rainwater but Eddie makes everything better.

He notices the faint hint of sadness still swirling in your eyes despite you trying to hide it, his lips curve into a frown. “Are you sure you’re okay, baby?” He asked gently moving to stroke your hair tenderly. “You don’t have to pretend for me, y’know. I’m here for you, whatever you need”

“I just want to be here in your arms” you whisper

He nods understandingly, pulling you closer against his chest as he holds you tight. He plants a series of soft kisses along your temple and down your cheekbone, his lips lingering on your skin as he tries to convey his love and support through his touch.

"I'm right here," he whispers softly, his words echoing the sentiment of his actions. "You're safe with me, always."

You sniffle, small tears droplets falling into his tattooed skin as you nuzzle into his neck. He wipes away your tears gently with his thumbs, his heart aching at the sight of your distress. "Shh, it's okay," he soothes, rocking you back and forth slightly as he holds you close. "Just let it out, princess. I'm here for you."

“I don’t want to be sad anymore” you whisper, your voice broken. You sound so defeated, you feel like a burden on Eddie.

He kisses your forehead tenderly, his own heart heavy with sympathy for your pain. "I know, baby," he murmurs softly. "And we'll get through this together, okay? You're not alone in this."

He continues to hold you close, offering what comfort he can through his presence and touch. After a few moments, he speaks again, his voice gentle and reassuring.

"Why don't we watch that movie you wanted to see earlier?" he suggests. "Maybe it'll help take your mind off things for a while." You nod but make no effort to move out of his arms. You want nothing but your boyfriend’s warmth and affection.You lay on his chest, legs tangled with his. It’s like he naturally radiates this sense of comfort as he puts on whatever random movie he found.

He feels your body relax in his as you sink further into his embrace. His heartbeat pounding underneath your ear providing a sort of lullaby, lulling you into a peaceful state. He plays with your hair aimlessly just wanting to remind you that he’s right there with you.

“I wish I could sink into you” you whisper unsure if that sounds creepy or not. He smiles down at you, his expression full of love and tenderness. "Me too, baby," he whispers softly, planting a gentle kiss on top of your head. "I never want to let you go."

You trace patterns onto his chest as Eddie pulls the duvet over the two of you knowing how cold you get. The two of you sit like this for a long while until you finally whisper “you make everything better.” You shift your face so you can look at him wanting him to know just how much you appreciate him, that you don’t take him for granted.

He meets your gaze, his own eyes filled with love and something else. "I hope so," he replies softly, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face tenderly. "Because you mean everything to me, princess."

You lay your head on his chest, your eyelashes fluttering against his T-shirt with every blink. “Baby” you whisper.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly

“I… I wanna feel connected to you” you whisper, cheeks flushing pink.

He feels a wave of tenderness wash over him at your admission, and he leans down to place a gentle kiss on your head. "We already are, princess," he murmurs softly, his voice thick with emotion. "But if you need something more...well, I'm yours for the taking,” he says with a grin on his lips.

“Please” you whisper.

“S’all I want” you murmur pressing a kiss to the underneath of his jaw. His fingers find your face, thumb slotting under your jaw to bring your lips to his. Your lips move against each other as you shift to make the angle less awkward. Humming softly as the warmth of his kiss spreads through your chest.

His arms wrap around your back as he licks at the seam of your mouth. It’s been a while since the two of you had just made out. He presses his weight on his right side making sure to hold you close as he gently lays you on your back successfully flipping your position.

You pull back panting faintly, Eddie swirls around you. His touch, taste, scent, clouding your vision as he crowds you, the soft sounds of his labored breath singing in your ears as he leans down to press wet open mouthed kisses to your neck. You croon pressing your head into the pillow to bare your neck to his mouth. Your fingers brush through the soft curls on his head, mussing the tight ringlets.

“I love you baby” he whispers, husky voice and all like Smokey whiskey injecting straight into your veins.

“Love you too” you say breathlessly as your head spins in a flurry of tenderness.

His fingers trace over your clothes, “can I take these off sweetheart?” He whispers. His index and thumb pinched on the thin fabric of your pajama bottoms.

“Yes” you nod looking down at your boyfriend. His hair sticking in every direction, veined hands pulling down the soft fabric off your hips, big brown eyes drinking in every single detail of your face. You lift your hips as he drags down your pajamas almost agonizingly slow but you’re not in a rush, not even when the tips of his pinkies hook into your panties bringing them down too.

He’s careful when he removes your clothing off your feet, successfully throwing them into the hamper before looking down. His pupils dilating, pink tongue licking his lips like a man starved seeing his meal for the first time in a while. He lays on his stomach, big hands grabbing the backs of your thighs.

“This okay?” He murmur, eyes flicking up towards yours. He needs your permission, wants desperately to give into your whims and quell the sadness that hangs over you. Not that he can see much of it right now. Not when you’re looking at him through half lidded eyes as your chest rises subtly. You nod letting out a breath trying to calm your racing heart down.

He crawls closer pulling your legs open and groaning as you’re exposed to his hungry gaze. He dips his face forward like he’s smelling freshly cut daises, nose pressed to your pussy. Your fingers curl around the sheets with a sharp gasp, eyes fluttering closed until Eddie asks you to open them. You swallow hard in embarrassment, Eddie always liked maintaining eye contact during intimacy but you’re still left very raw and vulnerable.

“I’m right here baby” he whispers, fingers finding yours in the crumpled sheets, intertwining his much larger hand with yours. Your eyes flutter open at his tenderness, dark pupils finding your matching ones as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh. You squeeze his fingers back as a wordless ‘okay.’

His free hand glides through the fabric with a whooshing noise, thumb and index finger opening up your pussy to his gaze. This time he swallows hard, seeing your pussy wet and attentive for him. Your clit glistening in your arousal like a shiny pearl in an open clam.

He dips his face forward, the familiar feeling of his hair tickling your inner thighs already making your heart race but as soon as his tongue flatly traces up your slick entrance you swear you could die and go to heaven. You squeeze his hand tighter as you moan softly, a grin adorning Eddie’s face as soon as he hears it. He’s fucking elated that you’re letting him take care of you when you’ve been feeling this down.

The tip of his tongue swirls expertly around your clit teasingly, your eyebrows knitting together immediately. You sigh that is until, he applies more pressure to your clit. A small noise escapes your throat as you press your head into the pillow again.

“Taste so sweet, baby” his voice husky and low, cool like amber.

“So fucking perfect” he whispers as he lays his tongue flat against your clit, licking continuous stripes over it until he coaxed out those familiar whines from your lips. His tongue finds its way to your entrance, the tip of it working you open until he’s got his tongue inside the bumpy walls, nose brushing against your clit as he tongue fucks you making sure to go slow and gentle. He wants you to feel how much he fucking loves you.

It isn’t long until your thighs are trembling on either side of his head, more whimpers and moans mixed with broken curse words leave from deep in your lungs. They fill the gap, slowly inflating the ache in your chest until the cavity is smooth and your ribs are back in place. Of course you’re not healed for life but Eddie will be there to fill the gap.

You feel so loved, eyes burning with happy tears as your fingers squeeze his tighter. A final breathless moan leaves your parted lips as your back arches off the bed ever so slightly. It is not dramatic, there’s no screaming, no neighbors banging on the door for you to shut up. It’s your body trembling as your fingers tug on the bedsheets, it’s patient and kind and warm. It’s Eddie, it’s you, it’s your love. It’s everything you need.

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ervotica · 5 months

Note

Dunno if you're still taking requests regarding the slytherin boys, but I'll try my luck soo I was thinking like maybe something about spending time with Enzo in one of the dorms while all the other slytherins are out in hogsmeade or whatever and just cuddling and all that sappy stuff??

In case you do write it, thank you so much <3

pairing; lorenzo berkshire x fem!slytherin!reader

tags; established relationship, disgusting sappy toothache inducing fluff, very much calm!boyfriend x dramatic!girlfriend trope, shitty writing (sorry!)

The dorm is blissfully quiet; your rowdy bunch of friends have taken a day trip to Hogsmeade and Enzo has essentially glued himself to you, coaxing you to the common room to spend the day together.

And, well, you’re not going to complain. An entire uninterrupted day with your favourite boy in the world? How could you possibly object to that?

You sigh exaggeratedly and roll on the bed where you're sprawled next to him, pushing your lips out into a pout and blinking owlishly in that wide-eyed way you tend to when you want something; Enzo has always been particularly fond of your flair for the dramatic. His smile is soft in comparison, half-moon dimples pushing out of his perfect cheeks as he mimics your movements and comes to a stop mere inches from your face.

"What is it, my lover," he drawls in an awful attempt at some sort of Southern cowboy accent, a crooked finger tickling underneath your chin as though you're a cat. You seem to approve regardless.

"It's just not acceptable, Enzo!" you whine, throwing yourself onto your back in a mess of limbs and hair. He tilts his head, eyebrows raised and awaiting the continuation of your theatrical outburst. "We are not nearly close enough together. Look how much room there is between us!" You gesture wildly to the two inch gap separating you and him and feign distress, a hand clutched to your chest in faux shock.

"Come here then, sweet girl," he coos, hands reaching out to tug you up and into his arms. You settle between his thighs, chin propped against his chest as he gazes at you, tucking flyaways behind your ears when you wrap your arms around him. You scrunch your nose as he grazes it with the tip of his thumb devotedly and laughs.

"I love you." His fingers trail the expanse of your face; every crease and crevice, each bump and ridge and slope. He leaves nowhere without his gentle touch, his reverent worship.

You soften and rest your cheek against his warm shoulder, arms coming up to hook around his neck. You never feel like you're quite close enough with him, always wanting more, wanting to burrow inside of his very soul; everywhere you go, you always hunger after his touch- fingers interlinked, knees brushing chastely, a modest peck before you ever part from his company.

"I love you more," you murmur, promptly serious at his declaration. Your face gravitates towards him almost unconsciously and you're slotting your lips between his for a kiss. Once, twice, and then a long, lingering one before you rest your forehead against his, noses brushing.

"Don't ever leave me," you say suddenly. "I've never loved anyone like this."

This time he's the one to break the tension, squeezing you so tight you wheeze and pressing open mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he can reach. They're half-moon shaped, just like his dimples.

"Never," he mumbles into your skin, pulling the duvet over you as you snuggle further into his warmth. Your eyes are heavy.

By the time the rest of the group return from their outing, you're both sound asleep, wrapped in each other's arms. Enzo snores quietly and you're completely still, calm and content. It's the quietest your friends have ever seen you.

Enzo's your person. And your person calms the racing thoughts that spin in your mind. He allows you to relax in the cocoon of safety he's formed around you.

Pansy forces them all out of the dorm to let the pair of you sleep, and for that you are grateful.

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leighsartworks216 · 8 months

Text

In The Moonlight

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Lowkey wrote this for @niermortem bc the Astarion hyperfixation goes hard

I've never written for Astarion before and I'm still not 100% comfortable with his speech patterns and stuff but I had to write this or I would not be able to sleep tonight. Tbh y'all are lucky he even spoke at all. I was going to have Tav shush him lmao

Warnings: Cazador, mentions of past abuse, mentions of biting, vague implications of sex, like one swear

Word Count: 1,110

Masterlist

AO3

He’s so beautiful, just like this. The moon reaches through the window and caresses his hair, turning already-bright white into pure starlight. His pale skin glows. And when the sun rises and casts beams of yellow-orange over him, it’s almost as if blood flows through him once more.

You cannot sleep. Despite how tired your body was, your mind couldn’t sit still. It pondered over the day’s events - if you made the right choices, what you could have done better, your companions - endlessly spiraling out of sleep’s embrace. And you would still have been going over these questions and concerns, if Astarion did not look so damn pretty.

He fell asleep a while ago. With a gentle kiss to your cheek and a whisper of thanks, he’d tucked one arm under his head and draped the other across your waist, and drifted off. A hint of a smile still lingered there. Creases by his mouth and eyes proving a simple joy that followed him into his dreams.

It felt wrong to watch him like this. Like studying how his curls fell across his forehead and the flicker of his eyes behind his eyelids was in some way betraying his trust. The thought alone - of ruining this beautiful foundation of trust and patience and understanding - should have been enough to have you close your eyes or turn away. And yet, something inside you yearned for more. An ache in your chest that urged you to touch him, to be closer to him.

And the urge was stronger than your perceived guilt.

Slowly, you raised a hand to his face. At first, all you did was brush the curl from his forehead. The stubborn thing only bounced right back.

Your eyes trailed from his hair to his eyebrows. So often did a crease find its way between them, pinched in frustration or confusion. Your hand followed. With the barest brush of your thumb, you smoothed out the imaginary crease. Astarion breathed in deeply - causing you to hold your own - before sighing softly. His face relaxed even more, shoulders easing into the pillows that cushioned him.

You focused next on his eyes. Deep, bloody red irises hidden behind thin lids that held so much worry and uncertainty and joy and hope. Hope. It had taken so long for the vampire to actually be optimistic about the future. He had no idea what would happen next - between Cazador and the tadpoles, there was little to be optimistic about. When you helped him, despite his original plans to manipulate and use you, he realized things did not always have such awful outcomes. Even your first encounter, with his blade to your throat, had somehow brought you here, together and warm and safe.

Despite being an elf, he had such deep bags beneath his eyes. Even the crows feet and laugh lines that appeared with his smile were unusual. He’d told you sparingly about his life under Cazador. The things he fed on, the poem carved into his back, and the horrible things he did. Undoubtedly, the lines came from that time. Barely eating enough to survive, luring people in with his charms for an uncaring master, being tortured in the dark. Yet, you couldn’t imagine Astarion without them. He was so pretty when he smiled.

You move on to his nose and his cheeks. His features are all well defined, sharp. It makes him seem dangerous, even at a first glance. Like a snake, hiding fangs behind shimmering scales.

Beckoned by the analogy, your eyes flicker to his lips. They’re so soft, despite the way he chews his bottom lip. Where before his kisses were rough, demanding, now they’re slow, careful. He no longer kisses you like he has to woo you over and get you to play his game. He kisses you like he’s savoring the last drop of wine. Even his bites are gentler, pricking your neck as carefully as he can unless you ask him nicely to be rougher.

“Too distracted to sleep, are we?”

His voice makes you jolt. You weren’t expecting his lips to move so suddenly. Nor did you realize before how your hand cupped his jaw and your thumb stroked his cheek. You can feel his smile as he chuckles.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” he coos. “But don’t you think it’s a bit late to be admiring my features?”

You take a moment to compose yourself, urging your heart to still from the scare. Damn you for thinking so much about his mouth. Astarion is nice enough to wait and listen as you relax once more, though you continue to trace over his skin and brush the curls in front of his ears back.

“I couldn’t sleep. And you look so beautiful in the moonlight.”

He slips his arm from underneath his head as he turns into your hand, holding your wrist in place as he kisses your palm. “I appreciate it, my love. But it’s been a long and exhausting day, and we both need our beauty rest.”

Red eyes watch, half-lidded, as you smile - he loves it just as much as you love his. Before, he couldn’t care less. Now, oh the things he would do to see you happy every waking moment of the rest of your lives.

The blankets shift against each other as you move to be closer. You tuck yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his neck. You are so warm. He lets out a soft breath as he curls around you, protective and safe all at once. Slender fingers tangle carefully into the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping your head tucked away under his chin.

For so long, he charmed and manipulated people. They touched and got close to him, in ways he quickly detached himself from. For so long. It was still difficult to fathom how he sought it out with you. How he did not go through the motions of physical intimacy, how he actually wanted to be physically intimate in more ways than just sexually. How long he’d been deprived of something genuine like this. He wanted to savor every gods-forsaken minute of it.

Your warm breath fanned across his neck as you spoke. Had he been able to, it would have sent a chill down his spine.

“I love you.”

His fingers curl into your waist, grounding himself into your body as your skin gives under his fingertips. In return, you squeeze him in your hold, solidifying even more that this is real. You are real.

“I love you, too, darling.”

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welldonebeca · 3 months

Text

Glitter and Goo (I)

Summary: When you have to go on a mission to a different planet together, Bucky is hit by a mating ritual flower, and some feelings you two have been hiding come up. AKA: It’s a sex pollen fic with a side of breeding kink. WC: 1k words Warnings: Tension. Romantic tension.

If you like my work, consider buying me a coffee or subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 a month and I promise you won’t regret it.

Masterlist

You watched the door of the ship nervously as Bucky ran up, keeping your distance as he practically barked at you in the COM system to do.

"Are you sure you're alright?" you insisted as he walked past you, sniffing, a little irritated on the nose.

What was that smell?

"I'm fine," he grunted. "I just need to clean up."

You hesitated a bit. The two of you were alone in that mission, to find some special element on a different planet.

"Did you get it?" you asked him, crossing your arms.

Bucky walked into the isolated decontamination shower.

"I did," he called from inside. "It's in my pocket."

You walked near the door, trying not to look inside.

"Get me a ziplock bag," he commanded.

"Are you sure you are alright?" you insisted. "Bucky, if it sprayed on you-"

He didn't even let you finish.

"I'll be fine," he snapped. "Just get me the ziplock bag!"

You stood stiffly, surprised by the harsh words.

Now, that wasn't like Bucky.

He sighed on the other side.

"Sorry," he spoke quickly. "I'm just... I want to wash this off of me."

You walked to the side, taking some of the ziplock bags you had.

"What happened?" you asked him, showing the empty ziplock to him.

The door opened slightly, and he pulled it from your hand quickly, closing the door again.

"Fucking flower exploded in front of me when I was kneeling," Bucky explained. "There's powder and goo everywhere. But I'm alright, really. Just... let me shower."

You pressed your lips together, but kept quiet, not wanting to fight with him and have a long, awkward trip back home. It was just the two of you for two fucking days.

"Do you want me to get you a change of clothes?" you offered.

This wasn't your shared bathroom, it was a fucking decontamination shower.

Bucky sighed.

"Yeah," he decided. "Please."

You did, placing it down in the exit and putting your protection equipment before taking his clothes and the element.

His jacket was covered in some pink shimmery dust, as he had just gotten in the way of a glitter bomb.

You took some of it too, putting it in your database, along with some of the goo, though most of it seemed to have dried already. The best-case scenario was that nothing would happen, but it was best to be safe.

"Friday?" you called. "Can you send a copy of these to HQ too? Maybe someone knows what they are."

"Yes, ma'am," the system answered back.

By the time you were done and back, Bucky had left the decontamination shower, and looked very grumpy.

"Hey," you stopped in front of him, still a little hesitant. "Doing alright?"

He glanced up at you, eyes lingering on your chest before moving to your face, scrubbing his metal arm.

"I'll have to get someone to look into my arm," he told you. "I don't know if something got between the plates."

You tilted your head, surprised.

"I thought it was self-cleaning," you noted. "Like... a fancy self-cleaning oven, of sorts."

His lips curled in a tiny smile at your joke.

"Most of the time," he confirmed. "But I never had alien pollen and goo on it before."

You shrugged, amused.

"Well, good luck," you wished him. "I sent that stuff to the database, just to be sure."

He hummed a bit in confirmation, and you left him alone, going to the food supply to fix dinner for you two.

"Bucky?" you called. "Why didn't you tell me they packed us lemons?"

Bucky had been the one to deal with the food on the way up, more used to making food in a ship than you'd ever been.

You looked back at the lack of answer and walked back to where you'd left him, finding him resting back on the wall, looking a little loopy.

"Bucky?" you called.

He jumped, surprised, though his eyes were still heavy.

"Hi," he gasped back. "Sorry, what?"

"Lemons," you told him. "You didn't tell me we had them. I can make lemonade."

Bucky took his hand to his nose, pinching in.

"I'm not hungry," he told you. "Maybe just... I don't know. Squeeze one for yourself?"

You shifted on your feet.

"Are you alright?"

Bucky rubbed his eye.

"Yeah," he waved you a dismissive hand.

"Maybe you should have a nap?" you suggested. "Did you sleep since we left?"

He moved slowly, shaking his head.

"Gotta make sure you're safe," he mumbled. "We're in space."

You shook your head.

Bucky was so protective, and it was cute, but it worried you a bit. You were a scientist, not an agent or an Avenger, like him, but it didn't mean you couldn't protect yourself. You worked for SHIELD! Being able to protect yourself was probably the most important thing after being good at your job.

"Well, we can't be more alone," you assured him. "And the ship is very good at protecting anyone who is inside."

He scoffed, but you reached for him anyway, pulling him.

"Come on," you told him. "Bedtime for you."

He grunted but followed you quietly as you guided him down to your shared dorm, sitting him on his bed - the bigger one, large enough to fit his massive body.

"Don't want to leave you alone," he fell back, hand holding yours closely.

You squeezed his hand and he took it closer to his face, nosing your skin.

"I'll be alright," you assured him. "Don't worry."

But Bucky didn't let you go, holding you with such firmness you couldn't help but focus a little too much on it.

His lips brushed against the back of your hand as his eyes closed, mumbling something so low you couldn't quite understand the words.

He dozed, and when you tried to move, he just held you in place.

You sighed, and reached for your bed, taking your pillow and sneaking it to his side. It was weird, maybe, but when you put it near his face, he sought it with his nose, sniffing it and moving closer and grabbing it, finally letting you go.

Bucky nuzzled your pillow happily, holding it in a tight grip as he turned to his side, and it awakened something in you, imagining how it would feel to be the one he was squeezing so closely like that.

Still, you stood up, shaking some wisdom into yourself and walking out, closing the door.

He needed to rest.

…

“Glitter and Goo” was first posted on my Patreon on April 2023. To read it now, subscribe to my page, it’s just $2 a month and I post 6x a week.

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth @amythyststorm33 @shaelyn102 @yknott81 @maximofftrash @kgbrenner @thefridgeismybestie @magpiegirl80 @mogaruke @shadowhunter7 @musicalcoffeebean @megasimpleplan4ever @deemoriarty @05spn18 @malindacath @kdcollinsauthor @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @widowsfics @frozenhuntress67 @averyrogers83 @notyourtypicalrose @nerdypinupcrystal @giruvega Marvel forever tags: @its-daydreamer23 @random-fandom-fangirl2112 @tayrae515 @indecisiondecisions? @afanofmanystuffs? @patzammit? @thevanishedillusion? @widowsfics? @alexisshoto

@dreams-of-feysand @dragonqueen0606 @izbelross @isabelle-faith

Glitter and Goo: @art2emily

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turbulentscrawl · 3 months

Text

Steamy Rescues

Sorry, I'm just thinking about hot men saving my life today. Let me drool in peace

Warnings: suggestive stuff, delicious men

Naib

Your time in the chair was nearly up when Naib suddenly slammed into it at full speed. One second you were struggling against your restraints, cursing and consumed with desperate thoughts of freedom, and the next his hands were next to your head. Initially you fell silent because you were startled, but that quickly melted into a perverted sort of awe as you looked over the mercenary.

He was looming over you, muscles tense, toiled taut like a spring. His tight shirt was torn open like he’d been caught by the collar and wrenched himself free, leaving a teasing view of his sweaty, scarred, heaving chest. Some of his hair had slipped free of his hair band and clung to his damp face and neck. He was out of breath too, each exhale fanning down on you, panting less like a rescuer and more like a predator who’s cornered his prey. There was a certain musk wafting off of him…it was a bit maddening.

“I know, I know,” Naib said quickly. “You can tell me I look like shit later. We’ve got to GO.” He grabbed the bar pinning your torso to the chair and, with a flex of his biceps and feral grunt, ripped it off you.

“I’ll tell you something alright,” you gasp quietly, briefly wondering if your nose was bleeding.

Naib seemed to pay no mind to your mutterings. The last cipher popped, and the siren blaring in the distance gave you both a rush of adrenaline that overrode any lingering pain. Taking that que, Naib grabbed your wrist and all but dragged you sprinting to the gate.

When you were home free, though, he held your gaze daringly and asked, “So what did you want to tell me?”

Andrew

You had heard the disturbance of dirt nearby, but were too preoccupied with struggling to notice the source. The next second, Andrew’s dirty blonde hair (literally) popped out of the ground between your legs. He was already cursing under his breath, and shaking, just a bit. You vaguely remember hearing about Andrew being claustrophobic…. But those thoughts are washed away when he roughly grabs your thighs for support and you realize the exact position you’re in.

He had emerged a little too close to the chair and was having trouble getting out without sliding his body up against yours. The chair wobbled forward a little, hanging you over him, as one of the feet dangled into the hole he’d left in the dirt. He grabbed your caged forearms next, managing to haul himself out enough to be level with your chest.

“Can’t you help me?” he hissed, face flush with embarrassment at his predicament.

“I’m a little preoccupied,” you snap back, thankfully still having sense enough for it. Andrew clicks his tongue, hangs his head in what’s probably supposed to be shame…but his mop of hair hides his face and most of your lap from view, bringing even mor lewd thoughts to mind. “Y-you know, I’m kind of on a time crunch here!”

“Shut up, I know!” Andrew shouts. As soon as it’s out he clenches his teeth and looks over his shoulder for the Hunter, and without bothering to climb out of his hole starts fumbling with your restraints. When you pop free, the angle and weight of him clinging to you throws you both to the ground, your chest right on his face.

He screeched like a schoolgirl, but his tomato-red face was endearing enough to override most of the fear you felt for the remainder of the match.

Luchino

Though no one called him such, Luchino was a healer in his own right.

His skilled hands had patched you up twice already this match, and though the pain from Michiko’s cuts lingered, you could hardly complain when you thought about how Luchino had loomed over you. He was a polite man, but no-nonsense. Whenever you appeared at his cipher, alone and bleeding, he shoved you to your knees beneath him and got right to work. You couldn’t say if it was the adrenalin, but you were acutely aware of the heat radiating off his body the whole time. Of the gentle ghosting of his claws on your back, making you shiver. When he tied the bandages tight—too tight, almost, but he said that’s how they’re supposed to be—he grunted and huffed in your ear.

“All done,” he said, smirking. “Take these, too.” Luchino straightened up, but instead of returning to his cipher he applied some of that mystery serum to his forearm—his sleeves rolled up deliciously—and peeled away a hard patch of scales. You were too entranced by the oil-slick glisten it left on his skin to question why he was handing them to you.

Before you could stand, a butterfly alighted on your shoulder. Luchino reacted incredibly quickly; you blinked and he was hunched over you again, arms caging you fully to his chest. A sound like cracking glass met your ears the same time as his displeased hiss. Before you could ask, he grabbed you by the waist and threw you into a forward sprint, ordering “Go!”

#idv x reader #identity v #luchino diruse x reader #naib subedar x reader #andrew kreiss x reader #idv gravekeeper #idv professor #idv mercenary #turbulentscrawl

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fuckmyskywalker · 2 months

Text

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 — 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐞

18+, smut, milf!reader x sam, mentions of pregnancy, body changes, breastfeeding, reader is divorced, age gap (reader is in 30s, sam is 21), afab!reader/fem!reader. | word count: 1.8k (not proofread!)

I did this for free ;( </3 (/j)

“Thank you for watching him, you are a lifesaver,” You smile, kneeling to pick up your toddler. Lifting him effortlessly, the child rests on your hip and wraps his arms around your neck. You kiss your son’s forehead, watching how he struggles to keep his eyes open. “Are you sleepy, Mikey?”

Your son nods and rests his head on your chest, yawning. Sam smiles, biting his tongue and wishing he could lay his head on your chest like that. “Don’t mention it. You know I can babysit Michael whenever you need.”

It’s true. It’s not like he has something better to do with his life, plus the extra money is something he can’t refuse. Your son isn’t annoying anyway— like his stepsiblings— and he can always play Xbox in the living room with him until he asks for food and Sam microwaves him a hot pocket. Not the best meal for a child but feeding him properly is your job, not his. His job is to make sure he doesn’t die. Babysitting always comes with an extra pay… seeing you. Sam has seen you all his life, and maybe— just maybe he has the biggest crush on you. At first, it was somewhat innocent; seeing you share a glass of wine with his mother, driving around, tending your garden… that’s it until he began paying more attention to you (which gradually became more and more physical the more he grew up).

It was still somewhat healthy, but that was until you had your son. Seeing you pregnant and being the only 19-year-old at the baby shower, made him feel… different. He couldn’t take his eyes off your stomach for a reason, he did notice how your body changed and that’s when everything went downhill. Sam did everything he could to be near you. Helping you with your trash, helping you with your garden, damn, even helping you move stuff when your husband was at work. He didn’t have anything against him, but the lingering thought of a young man who had a crush on his older neighbor who was married was a cliche.

I can treat you better than him.

Being realistic, he couldn’t. Unemployed, thinking about dropping college every week, and with a tiny teeny problem with weed and cigarettes. He always drowned himself in cologne when he knew you were coming over, but that didn’t mask the smell and he could see your nose twitching every time he walked in— pregnant women always know when you smoked— which almost made him quit tobacco… almost.

When he heard the news about your divorce, he was thrilled. Delusional would be the correct word, but thrilled nonetheless. Sam tried to be subtle, and he could listen to your conversations with Robin about the downfall of your marriage if he pressed his ear against his door. Of course your husband didn’t treat you right, of course his dick was just enough to impregnate you and not to make you feel good. That only reinforced his illusions. Seeing you just made his hormones crazy, and he would never forget that one time he walked downstairs for some water— after jacking off to the thought of you— and found you in the living room with his mother talking about the current flaws of the government while you were breastfeeding. He’ll never forget how he got a peek of your breast.

So, naturally, when the excuse to spend time with you came with the label of “babysitter”, Sam took it. No questions asked. He would’ve done it for free but you insisted. He’d never do anything for free— but for you? Just say the word.

“Let me put him to sleep and I’ll be right back.”

He nods and watches you go upstairs, his blue eyes gluing to your ass in that pencil skirt. He needs to go to the company you work at and thank whoever decided tight pencil skirts were a requirement. Sam feels and probably looks awkward as he waits for you, tapping his worn black Converse against the rug. His fingers twitch with the need to smoke, but not inside your house and not in front of you. You hate tobacco. It reminds you of your ex-husband. When you come back, Sam smiles politely, trying to focus on your precious face instead of the open buttons of your shirt. He was tall enough to get a peek of your cleavage if he walked closer, but it would be too obvious.

“You want to stay for dinner?” You ask with a sweet smile. He is a weak man. He can’t resist that charming, beaming smile— and those tits.

He watches you cook, admiring every movement and every sway. If he focuses too much it will be counterproductive, he doesn’t want to get an erection in your kitchen. Sam says nothing when you pour a glass of wine and declines when you offer him one— he’s not a wine guy, but it’s not like you’d have a blue ribbon lying around your fridge. You don’t look like that type of person— insisting on just keeping you company. Listening to you is one of his favorite activities too, especially when you are distracted. He can see you all he wants, but like it was expected, he has to cross his leg to hide his boner. That was faster than usual.

As you wait for the vegetables to boil, you turn around to look at him. A frown etches on your beautiful brows and when you step closer, Sam’s heart jolts. Is he in trouble? Your hand raises and he expects a slap— but you just remove a little piece of plastic off his cheek. He had no clue that it was there.

“You had a little something,” You explain, smiling comfortingly. “Were you guys playing with his legos? I think the new set I got him last week still has those little factory edges that Mikey likes to peel off.” You know your son better than he does, so your deduction is spot on.

“Yeah,” He tries to smile back, but it feels clumsy. It’s not something he does often. “He isn’t like Ryan, he is a pain in the ass—” He stops, he should watch his language when he’s around you. You laugh, which brings him relief. “He is!”

You laugh again, and what a joyful sound that is. Sam chuckles too, just following along. “He’s a child, he’s still discovering his own personality.”

Sam doesn’t have the strength to say otherwise. If you say the sky is purple, then he believes you. Whatever you say, he believes it.

So when you compliment his eyes, he finds himself suddenly shy. He tries to play it off modestly, which is 99% genuine. He just wishes you could compliment something… else. Thoughts begin to spiral down. It’s like a rabbit hole that keeps going and going and keeps him awake during his most lustful nights, with his hand wrapped around his cock and peeking over his window with the pathetic hope to see you. His silence doesn’t go unnoticed, and you bring him back to reality by placing a hand on his cheek.

“You alright?” Your concern makes him nod and swallow. In his fantasies, it is the other way around. He is the one supposed to make you flustered. “You sure? You dozed off.”

“I'm great, don’t worry.”

Or maybe he is dreaming. Because you definitely aren’t leaning closer, tilting your head to get a better look at his flushed cheeks… and you are definitely not smiling and placing your free hand on his thigh. Your fingertips must feel so soft, your nails, manicured and a vivid red color must feel so good touching his thigh but his damn ripped jeans are in the way.

“Are you sure?” It’s a whisper, and he doubts if he heard the salacious tone in it. “You look… upset,” Upset wouldn’t be the right word.

His eyes betray him, darting down to look at your cleavage. He can see the edges of your bra, it’s lace, they are black. It must be a push-up bra because there’s no way your tits look so good this close. It makes him want to slide his cock in between them. You chuckle at his reaction but you don’t seem bothered by it. Not in the slightest.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. It’s embarrassing, really. Why is he acting like a virgin? “No,” He manages to croak out, fighting with his own urges to not look at your chest again.

“Don’t be so shy. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

That does it for him. Launching forward, Sam crashes his lips against yours in a messy kiss. Something came over him, something that he had been bottling up for years. You giggle in response but much to his pleasure you reciprocate. Your lips are as lovely and velvety as he imagined, your tongue tastes like wine and maybe he doesn’t hate it anymore. Lifting the hand that still holds your almost empty glass, you use the other one to cradle his head. It is as if the little restraint he had left snapped. His hand cups your breast, squeezing it perhaps a little too hard. Fighting with your buttons, he breaks the kiss to look at your chest.

“Can I?” He mumbles, taking a deep breath.

“Go on, darling.”

He almost rips off your bra, yanking it down and groaning under his breath when he sees your tits bounce softly. Wasting no time he attaches his lip to your left nipple, sucking it eagerly and swirling his tongue around. The labret piercing feels cold against your skin but his mouth is hot and enthusiastic. For him is like a relief, for you is an adorable display of desperation. Brushing his hair, you moan in delight at the way he is playing with your chest, nibbling your hardened bud and taking care of the unattended one with his hand. He rolls your nipple underneath his fingertips, even flicking it gently.

“Good boy,” Those words make his cock twitch. There’s definitely a wet spot on his boxers now. He could even come in his underwear just by sucking your perfect tits.

Sam moans when you tug his dark hair, urging him to switch sides, practically guiding him. He could argue he doesn’t need guidance, but right now? If you want him on his knees, he’s ready to kneel and adore you.

“Why don’t we take this upstairs?” You offer him and he nods, still keeping his mouth around your breast, sucking harder. He bites this time, which grants him the most delicious moan. Your chest arches, almost smothering him in your flesh. He could die happily. “I wanna see what else that tongue can do.”

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#sam monroe #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe x reader smut #sam monroe x you #sam monroe smut #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe x fem!reader #sam monroe x milf!reader #life changing

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nariism · 8 months

Text

i loved you on a moonlit summer night

pair. diluc ragnvindr x gn!reader

content: tooth-rotting fluff, love at first sight, allusions to reincarnation but no actual instances of reincarnation

synopsis. diluc knows that he doesn't belong in mondstadt anymore. he doesn't belong anywhere— no place to truly call home and nothing in this world but vengeance in his heart. but on a wintery day on dragonspine, he finds his salvation: a box of cecelias, a fire seelie, and the owner of the best flower shop in the city.

wc. 8.4k

a/n: thank you to my beautiful @hyomagiri for beta reading, helping edit and hyping this fic up to the max. i ended up feeling confident enough to post this because of her, three cheers for ellie i love you to the moon and back <3

WINTER

It wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to know that buried beneath blankets of snow and sheets of ice, there would be Cecelias?

Fire seelies are usually reliable with a bounty of treasure waiting at the end of their path. He isn't sure why it led him here, to some inconspicuous pile of snow which he hastily melted without realizing there was something precious hidden within.

The mistake doesn’t register with Diluc until the sweet scent of flowers and ash and burning wood wafts under his nose. He blinks in confusion at the pile, perfectly burnt to a crisp and resting at the tip of his boots.

Boxed up flowers? What are they doing out in the middle of the mountain?

He remembers then, a story someone once told him— he can't put a name to the voice but it echoes in the hollow chambers of his heart:

"Did you know that you can preserve the freshness of flowers? All you have to do is box them up nice and tight and store them in the snow."

It's an interesting tidbit of information. He can't for the life of him remember where he heard it from, though.

Wind howls in his ears, powdery snow from over the horizon plowing down the mountainside and into his face. It doesn't deter him from examining the scene. The fire seelie floats just above his shoulder, quiet now as it looks at the pile.

He’s entirely distracted by the sight, unsure of what to make of the strange discovery, until he hears the crunch of snow behind him. With the Fatui lingering around the foot of the mountain, he expects to whip around and face an enemy. He even braces himself to be knocked off his feet by a wild boar.

Instead, his sudden movement frightens you and makes you stumble back until you fall flat onto the ground.

There’s a long pause of silence that stuffs the air, neither you nor him tearing your eyes away from each other. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, so still that it looks like you've succumbed to the frozen climate of the mountain. He breathes a slow sigh of relief when a wavering exhale leaves your lips in the form of a puff of cloudy air.

The heart resting in his chest stirs. An ancient dull ache, thrumming in the depths of his body as he looks at you in surprise.

Again, there's a voice in his ear. This time, he recognizes it as his father:

"Your mother? I fell in love at first sight."

Growing up, he never quite understood that string of words. First sight? How could someone fall in love at first sight?

Diluc Ragnvindr is a million things, but romantic is not one of them. Love at first sight is a silly fairytale that parents tell their children to tuck them into bed. It's something that could never exist in such a cruel world, plagued by monsters and evil.

It's easy for him to close his heart off to the idea of something as ridiculous as love at first sight, despite the way his eyes haven't left yours. And he's painfully aware of the way you're looking at him too, but he does his best to ignore your gawking.

Maybe he's catching a cold. He doesn't feel well all of the sudden.

Your gaze drifts to the pile of ash just behind him and you sigh, putting your head into your hands wet from snow.

"You found my seelie," you murmur, sounding very unimpressed. He blinks at you until you continue, "Those were important, you know. They were for a very special occasion."

Diluc takes in your form, clothes thin and unfit for the snowy conditions of Dragonspine. Even without the chilly altitude of the mountain, this winter in general was particularly bitter. He almost wants to scold you for dressing so thoughtlessly, even though he doesn't know your name.

"My apologies. I will reimburse you whatever the cost, and more."

"It's... not about that," you tell him from your place on the ground, still not looking at him. You seem stressed. His heart squeezes terribly.

"Not about what?"

"Mora."

He falls silent, so quiet that you finally peer up at him wondering whether or not he's even still standing there. And he is, regarding you with a thoughtful expression. His presence is so unnoticeable despite being right in front of you that it makes your skin crawl.

"How can I make it up to you?" He asks, extending his hand for you to take. Your clothes are soaked through already, cold and frozen from the subzero temperature. It doesn't help soothe his worries that he can feel a storm coming. He should get you out of here as soon as possible.

You huff, allowing him to drag you to your feet. It's then that you realize how warm he is, almost hot to the touch. The faint glimmer of a Vision dangles on his hip. Your eyes flicker back to his and he nearly jolts out of his skin.

"Don't worry about it. It's alright," you tell him though you sound disingenuous about it. You're obviously distracted, probably wondering how to explain to your client that their expensive flowers ended up as a pile of ash.

"It was my mistake. Please, let me know if there's anything at all I can do," he replies earnestly.

"Really, it's fine," you sound slightly exasperated by his stubbornness. If it were anyone ordinary, they would have taken your mercy and left you to freeze on the mountain without a second thought.

Diluc Ragnvindr is no ordinary man.

It takes him a moment to realize his hand is still gripping yours rather tightly. He recoils with an awkward cough.

“What are you doing out here in the mountains?” He asks. It dawns on him then what a stupid question it is, since you’ve obviously come to collect your frozen flowers. You tell him anyways:

"I buried some flowers further up the mountain a few days ago," you sigh, "not sure if I can find them anymore, though. That's why I've been following this little one around."

You scratch under the seelie's chin. Well, where you would imagine its chin to be, at least. It seems thrilled by the affection.

"It's going to storm soon. You should head back down the mountain and try again later."

"It's urgent," you insist, ready to brush past him and continue the trek up.

He stops you with your wrist in his hand. "Then please, let me accompany you to the top of the mountain. It isn't safe with the Fatui lingering around. It's the least I could do."

You eye him hesitantly, but then your shoulders relax and you sigh again. "Okay, okay. We should hurry and get out of here, then."

He wordlessly follows you up the trail, watching your movements carefully. While you don't seem suspicious, he can never be too sure when it comes to the Fatui. Save for the rustling of pine trees and the soft crunch of snow beneath your boots, empty silence fills the air.

It drives him crazy. So crazy that he decides to speak.

"What's your name?"

The name that leaves your lips makes him smile. He can only think that it really does suit you.

"My name is–"

"Diluc. Diluc Ragnvindr, right?"

Heat creeps up to his cheeks. Of course you know who he is. He's the most famous person in all of Mondstadt, for Archon's sake.

"I've seen you around the city," you quickly explain, awkwardly fumbling over your words. "And at festivals and such."

Before he can dwell too much on it, your seelie chirps— once, twice, three times as it dives into the snow and slowly melts it away. You suddenly halt in your steps, crouching down to sift through the remainder. An exhale of relief leaves you when you dig out a box, intact and frozen to the touch.

He looks on in curiosity. Your hand brushes the snow off the top of the box and you open it, revealing another couple dozen Cecelias.

"Thank goodness..." and your seelie seems to agree, because it dances around your head with a pleased noise.

You're too busy admiring the flowers to realize the snow has kicked up. He's too busy admiring you to notice, either. It isn't until the seelie dips in front of your face with a panicked garble that you finally tear your eyes away from your box of flowers.

"It started to snow..."

Diluc's gaze drifts from you to the darkening sky. It's much too late to make your way down the mountain. In his time in Snezhnaya he learned one very important rule of surviving the cold: you can't outrun snow.

Your seelie leads you to a small cave in a section of rock, covered in starsilver and crystalflies. There isn't any kindling to make a fire, and he isn't willing to brave this type of storm just for some wood.

Diluc shrugs his coat off his shoulders and wraps it around your shoulders in a single motion. Heat envelops you, warmer than the fire seelie that guided you through the mountains. It’s a warmth that fills you from the pit of your stomach all the way to the tips of your fingers.

The seelie floats between you, trying to do its best to keep the both of you in its light.

It's comfortable and quiet for a while— not a peep from either of you as you listen to the howling of wind and snow outside.

How did Diluc ever end up here?

Bad luck, karma, anything that would explain why he ended up snowed in atop Dragonspine with you— anything at all other than it was in the stars' design that he be with you right here and now. Fate mocks him.

Even worse, there's a voice in his head telling him that this is exactly where he needs to be right now. He's getting a migraine.

Diluc watches you sift through the remaining ashes of the burnt box, trying to see if there's anything you can salvage. Unfortunately, Diluc's Pyro vision was only good for combat and keeping you warm at this moment.

"I'm... really sorry," he says again, looking away sheepishly. He can't bear to look at the disappointment furrowing in your brows.

The sound of a sigh echoes in the cave, and he finally manages to look at you. To his surprise, you're only staring back at him with soft eyes: no contempt, no anger, no disappointment. It makes his heart sink, not only with guilt, but also because there's just something so sweet about you that it makes him want to hold you closer.

"It's okay. At least a majority of them survived. It'll be plenty."

"If you don't mind me asking, what were they for?"

"A bouquet for a wedding. The bride specifically asked for Cecelias, since it was the first bouquet he ever gifted her," there's a fondness on your face that makes him snort. You look at him funny. "What? It's romantic."

"They're just flowers. What's so sentimental about that?"

"They're not just flowers," you frown, scooting a little closer into his side to soak up more of his heat. The fire seelie's light flickers against your face. "Cecelias only grow in extremely windy places. They're illustrious and elegant, even after growing in such harsh conditions. Isn't that just..." you smile at him, slow and warm. "It's beautiful."

Diluc considers your explanation for a moment, tugging his coat around your shoulders tighter. "I suppose so."

"You suppose?" You laugh. "My my, I didn't know Diluc Ragnvindr was so down-to-earth when it comes to romance."

Your laugh is doing terrible things to him. There's something about it that reminds him of the days he spent wandering the Winery as a boy with Kaeya in tow. The nights he would spend catching crystalflies. Times long since passed. He suddenly aches to be back among the grapevines.

"I don't indulge in that sort of thing."

He never could, so long as there was something ugly and bitter and tainted in his heart.

"You've never fallen in love?"

"Not once."

Love like that doesn't exist. Not in a world like this.

He repeats what he believed was true, chants the mantra in his head until he's dizzy as if trying to convince himself that he isn't already lost in you. The warm orange glow of the seelie dances in your eyes, lights up your smile in a way that makes his stomach turn.

I fell in love at first sight. They were words that he couldn't understand until today.

"Is that so?" You muse, slotting your head in the space between his jaw and shoulder. He doesn’t move away. "You're an unusual man, Diluc."

"Maybe I am."

But he knows that the moment he met you, everything was about to change. You don't even dignify him with a glance as you say it:

"Let's fall in love, then."

The demand is simple and he's absolutely positive you're joking. Something in his soul tugs anyway. He swears one thing at that moment: someway, somehow, he'll make it all up to you.

You are, after all, the first person to remind him of home in a long time. Every aspect of you is so comforting and familiar, even if he can't quite place his finger on it yet.

You reach out to pet your seelie, even though you know your hand will phase through it. "You sure did lead me to some strange treasure, hm?"

It trills happily with a little twirl.

Diluc meets you in winter, in the valley between the peaks of Dragonspine. He meets you, and it smells of burnt wood and ash and Cecelias. It's so cold that you can't feel your fingers but you're smiling in the afterglow of a seelie nonetheless, and so is he.

SPRING

He learns that you own the little flower shop at the edge of Mondstadt, just within the front gates of the city.

You're teaching a young girl, Flora, how to nurture them. And he finds it a little endearing, the way you're so gentle not only with Flora but with the flowers you're showing her: daisies and tulips and Windwheel Asters, all of which are in season right now.

Diluc recognizes you when you open back up for spring, surrounded by boxes stuffed with fresh bouquets. You seem to be in a rush getting organized, holding a stack of boxes instead of taking them one by one and clumsily scattering them around so you can go through them.

He stops you by stepping in front of you, two hands on either side of the stack to steady them as you stumble to a halt.

"Diluc?" You peer from around the boxes. He can only see your curious eyes from this angle. He laughs.

"Sorry to interrupt you when you're so busy. Do you need help?"

"Well–" you do a little hop to straighten up the boxes in your arms, "–it would be nice to have an extra set of hands getting everything ready for the Windblume Festival." You contemplate his offer for a brief moment, then ultimately decide against it. "But I would hate to steal you away from your other responsibilities. You're helping with the festival too, right?"

"I owe you one. Think of this as a favour from a friend," he refutes stubbornly.

"I'm sure many would be missing the help of Diluc Ragnvindr," you tease, shifting around so that your body tilts toward him.

It's then that he can finally look at you fully, with a soft orange apron tied around your waist and Windwheel Asters in your hair to match.

One day, you would go on and explain to him that it was sort of like advertising, and that showing off how nice the blooms look as an accessory brought in a lot of business. Right now all it does is render him breathless.

"They can afford to miss me.” He can't help the smile that creeps its way onto his face at the sight of you— he feels silly about it too, like some lovesick little boy.

You hand off the boxes into Diluc's arms. "Can they? I heard you were supplying all of the wine for the festival. That's a tall order," you giggle, bending down to grab another two boxes of flowers.

"It's... manageable," he answers, making a mental note to himself to buy Adelinde dinner some time as a thank you. "What about you? What are all these boxes for?"

"We're holding a flower gifting service in the plaza, on the night of the big party." He looks at you curiously as you continue, "You can send someone you care for a flower or two, or you can send them anonymously if you just wanted to make someone's day!"

"Sounds..."

You smile knowingly. "Romantic?"

Diluc places the boxes down on the ground and pries the lids off, revealing more and more ready-to-bloom flowers. "Yeah. Romantic," he sighs.

"These will all be in full bloom in time for the festival.” You lean down behind him where he's crouched down, until your chin is nearly resting on his shoulder. He's sure his breath hitches so loud that you can hear it.

The following weeks entail complete mayhem. With the end of spring rapidly approaching, excitement buzzes throughout the city. Notably, he overhears many talking about your business and the new flower gifting service.

The Windblume Festival is a special time for Diluc. His father used to take him and Kaeya as children, back when the world was a little happier. On the night of the festival, he stands at the booth contemplating. Unlike a majority of the citizens of Mondstadt, he has not a clue who to give a flower to. Flora frowns.

"Um, mister, are you ever going to write a name down?"

The quill halts just above the piece of paper. "I don't have to sign my name, do I?"

"You can send it as a secret."

Diluc looks up from where he's bent over, observing you from a few feet away. You're conversing with some ladies who are interested in your bouquets. It was a good business idea to do something like this.

He only meant to support your idea as a friend. Now he's conflicted on whether or not he should dare to write your name.

You look absolutely radiant tonight with magical crystal chunks strewn about your hair and a crown of flowers circling your head. He isn't sure he's ever seen someone so beautiful.

He finally decides. When you turn back around to give him your attention, he's gone.

He's sure that will be the end of it, and that after tonight your brief and strange relationship with him will come to an end. But then you come bounding up to him just as he's about to head out.

"Look! A flower!" You exclaim, shoving it into his face. He's pleased that you like the one he picked out for you.

"Yes, I see that. It's nice."

"Nice? Nice?! It's adorable! I've never gotten one before."

He looks at you funny. "Never?"

"Nope," you laugh sheepishly. "I don't really get out much. Too busy running the shop."

He takes the flower from your hands and tucks it just behind your ear, adding it amongst the crown of Asters surrounding you like a halo.

"It suits you.”

"Does it?" You ask him quietly.

His heart beats furiously. How could he ever steel himself when you have such a big smile on your face, adorned with flowers and gemstones?

"Will you dance with me?" The question leaves him before he can stop it. You look at him in wonder, with his fingers brushing the hair from your face. Whatever evil overtakes him in that moment, he'll have to thank later, because without hesitation you're dragging him into the middle of the plaza with glee.

You come to learn that he isn't exactly what you'd call an elegant dancer. He only knows movements that he learned at banquets held by his family— basic steps born from obligation.

"I thought you'd be better at this," you tease, allowing him to pull you along by the waist.

"I don't dance," he huffs. "I haven't in a long time."

"We should dance together more, then."

Diluc sighs, but there's a tiny smile spreading across his face. "I guess we should."

"This flower... do you know what it represents?" You gesture to the bloom tucked behind your ear. He shakes his head and you continue, "It means everlasting love."

He laughs at the irony.

"I see. How... fetching."

"I wonder who it was," you smile to yourself. He thinks you look breathtaking.

Diluc's lips curl at your joy. He twirls you under his arm once, twice, then pulls you back into his body as he considers your words.

"Yes, I wonder who," he mutters with an amused expression that you just barely miss. And he knows exactly who, but he's not sure if he could handle seeing you melt into a lovestruck puddle at his admission.

Diluc dances with you in spring, under the warm glow of lanterns and the taste of grape juice staining his tongue. He dances with you, and it smells of the Windwheel Asters that crown your head and mint jelly on your breath.

He tugs you a little closer, just because.

SUMMER

If you were to ask Diluc how he felt about these big "charity" events, he would scoff in your face and lecture you about how they were nothing more than money traps set up by the Knights of Favonius.

He would say it purely out of spite, of course, mostly because he knows Jean is too kindhearted to allow for such shady business. Openly, at least.

His distaste for the Knights and all they stand for are not hidden deep in his heart. He sneers when there's a casualty— mocks their inefficiency at any given opportunity.

You never knew him to be such a bitter man when it came to the Knights. Diluc was good at keeping up his polite and indifferent charade to their practices.

It wasn't until the beginning of summer when you realized his loathing. It was their own incompetence that led a horde of slimes directly into the city, nearly smashing your little shop to bits.

You've never seen him so furious.

Outwardly, he was simply curt with them. He had only a few choice words lined up when they apologized with their heads hung low, watching them with his arms crossed over his chest.

Inwardly, you could see the anger swimming in his eyes.

That was three weeks ago. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth to think that just three weeks ago, they were leading danger straight into your shop and now here they are, asking you to donate to their cause.

"You're sulking," you tell him from across the table. He immediately sits up straight, jaw relaxing.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You know," you smile at him, moving one of your pawns forward, "I think the Knights are happy you're here. Relieved, at the very least, that you don't seem mad at them anymore."

He only frowns whilst knocking your pawn over with a bishop. "I wasn't mad at them."

"You were. Even I could tell."

"They almost got you hurt."

"Almost," you remind him with a small huff. "They were just slimes! No harm no foul."

You make a fatal move, but he doesn't even gloat because he's too busy cursing out the Knights in his head.

"I just find it in poor taste that they would ask for your hard-earned Mora after endangering you like that." He shrugs you off nonchalantly, as if you can't see the fire blazing in his eyes at the mere thought of it.

You blink at the chessboard as he checkmates you, slumping back in your seat with a tiny pout. "Once again, you've bested me."

"It seems I have," he says, lips finally twitching up into a small smile.

"Don't you ever get tired of beating me at this game? I sure do."

"That's a shame. Same time tomorrow?"

He watches with a laugh as you grumble in irritation. You can't help but notice how quiet it is, even over the chatter of the people in the plaza. There's something off about him today.

It's clear that he doesn't want to be here, volunteering his time to the Knights for a cause he has no faith in. It was a favour for Jean, he told you, to which you mused that he owed a lot of friends favours.

To be a noble in Mondstadt, and especially the wealthiest, Diluc is obligated to attend all sorts of gatherings he detests. You can see it written all over his face.

"Hey," you call out to him softly, leaning over the table. Your voice is a hush as you tell him: "Let's get out of here."

He glances around. "I'm expected to be here, you know?” He laughs once more, though he seems to be considering your offer. He decides to indulge you. "Where would you like to go?"

You think for a moment, brows furrowed. He watches the minute twitch of your lips, the creases of your smile; everything about you is so alive and beautiful.

Then, you point. You point high, with a breathless giggle.

"There," you say, gesturing toward the giant statue of Barbatos, "let's go up there."

He almost flat out rejects you, wanting to scold you about how dangerous it would be and that, for someone without a vision, you sure do have the gall to even suggest it.

But then he sees the excitement twinkling in your eyes, which are already scrunched up from how big your smile is. How could he refuse?

Diluc ends up trailing behind you, inconspicuously hugging his coat close to his body. You don't realize why until you're standing at the feet of the statue.

You gasp at the bottle of wine tucked into his coat. "Did you steal that?"

"The Winery provided all of this. I would hardly consider it stealing," he chuckles.

You nudge him with your elbow, a grin on your face as you accept the bottle into your hands. "I didn't know you were so sly, Diluc."

"I used to do this all the time when I was a kid."

"Steal wine bottles?" You look at him with wide eyes and an impressed smile.

"The maids forbade me from drinking at the Winery's banquets. Try telling a thirteen year old boy not to do something, see what happens," he huffs in amusement.

"You don't even like wine," you remind him. Diluc only hums in response, grabbing it and stuffing it back into his coat as he takes his first leap up the stone.

"Consider it a gift.” He twists around so he can look down at you where you stand, watching him with a mixture of fascination and horror.

His hand extends to yours. For as many times in this life as he is willing to offer it, you would take it.

He helps haul you up to the very top, barely breaking a sweat as he watches you climb beside him. After all, he withstood countless adversaries in his time in Snezhnaya: climbed mountains as tall as the sky with nothing but his claymore.

When you ask how he's so calm about this, he only tells you that he used to climb to the roof of the manor when he was a boy.

He had a lot of secrets kept caged up in his body, you realized many months ago. Diluc was never too vocal about his time before he returned to Mondstadt.

You do remember, however, that at the banquet they threw for him to celebrate his return home, he seemed cold and indifferent to the warm welcome. In fact, it was like his mind was entirely elsewhere. You can picture the day well— it was the largest order of flowers you'd ever received after all.

You're glad he's settled back into Mondstadt, at least. You just never thought you'd have a chance to actually meet him.

He watches as you nervously teeter over to the edge of the statue, peering down with a nervous gulp. You relax when his hands steady you, gently guiding you to sit down in a more safe position.

"I've never been so high up off the ground!" You cry out toward the city, feet dangling over the edge of the Archon's hands.

"It's nice, isn't it? Much different than the kind of heights you feel on Dragonspine."

You take in a long breath of fresh air, as if savouring the wind at this height. "It's pretty.” You finally conclude. There's a dreamy sigh on your lips that makes him laugh.

He uncorks the bottle he lugged up with him, passing it over to you. Instead of taking it, your head tilts back and he takes the opportunity to pour the wine past your lips himself.

Silence festers between you two as he pours the sweet alcohol into your mouth, all rational thought being carried away by the wind.

He isn't sure how long you stay that way: shoulders touching, hair blowing, and feet dangling in the air. For someone who wanted to climb the statue to see the city, you sure are being shameless in your staring directly at him.

You're looking at him in a way that makes him melt— eyes so laser focused and crinkling with your smile. You look at him like he's the only person in the world. Right now, he might really be that important. His heart swells in his chest.

"What is it?" Speak your mind. Let me hear all your crazy thoughts.

"You came all the way up here with me. You came up here. With me."

You emphasize your point by extending your arms out to your sides, feeling the breeze wash over you.

He knows what’s coming next. You love clichés. And he doesn't stop you, for some reason, when you open your mouth again just as he predicted.

"I think I'm falling for you."

"I would hope not. We're pretty high up in the air."

You swat his arm with a huff, face turning a little more serious. "I mean it!"

Diluc grows quiet, looking out toward the city. His home. The place he grew up, and the place he'll spend the rest of his days. The distant sound of people chattering, water flowing from the fountain, music playing: all sounds he's grown so familiar with and yet—

"I love you."

—he never thought it could be so beautiful until he climbed up here with you.

"You love a lot of things," he muses.

"Like what?"

He looks at you softly. "Like Cecelias. Mondstadt hashbrowns for breakfast. And you say you hate the cold but I know you love it up in Dragonspine— think it looks so pretty with all the snow."

You nod, mulling over his statement before asking: "What else?"

"I know you love that orange apron; Flora's mother sewed it for you herself, didn't she? And you love Anemo slimes, think they're the cutest thing in the world even though I've seen them explode in your face multiple times before."

You're listening to him intently, watching his lips as he lists off all the things he knows about you. And he's been going for so long that you have to wonder if you've really only known him for eight months.

"You love Starfell Lake and making wishes while you blow away Dandelion seeds. You love fire seelies and tea imported from Liyue and going to charity events like this even though you don't owe the Knights any of your time."

Another silence settles between you.

"So I'm a romantic. Even then, you still won't accept that I love you?" You ask him quietly.

He hesitates only for a moment, but you still catch it. "I won't."

"What is it with you and your cynicism about romance?"

"It's not like I don't believe love exists—" He’s looking at you right now, after all: living, breathing proof that Diluc could love something. "—I just... it's not for me."

"Not for you?" You repeat back to him in disbelief. "Love is beautiful, you know. You don't even want to give it a chance?"

You're looking at him earnestly, both hands pressed against the stone of the statue beneath you as you twist to stare him down.

"It's complicated," he murmurs, tearing his eyes away from yours. In his peripherals, he can still see you facing him. He doesn't dare look at you again for the sake of his own resolve.

Love was always a messy emotion for Diluc. To love was to trust completely, to be vulnerable and open. But he's been betrayed one too many times for his heart not to ache at the idea of falling in love so willingly.

It terrifies him— to have someone holding his heart in their hands with the chance that they could crush it into dust with the snap of their fingers.

Diluc was alone for many years in the northern region of Snezhnaya. He's good at being lonely. It's a part of the air he breathes, something engraved deep into his bones, terrible and grim and consuming his flesh until he's nothing.

He hadn't even realized he had grown accustomed to it. Not until he met you. Not until you stole his heart at first sight. Not until you made him understand all those times his father would speak of his mother once she was gone. It was always easier to be alone until he met you, and suddenly you came along and flipped the whole world onto its head.

Now Diluc can't be alone— he was losing the ability to sit in solitary silence without his thoughts screaming in his ears. He was constantly thinking about you. And it was always distracting things, like wondering when he would see your smile next, or when you would ever dance with him again.

Your head falls against his shoulder, hair tickling under his chin as you rest there. As if it were a remnant of eons past, his lips find the crown of your head reflexively. And you don't pull away by any means, allowing him to be affectionate the only way he can and accepting him as he comes.

The words don't need to be said anymore. He already knows. It's a story rewritten a million times over, buried somewhere deep in his soul.

He decides that maybe, just once in this life, it would be okay to take the risk. If it was you, he would be alright.

His arm comes around your waist protectively, pulling you closer into his body as if you'd disappear with the wind if he let go. He holds you there quietly, listening to your soft murmurs.

Diluc Ragnvindr deserves to be loved, is what you're telling him.

And despite the scars littering his body and the chains wrapped around his heart, he allows himself to believe it.

Diluc loves you in the summer, in the hands of the Anemo Archon. He loves you, and it smells of Dandelion Wine and the lingering scent of sweet flowers in your hair and all the things that make him dream of you.

For the first time since he returned to Mondstadt, he doesn't feel alone.

AUTUMN

It's the anniversary.

Diluc remembers the day too well— the smell of blood and flesh and how cold a corpse is. Sometimes it's all he can think about.

He cried when his father passed, as all boys would. Then, a fire replaced the hollow sadness in his heart, something fierce and dangerous and unhinged.

Fierce and dangerous and unhinged. Descriptors that he would consider second nature to him behind closed doors of the Tavern and hidden in the grapevines of the Winery. No one would ever know the real Diluc Ragnvindr, hellbent on vengeance since he was only a boy crying at his father's grave.

It wasn't until you came along that he felt something new blooming within him— something like beautiful flowers and a heartbeat slow and steady as waves on the shore, a yearning so powerful that it displaced the ugly bitterness in his heart.

Nowadays, Diluc felt like a confusing mixture of both light and darkness— treading the thin line that separated him from living in the moment with you, and seeking revenge for the past.

He doesn't realize the conflict within him has been bubbling into a raging fire, tearing him in half from the inside out, until today.

He talked to you about his father once, over a plate of sugar-frosted slime and Liyue imported jasmine tea. It was a day like any other, with you seated across from him having an afternoon snack.

My father liked sugar-frosted slime, he told you. It was the first time he'd ever let it be known that Crepus was on his mind, ever so present. A ghost haunting him. You didn't think much of it. Diluc seemed perfectly content living through his memories.

It was coincidence that brought you here on the exact day the world lost Crepus. Or, perhaps, the nagging voice in the back of your mind telling you to get out of bed and come here.

Your son is a wonderful man, is what you first whispered to the grave. And then you couldn't stop the words from pouring out of you, rambling on and on about how he raised a good boy, and how Diluc had taken your heart the moment you laid eyes on him.

He finds you sitting there in the rain with a sad excuse for an umbrella popped up above your head. His father's grave is adorned with flowers of all kinds— a respect that no one had ever paid him before.

You don't realize how much you move him with such a simple act. He had long since lost faith both in the Knights and the citizens that once looked up to his father so much; after all, it was only he and Kaeya who ever came around to visit.

It's not until he crumbles to his knees beside you that you even notice his tears, your smile fading as he looks at you in confusion.

You're not sure you've ever seen Diluc cry before.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, head tilting into your palm when you reach forward to wipe his tears with your thumb.

"Saying hello," you respond as if it's the obvious answer.

"You... huh?"

"It would be rude to fall in love with you without at least introducing myself first."

"You didn't have to do—" Diluc gestures to the grave, "—all this."

You smile. "I wanted to.” And the truth is as simple as that.

You were too good for this world. Something beautiful in a place where only ugliness lives. He almost hates how much hope you give him.

The world was always black and white for Diluc. Recently, he's been finding it hard to distinguish the two.

There was right and there was wrong and there you were teetering between them, balancing hope and despair. It scared him to think of all the ways he could lose you, how he could one day end up bringing flowers to a grave with your name on it just as you did for his father.

What's the point of love if all it ends with is hurt?

He's sniffling, trying to chew on his bottom lip to distract himself from the ache in his chest. You notice his sudden quietness, turning to look at him.

"Hey.” Your voice is soft, as if he would shatter if you even spoke to him wrong right now. He might. "It's just me. It's okay."

"I don't cry. I hate crying," he admits through his tears.

He can't remember when he had cried last. Was it the day he came home? Or was it longer, like during those lonely nights spent hiding away in the mountains? The only vivid memory he has with tears staining his cheeks was the day his father died.

"You don't have to be ashamed of crying," you tell him, using your thumbs to wipe his lashes. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm Diluc Ragnvindr. I'm not supposed to cry."

"You're Diluc Ragnvindr," you repeat back slowly, pulling his head toward you and cradling it against your shoulder. "You're human. What's wrong with that?"

Diluc doesn't feel human. He hasn't felt human in a long time. He's been something more like a ghost wandering around the places he used to love. Memories tainted by hatred and grief, it was as if he would never find beauty in this world again.

"I'm not," he breathes. "I'm not anything."

You pry him off of you. He blinks at you through his tears.

"Do you really believe that?"

He goes quiet, only staring at you as he soaks in your earnest eyes.

"I don't know what I am. I don't know what to do in this world anymore."

He's a mess of emotions— he almost wishes he were back in Snezhnaya where everything made sense. Where his entire existence was built up of seeking retribution. To a time when he knew where he belonged.

Diluc Ragnvindr only ever knew revenge. Only ever knew how to inflict pain. Only ever knew how to break kneecaps and hide in shadows and keep his lonely body warm with his Pyro vision.

He doesn't know love. He doesn't know how to do it without fighting the fire burning in his stomach when he grieves—

"You're just Diluc. Do you ever need to be anything more than that?"

—or maybe he hasn't given it the chance it deserves. The chance he deserves.

He realizes then, what love must be. What kept him up at night, the feeling raging in his chest:

There was no corner of Teyvat he could ever call home without you anymore. He belonged here, with you.

And accompanied with this realization is something that he hasn't felt in many years. Peace. A stillness in his body and the calm in his mind which was usually racing with contemplation— something he never thought he would feel again.

And it's because of you. Only you. It would only ever be because of your love.

"Would you accept me as I am?"

You smile. "I always have."

"You don't know who I am. The things I've done."

"Are they that bad?"

"Awful."

You hum in thought, thumb mindlessly brushing his cheek back and forth. "We have all the time in the world for you to explain," you add with another soft smile, "I believe you have your reasons. I believe in you."

He laughs, exhales shaky. "You're insane."

"Am I? But I think you're falling for me anyways."

So what if he is? He can't find a single reason wrong with it anymore.

The rain has started to let up, the world around him lighting up with warm sun. And you look so radiant like this, surrounded by the fog brought in by the storm and shining in sweet sunlight.

"Do you think we have your father’s approval?"

He doesn't have to answer that. Not when you're already leaning in closer to him.

The diminishing pitter-patter of rain against your shabby umbrella fills his ears. You're so close that he swears he can hear your heart thundering in your chest.

Diluc has always been brave; he was a terrible troublemaker of a child that grew into a body too big for a boy— some part of him that he kept locked away for the sake of living his life as his father would have wanted. If he wanted to lead an empire of a business, he would need to grow up eventually.

He's always been brave, but he was still too much of a coward to stop using his father as a way out. Because he knows Crepus would have wanted Diluc to find happiness, not vengeance.

It's about time he stopped being afraid.

"I think he wants me to tell you something."

"And what's that?" You smile.

"That in this life—" he breathes, "—in this and the next and the one after until the stars of Teyvat run out, I will love you."

You snicker. He can feel it rumbling in his own chest. "How romantic," you tease with his breath in your lungs.

He shuts you up with his mouth.

Diluc kisses you in autumn, with the golden leaves of change. Diluc kisses you warm and sweet and long. He can't remember what was filling his senses at that moment. Your bodies were too close for him to care.

WINTER

Winter was always a bothersome season.

Even in his days away from Mondstadt, in all the time he spent roaming the north, he never quite grew accustomed to the freezing temperatures and harsh weather.

When Diluc left for Snezhnaya, he left his childhood behind, too. He abandoned who he was on the doorstep of his manor, put all his funds into the hands of Adelinde with no intent of returning, and left in the middle of the night without a word.

Half of him expected to die. The other half expected to not return by choice.

For the first few months he spent adjusting to the northern climate, he tucked himself away in a hidden cavern away from the Capital where the Tsaritsa resided. He was in no condition to battle, let alone challenge a god.

He spent many days stealthily hunting down lower ranking Fatui— people that no one would miss. At eighteen years old he had enough blood on his hands to guarantee Celestia's smiting. Blood that, as he learned, does not wash off.

He had to teach himself how to travel through thick snow. Through blizzards and hail and subzero temperatures nothing alike to those felt on Dragonspine.

And when he finally returned home, battle worn and hardened and cold, he couldn't stand the snow. Every crunch under his boots reminded him of the times he had to lug around his greatsword through treacherous enemy lines. Even the sound put him on edge for incoming attacks.

It wasn't like he was ever particularly fond of the cold but for a long time, as a boy, he would simply tolerate it. He had his Pyro vision, after all, and it never truly caused him any harm.

When Kaeya received his Cryo vision, things took a turn.

The cold represented nothing but death for Diluc. It was pain and grief and sorrow— loss in magnitudes indescribable to anyone else. It was bloodshed, the terrible stench of flesh, metal on metal. It was homesickness.

There was nothing poetic or beautiful about it. It only reminded him of all the things he had lost.

He would roll his eyes when Venti sang about the first snowfall of the season. His Pyro vision would glow until the ice melted around him. It's impractical, he told you when you first met and he was guiding you back down the mountain. It doesn't do any good except make you slip and fall.

Diluc remembers quite vividly how you snorted at that. And, like always, you went on to say things that would make his head spin. Find beauty in life even where you think it doesn't exist.

He didn't heed your advice all too much, instead grumbling about how his claymore was getting heavy and that he wanted to get back to the Winery as soon as possible.

But then he found that it was hard to ignore your words. Especially when you were showing him exactly how to do it— popping frozen grapes into his mouth that were somehow a little sweeter; mixing him hot cocoa the way your mother taught you; throwing snowballs at him from behind trees and thinking you've won until he nails you straight in the face in retaliation.

Winter always brought a smile to your face. And how could he not smile when you are?

The best part of it all was that the cold made you cling to him a little closer. A little tighter. So close that he swears he can hear your heart beating in his own ears, savouring his warmth unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

"My personal fire seelie," you joked once. He pinched your cheek until you slapped his hand away and buried your face back into his chest.

Diluc is pretty certain that he hasn't been this happy in a long time. Not since before his father passed, at least. Even with the nervous sigh that leaves him, you're urging him forward.

"I can't believe you never learned how to skate!"

"It's... not something noble families would have approved of."

"But you have this whole lake in your backyard!" You gawk. He only stifles a laugh, stumbling clumsily into your arms. You catch him as if you'd done it a thousand times before.

"Show me how it's done."

"It's like dancing," you say with an encouraging grin, pulling him along with you slowly. You're half right. Some aspects of it do remind him of a warm spring night, with music playing and your laughter in his ears. On the other hand, he can't seem to keep his skates straight.

"The ice won't fall through, right?" He murmurs anxiously, nodding at the Pyro vision hung on his belt.

"If it does, I'll save you!"

"I don't think you'd be able to carry me up from the water," he deadpans.

"I'd save you," you insist.

"Really?"

"Yes, really! For as many times as you need me to save you, I will."

And you did save him. Though, that statement is better left unspoken for the sake of the heat rising to his cheeks. Instead, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you," he whispers into your skin.

Find beauty in life. Another set of words he never thought he would understand. But he's staring at beauty right in its face and it smells like Cecelias. Dances like a shooting star. Loves unconditionally.

Diluc always loathed winter, until you redefined it into a thing he missed dearly—

Home.

crossposted to ao3!

🏷️ @rintosei hi babe its up <3

#— whispers in the wind ✧#seriously thank you to ellie #everyone go give her a big hug she deserves the world #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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sincerelyneo · 26 days

Text

hickeys | z.cl

❯ summary: Your boyfriend, Chenle, is competitive. And even though the comment about you giving better hickeys than him was a joke — he’s always up for the chance to prove you wrong. Yes, he loves you, but that doesn’t mean he’d let you get away with thinking he was bad at something — especially not something you claim you’re better at than him — so he settles it.

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, very suggestive, fluffish, very slight minor angst, reader is slightly inexperienced.

❯ words: 2.9k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, marking/hickeys, a lot of kissing, light petting, chenle is sulky, brief mentions of jealousy, chenle and reader have a hickey competition idk????

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy?” your boyfriend huffs, shaking off his coat as the two of you usher through your shared apartment.

He’s pissed — scrap that — he’s beyond fuming. He’s angry that the guy at the coffee shop you frequent every morning thought he could ask you for your number the moment he slipped away to the bathroom.

He just can’t seem to quite understand it. It’s not like you were alone — you and Chenle had walked in together. And Chenle knew the guy on the counter knew who he was because, for the last three months of your relationship, the two of you had made it a habit to get coffee at that same cafe on your street corner every morning.

“He probably just didn’t realise we were together. Don’t think too hard about it babe,” you say wrapping your hands around his waist as he hangs up his stuff on the coat rack.

Chenle rolls his eyes before turning around. He’s upset you’re trying to brush this off, but he knows it’s not your fault so he still places a gentle kiss on the top of your head. Then, he unwraps your hands from him and walks to sink into the soft black couch, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it.

You know he’s still pissed but is pretending not to be. You see the harsh way he’s gripping his phone case, and the way his eyebrows keep knitting together, and the frustrated sighs he keeps letting pass through his nose.

But the whole thing is silly really — but you know he doesn’t see it that way. And honestly, if the shoe was on the other foot, you’d be beyond pissed too.

“He didn’t realise we were together my ass,” he mumbles.

You cross your arms over your chest as you stand in front of him, “are you seriously jealous right now?”

He sees the way you’re smirking at him, teasing him, and he hates it.

“Being jealous would mean he has something I want-” he puts his phone down on the spot next to him and leans forward on his knees, eyes fixed on you “-I already have you. He should be jealous of me.”

You let that comment slide with a roll of your eyes.

“He might just be new, LeLe, and he might not have seen us walk in together.”

Chenle knows that’s not possible. He knows the barista was not some new recruit — he was the same guy he’s clocked eyeing you every time he seemed to be on shift. Your boyfriend hated the way the man's eyes would flick to your lips as you ordered; and the way he’d let his hand linger for too long when passing you your change.

At first, he didn’t mind it. He was proud to have such a beautiful girlfriend that was so unaware of the effect she had on other people. What bothered him was when he made a point to wrap his hand around your waist, tight, and the man didn’t care, still making advances at you.

Yeah, that’s what pissed him off.

“It doesn’t matter, he should have seen that hickey on your neck and minded his own fucking business,” he growls.

Your eyes widen, remembering the way your boyfriend lightly feathered kisses down your neck before sucking down, only hard enough to leave a light bruise as replacement when he pulled off with a pop, last night.

It’s then you realise he’d made sure to do that to you every single night for the last three months — even if you weren’t having sex that night. And even though the mark would be slightly faded come the morning, you still reprimand him for it.

In fact, your boyfriend had never expressed an interest in marking you until you had started your morning coffee ritual. And then it clicks.

“Zhong Chenle, have you been marking me on purpose?!”

Your sulky boyfriend sheepishly sinks back into the couch, lips pursing into a line. Your hands go to your hips, and so do his eyes, as you wait for a response from him.

“It’s not like that, Y/N, I swear, it’s just…he…ugh…I don’t know,” he’s starting to get flustered and you can’t help but giggle at him.

You take the seat beside him, holding his hands in yours.

“You’ve been giving me hickeys every single night to prove that I’m yours?” you ask, a smirk twitching at the corner of your lips. Chenle nods, making you smile. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job at it if guys are still hitting on me.”

You’re joking, trying to lighten the mood and add a smile to his face, but he doesn’t find you funny. The minute the words leave your lips, Chenle’s eyes darken, and the hold you have on each other’s hands tightens.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He drops your hands immediately and turns his body to face away from you. You realise you’re making the situation worse and can’t believe your boyfriend’s being so sulky about something you thought was a none issue.

“Oh come on, Chenle. I’m just playing around,” you bring your hand to his cheek to turn him back to look at you. He brushes your hand away, but stays facing you — you’re thankful for that at least.

“Sounds like your saying I give bad hickeys,” he mumbles. You have to laugh at him, he’s being ridiculous. “It’s not funny.”

You roll your eyes, “No, I’m saying maybe I should give you the hickeys from now on to clear up everyone’s confusion.”

“You think you give better hickeys than I do?” His eyes have narrowed on you.

You knew of your boyfriend’s competitive nature, and now he’s giving you a look he only ever really gives to Haechan when the two of them play video games; or Jisung when they’re playing basketball. But now, he’s directing that look at you, tense jaw, tight fist, slit eyes.

He looks so hot like this, all riled up, confronted and pissed off at you. You can’t help but swallow the lump in your throat and clench your thighs together as your pussy flutters at the sight.

“Chenle, I’m playing with you-”

“You’re challenging me,” he corrects, leaning in to brush against your skin. He whispers discreetly in your ear.

You don’t dare to make a sound, feeling the pit in your stomach rise. He takes his middle and pointer fingers and taps them against last night’s purple mark. He pokes his tongue out of his mouth then you feel his wet lips brush the spot. Your breath hitches and Chenle laughs, the throaty sound vibrating on your neck so good you almost moan.

“This isn’t good enough for you, huh?” he pulls back to examine his work. His fingers are rough as he rubs up and down against the mark, cooing as he soothes the soft spot of your skin. Once he stops, you gasp as his hand grips your jaw so that your eyes meet his. “Think you can do better?”

“C-Chenle,” you breathe out as his grip keeps you in place. You love the dominance the gesture exerts.

His other hand grazes up your thigh, his thumb caressing the inner part of your skin. The touch is small, but it doesn’t stop your body from going on fire.

“I think we should put this to the test, don’t you think?”

“W-W-What do you mean?” You can’t think straight, not with his hand inching closer and closer to your panties. And you know the minute he reaches them, he’ll tease you about the wetness already pooling there.

“I suck your neck, you suck mine,” he nuzzles back into your neck now, his breath fanning over you as he whispers low. “See which one of us is really better.”

You shove him back because you can’t believe what he’s saying. Chenle never lets you mark him, not with his job, so you’re in a state of disbelief. That and you just couldn’t take any more of him acting like this without jumping his bones right there on the couch.

"That’s not fair, you know you have more experience than I do,” you object.

Chenle huffs, “You’re the one who started this by saying I give bad hickeys.”

“I never said that.”

“Might as well of.”

He’s impossible.

"And besides baby, have you ever heard of quality over quantity, you could prove me wrong-” his touch comes back as he nuzzles in closer. “I don’t think you will, but I’d love to go see you try.”

Now it was your turn to feel challenged. If this was how he wants to play, then fine. You were gonna do this, and you were gonna give it your all proving him wrong. You narrow your eyes and lick your lips.

"Alright, fine. But I’m going first,” you turn your body a fraction to meet his direction.

Chenle tilts his head back upright and looks at you with shock. You glimmer a grin, knowing he wasn’t expecting you to agree so soon.

“Bold for someone who was just complaining about having a lack of experience,” he teases and you scowl.

"Ever heard of quality over quantity?" You mimic him.

Then, you're tilting his head and leaning into the crook of his neck. You start off gently, easing in very calm and slow. His lips gently part at the plush feeling of your lips. You’re taking your time with it — and it’s killing him. You don’t suck or bite just yet, only gently kissing him in very calming spots.

You begin to pick up speed starting to suck but keeping a gradual build. You moan into his skin causing vibrations to ripple through him making him grunt. When you pop off and look at the red mark starting to bruise on the side of his neck, you smile. You look down to see his cock straining against his jeans — and that does wonders for your ego.

“Don’t get too smug-” he pulls your hips closer to him. “It’s my turn now.”

Your stomach starts to turn in your nerves as you straighten your back so you’re closer to his head level. Your chest gently rises up and down as his hands start gripping your thighs. He’s so close you notice just how good he smells.

You felt a brief exhale from him, humid air gliding down the arch of your neck. You gently shallow out your breathing, and that’s when he leans in to make contact with you.

You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to bask in the feeling of his warm contact on your sensitive skin. Your boyfriend was also one cocky motherfucker, so you refuse to let a sound slip from your mouth or allow your eyes to shutter in ecstasy.

His first initial touch is wet and warm. And when he starts moving, he begins slowly with very tender kisses. He does that thing you love when he moves up closer to your ear knowing that’s the spot that gives you the most pleasure.

You know this isn’t a fair battlefield. Chenle knows all the right things to do that have you squirming and writhing underneath him — and God did he know it. You’d never given him a hickey before, so you were already at a disadvantage.

His kisses keep getting heavier, parting his lips with a subtle suck between his teeth, sending sharp shocks through your body. He notices you jolt and starts soothing the skin with a lapse of his tongue after.

Then he starts integrating suction, right below your ear. He sucks with a roughness he knew you enjoyed, breathing heavily in an almost pant. You couldn't help but allow your eyes to feather shut against your will. You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to make a sound and feed his already large ego.

His hand grasps your side, gripping you firmly right below your rib cage. The touch applies heat to your stomach, the pleasure of his fingers digging into your sides. He sucks on different places until he’s back up to lace under your ear. You bite your cheek harder as his hands start gripping your bare thighs more aggressively.

Those hands start creeping further up your skirt until his left-hand rests above your panties. He takes your earlobe between his teeth, and at the same time, his hot breath huffed right into your ear. You uncontrollably shiver and tilt your head back a bit, making him smile against you sadistically.

"Aren’t you fidgety?" He whispers, as his hands start teasing the material. He loved to gravel a choppy exhale against your ear, knowing the sound and feeling always made you shiver.

“Because you’re not playing fair, Chenle,” you grip his hand, stopping him.

He knows he’s not — but he doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about right now is winning and hoping you swallow your words.

“Really?” He asks, “I don’t remember us having any rules.”

His face is flush flat right against your cheek, his deep breath exhales on your skin as he loves every minute of you squirming.

“W-We didn’t, but this is c-cheating,” you finally let out a whimper and want to curse yourself after trying so hard to fight it.

“What’s cheating?” He asks innocently, his hand moving back to the wet material between your legs.

“This,” you grab hold of his wrist, but you're not strong enough to stop the way he teases your waistband and glides his rough digit above your pubic bone.

“What’s ‘this’?”

“You’re not allowed to touch me like this. It’s cheating!”

Chenle laughs but doesn't remove his hand. And deep down you didn’t want him to — despite your protests. Instead, he greedily makes you take your own hand, which was white-knuckling your other thigh, so he could have full access to spread your legs open. Your chest was rising now, eyes looking down at the large ring-covered hand brushing between your thighs. Chenle’s eyes flicker with lust, and you’re certain yours do too.

He curls his lips into your neck, satisfied. The gentle noise of euphoria he had gotten out of you was enough to fuel his fire, because from there he started going harder. He continues grunting against your ear, lacing down just below it to leave what you assume to be violent marks.

His large hand curls into your underwear rather than just sitting on top of it. You cussed under your breath, stomach jumping.

He doesn’t touch you, leaving his hand to just linger before your folds. It causes a burning heat between your legs so much that you couldn’t help but shift in your seat. Your body was screaming to be touched at this point.

"Are you sure you want to consider this cheating?" Chenle coaxes in your now sensitive ear. “Wouldn’t want to break the rules now, would I?”

You know he’s lying. He’s never given a fuck about rules. Ever.

You shake your head, trying to shift and cause any kind of friction you could get, but Chenle snaps his hand from out of your panties.

You’re so overwhelmed at this point but in the best way possible. His lips continue to massage your neck in rough-tempered ways, his hand only rubbing the skin of your thigh but they’re almost quivering.

“Please Chenle,” you whine.

The game had completely left your mind by now. His hand eventually moves to your core, and he cups you over your panties. You uncontrollably let out a struggled moan, being too turned on to handle anything right now. He delicately grazes his fingers up and down your covered pussy.

"Still think I’m bad at this?” He talks into your neck.

"I-I never—”

Chenle’s fingers suddenly — but finally — slip into your underwear, making you gasp when you feel him graze your naked folds. Your body flexes in startle, but even the lightest touch from him felt so good.

"You’re wet.." He whispers, pulling his hand back out.

You hated the way he kept doing that.

You pull your head away from his lips, making him lock eyes with you. When he did, his face dropped a bit when he picked up your lustful expression. His eyes flick to your chest, rising up and down.

His hand stills on your thigh, "Still think you’re better at this than me?”

Fuck no.

You shake your head violently making him grin. There’s more amusement in his eyes than you would have liked but right now you don’t care — you just needed him.

He takes the fingers that have toyed with you and taps them against the wet spot on your neck. He coos, rubbing over the stinging skin.

"Think this should be enough to keep him away from you.”

You bite your lip and nod. You can’t see the damage just yet — but the way he’s just been ravaging your neck — you're sure he’s done a number on you.

Your chest is still rising up and down. Core aching and body screaming at you to beg for him.

"Say it, baby," He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Say I won, and I’ll touch you…”

You don’t waste a second more, your body on fire with need.

“Of course, you won, Chenle! Now hurry up and fuck me!”

#chenle smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #chenle x reader #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #kpop smut #nct scenarios #chenle scenarios #nct hard hours

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nyimasu · 1 year

Text

INCHES IN BETWEEN US — BUDDHA X FEM!READER

ART CREDIT!

— CW : size kink, buddha is THE master of teasing, sweets are involved in this one (keep reading ehe), sacrilegious stuff, lots of foreplay, pet names (petal), praise kink, fingering and oral (f receiving), prone bone position

— WORD COUNT : 2.1k┊AO3 LINK

NOTE : who would've thought buddha would break me out of my writer's block *heavy sigh* you better watch out in the future for other unholy thoughts of mine about him and other ror's charas 🤭

P.S : sweeteries of the sort are NOT safe to use on intimate parts! I just added it here for funsies but you all stay safe out there please <;3

It’s too much, the dash of distance between you and him. Too close, yet so far from one another.

Nevertheless, his warmth overwrites yours like the other times as the man inches closer to your parted lips, a bright smile bordering his own while a strong hand covers your breast altogether. You close your eyes, whiny whimpers clogging your throat.

The differences between you and your partner are too many to count, starting from status and height. To feel him hover over your smaller frame is enough to make you spiral.

But not as much as when he starts to tease you about it.

A gentle kiss on the tip of your nose, then his mouth is a breath away from yours. His earrings jingle as he straddles you, lips curled in a sly smirk.

“Aw, what’s the matter? Too big of a boy for ya, uhm? You want just the tip, petal?”

A shaky sob rips through your chest at the question, eyes flying to stare into the holy ones transfixed on your body. But Buddha is far from being divine, purposely avoiding the mere enlightenment of the mind whenever he’s with you.

Why indulge himself in that when he can experience such pleasurable things such as your lips coated in sugar?

He takes off his glasses with his free hand while kneading the tender flesh of your tits caged in his other one. He leaves them on one of the many pillows scattered across the room, similar to the ones you are laying on (not a big fan of beds, the both of you).

Buddha grazes your nipples with his palm, hard, and your reaction makes him smirk.

So needy for me.

“Want me to keep doing it? Ah-ah”, he tuts when you shake your head, out of breath. “Let me hear that cute voice of yours.”

“N-no, I need you here.” you point at your crotch with your eyes, embarrassment laced with desire boiling in your veins. Buddha can feel how wet you are through the fabric of his robes, too, but he won’t let you off the hook so easily.

“Where, exactly?” he whispers, a hint of amusement tainting his voice as his fingers circle your breast and then down to graze the navel. His touch lingers on it for a second then he looks up at you, waiting.

If you stop talking, he won’t move.

He’s going to be the death of you.

“Keep going, please.” it’s a feeble, pathetic plea the one that reaches him, but he obliges all the same. On his own terms, of course.

The noise of something being unwrapped should startle you, but you are used to it. However, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the sound, especially because you know what it means.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” “Me? Never.” you stare at Buddha through lidded eyes. Somehow you still have some brattiness left in you, and you use it to your advantage when you raise a hand to his crotch, palming him through the robes. Oh.

You’re not the only one riled up.

His hiss proves you right, and so does the white stick poking out of his mouth: he really popped a lollipop in his mouth. A strawberry flavoured one, to be exact.

Everytime he eats one of them, it means you are going to be bedridden for a while.

Black orbs pierce your soul as he chuckles, “Ah, petal. You are going to be so much fun for centuries to come. My pretty, sweet petal.”

The tinge of possessiveness in those last words leaves you breathless, but you shoot him a beaming smile he copies right away. He will not get bored of you anytime soon, and you’re far too gone for him to back down now.

The softness of the moment turns into lust as Buddha tilts his head to the side, you gawking at him as he rolls the pink globe of sugar on his lips from one side to another.

His tongue swirls around it a few times and while he does so, he strips himself of his clothes. — what’s left of them, because the tank top had been ripped to shreds by you an hour ago.

That stark body of his, every inch of it sculptured and forged by millenia of godly training, is always a sight to see.

You feel your mouth water and almost choke on it at the sensation of his erection pushing against your thigh. He’s so pleased with your reaction — your body chanting in ecstasy for him is always music to his ears. Buddha rewards you by bending down, lollipop pushed aside in his mouth to capture your lips in a passionate kiss.

A sudden attack at your resolve to stay focused, not to give in so quickly to him, but it doesn’t work.

In the haze of the moment you suck on his canines and he moans, gaze roaming your face as he breaks the kiss and sighs out,

“Seems you can’t wait any longer, am I right?”

“I’m not the only one.” you shoot back and Buddha chuckles. Touché.

The arousal between your thighs pools more and more with every clever stroke he resumes to give to the lollipop. You try to rub them together and give yourself some sort of relief, but he's having none of that.

The deity stares you down, one eyebrow raised.

For a moment, you catch the glimpse of lilies swallowing his pupils, then they vanish.

You are unaware of his next move, but he’s not.

“Budd-” before you can finish, he presses the candy on your lower lip, prying your mouth open until the lollipop falls on your tongue. The taste of him on your taste buds makes you dizzy.

“Talk to me.”

His lips ghost over your body as he descends, his hands already on your thighs stretching them open. You do so without breaking eye contact, and when the space between your legs is enough for his frame to fill, his hair tickles your skin. Buddha leaves a sticky trail of kisses everywhere he can reach, breathing on them when you suddenly yelp.

He notices it and stares up at you just as you do the same, sprawled atop the pile of fluffy pillows and veils of the bedroom.

Magnificent, Buddha sighs in his mind and a grin is all he gives away when another warm, clear wave of arousal leaks through your pussy.

“Do you need me here?” his tongue on your thigh.

“Or here?”

When he moves again, you almost flee your skin.

“My God yes, right there.” out of reflex, you bury your fingers in his hair as he wraps his tongue around your clit, sucking on it while you yank at the locks, whining. Buddha knows better than wearing it up around you for you adore to see his long, soft strands glide over your body like silken streams of water.

To your displeasure he stops his ministrations to spare you a puzzled look, as if he heard you say the lewdest of lies. And to him, it is.

“Not God.

Me.”

And without missing a beat, Buddha dips his head down to take half of your soppy cunt in his mouth, easing two fingers in you at the same time.

You arch your back in shock, biting on the lollipop for dear life while the deity between your legs runs his tongue up your folds, humming to himself how sweeter you are than any other candy he ever ate as he fingers your insides, clenching and squeezing him until he scissors them apart. You are not going to take him fully if not fully prepped.

But it’s not enough.

“Buddha,” you keen, despair oozing from your voice as he simply coates his lips in your juices, doing nothing more. “I want more.”

He’s quick to respond without looking at you: “You should let go of any carnal desire you have, petal, if you want to achieve enlightenment.”

He did not just say that when he’s knuckles-deep inside you.

You yank at his roots, merciless, and the action has Buddha groan. The grunt goes straight to your pussy but don’t let it distract you from pushing the man’s head backward. When your eyes clash, you whisper through gritted teeth, “Don’t you dare lecture me about carnality when your cock is hard like a rock against my thigh.

How about you fuck me to Nirvana, instead?

Now that definitely stirs him up, and your words sets him ablaze.

Buddha leaves the comfort of your velvety walls and pussy with a sigh, but the emptiness is soon replaced by his hands behind your knees; he hooks your thighs on his broad shoulders, kissing them as you raise on your elbows to better stare at him.

“Mind if I borrow the lollipop?”

You give it to him, confused, until you watch as he takes it and realise what he wants to do. Your eyes go huge in alarm but Buddha carries on amidst your complaints.

“No-”

“Oh, shut up. We both know you’re not so against it when I do this.”

He kisses your knee to make sure you don’t take his words the wrong way and you immediately relax. Above everything, Buddha is a deity and as such, he acts on whims. And amongst his peers, he’s the most unpredictable one.

When he’s sure you’re not tense anymore, his hand still holding the candy lowers on your pussy and you hold your breath. But you almost faint on the spot when Buddha coats the lollipop in your juices, stroking it along your lower lips to capture every droplet.

That knocks the air out of you for good, and you’re close to hyperventilation when the candy disappears in Buddha’s mouth.

He’s sucking on it slowly, as if your release is a flavour he can’t stop to have in his mouth. Well, you’re not far from the truth.

“What a good girl”, he coos as he helps you get down on the pillows again, cupping your face the moment he comes up to peck at your lips in adoration. “Lemme taste you a bit more. Come on, don’t be shy.”

You smile, dragging him in another kiss he eagerly accepts.

But then, the world spins and you with it.

When you come to be, you notice you’re laying flat on your stomach, face buried in the pillows. What just happened?

You rise to your elbows once more and look from above your shoulder to see Buddha on his feet, legs slightly open as you watch him pump himself a few times, his own need for you so strong that the tip of his cock is already covered in precum. His gaze, transfixed at the sight of your glistening pussy, darkens the moment he feels your eyes on him.

He’s so aroused he can barely think straight.

“Why are you so far away from me?” you ask with a pout and Buddha sucks in a breath. Veins popping out on his neck, he waits for you to smile at him and when you do, another sigh claws its way out of him.

Not only you motion for Buddha to come back, but to lure him faster you spread your legs as much as you can, giving the man a full view of your cunt clamp, spasm around nothing.

“Fuck.”

“See? I need you inside me,” you’re eyeing him shamelessly and he doesn’t mind it at all. “Don’t make me wait. Please.”

So the moment he falls to his knees you smile, and he hides his face in the crook of your neck as he pushes a hand on your waist and his cock finally, finally dives into you. He moves slowly to let you adjust to his girth, and you cry in relief with each little thrust.

Every inch of his brush your sweet spots without even trying and you breathe in loudly when he bottoms out. He fills you to the brim just by staying still and Buddha is doing his best to stop himself from rutting into you. He can’t let his cock think for him, too.

But just feeling you clench around him and moan with every love bite he leaves on your neck as you take him and see goosebumps run all over your skin because of it — he’s going mad.

Your pupils are blown with lust when he tilts your head towards him, and he wastes no time in spitting the stick of the lollipop on the floor to grab you by the chin and stare at you dead in the eye. “Tell me when to move, petal.”

Spidery fingers wrap around his hand — yours. A sultry laugh escapes you yet he drinks it in when you kiss him, in line with the alluring way your hips keep bucking into his for friction.

Light green hair washes over you as Buddha complies, and when you moan on his lips as he starts to thrust into you he understands one, simple truth.

You really are the sweetest lover who ever graced Heaven and Earth, and he’s so lucky to have you all for himself.

#voice of cassandra #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok smut #buddha x reader #buddha x you #ror buddha #shuumatsu no valkyrie #snv smut #snv buddha

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 9 months

Text

Always have but never hold

First chapter / Next chapter

a/n thank you for the love on the first chapter! Just ahhhh.... thank you!😭🥺✨

warning: mention of a hospital, injuries, panic attacks, just angst.

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The truth was - Carmy didn't even stop for a moment. His hand was clutching the towel you threw at him. The doors slammed, and he didn't even flinch. Only turning to the rest of the staff to shout orders. He threw the towel in the bin carelessly. Not giving it a second thought. It was only when he was scrubbing the floor that his gaze landed on the bloody cloth there. And it's like only then did his brain click. You ran off bleeding. You were bleeding here. Did he take your hand? Had he taken it? Marcus and Ebra were arguing in the background. Carmy's brain couldn't follow the sound. Why hadn't he gone to check his phone all day? What if you called? What if something happened to you on the walk home? Were you even coming home? The last thought made bile rise in Carmy's throat. All of the words he had said to you crumbled back on him. "Fuck", he shouted, his hands making contact with the cold tiles as he scrambled to get up.

He ignored the "what the fucks" in return as he nearly knocked Marcus over on his way and the concerned "chef", that lingered from Sydney's lips. Carmy frantically tapped his pockets; his phone wasn't there. He needed his phone. Needed to hear your voice. Needed to know that everything was okay. The office table was full of papers. Carmy quickly started pushing everything around. "Were the fuck...", he muttered, pulling and pushing. His chest started to feel heavy. Tight. Uncomfortable. His fist came to rub the left side of his chest. Why didn't he sign for you back then? Why didn't he... His fingers came into contact with the hard object, and Carmy nearly sank to the floor.

There were no missed calls. No calls from you. A couple of emails reminded him that the payment needed to be made. His heart dropped because now the thought of you not coming back at all sank in. No, he would make it better somehow. You would be there. You were not leaving him. The sound of the ringtone filled his ears. Carmy jerked his head to the side. "No, no, no", he muttered, snatching the jacket from the chair, fingers moving through the pockets. Here it was. Your phone. Here in the restaurant. Not with you. Carmy's throat tightens once more. He patted the side pocket, and the key jiggled there. "Fuck", he cursed under his breath. It's been more than six hours since you left. No phone. No keys. Where were you?

And then it hits him some more that the jacket he was holding wasn't the one he had pulled over this morning. You must have put it on. His jacket. Carmy brought it closer to his nose. The sweet smell of vanilla and spices filled his nose. He loved it when you wore his clothes. Not only because they looked way better on you. Not because there was a sense of pride that you had chosen to wear something of his. No, mostly Carmy loved catching your essence there. The hint of you would linger with him throughout the day. Keep him grounded if he can't be with you.

Carmy quickly reached for his stuff before he leaped out of the office. "Close it without me", he barked, pushing past Richie. They'll sort this out without him. As long as they closed and locked the doors on their way out, it would do. "Hell no! Why are we scrubbing the floors like cinderellas", Ritchie reached for Carmen's hand, making him halt in his steps. "Finish your fucking job", Ritchie ordered, shoving the brush into Carmy's chest. His eyes were set on fire. "My girl is out there somewhere in the street alone", Carmy said, throwing the brush back at him. Ritchie only chuckled bitterly, "If you still even have a girl. It's been, what, eight hours". Carmy thought about leaping at him and throwing a punch or two. His face twitched, hands gripping your jacket so tight, "Fucking hate you. Fucking hate you!", he spat Richie's way.

Carmy felt like a lucky asshole from the moment you walked into his life. Constantly telling himself that you were going to leave him eventually. Who would stick around for someone like him? The options all around were ten times better. But you stayed, and every day of him getting to hold you only made Carmy's anxiety about losing you bigger.

He had hidden the darkest parts of himself for so long. Always too weak. Always too slow. Never good enough. Never even reaching the distance to get what he wanted. But you saw all past that. Every night, he would come back to that small apartment in New York. Heavily filled with plants because you liked it, and Carmy liked everything that you liked. And he instantly felt like he could breathe again. The image of you sitting there, legs crossed, his shirt all baggy on your body, a brush behind your ear. That alone chased the bad day away. Making his bones lighter.

And then, "I'm so proud of you, Carm," followed by, "You know that right? You're amazing. I gush over you to everyone I meet", you would giggle, and Carmy's heart would swell because you cared. No matter what he did. You always cared about it all. A fucking haven in this fucked-up world. He hid you from his family. Carmy saw Sugar breaking and crumbling inside during every family gathering. It clawed at all of them, but seeing her eyes gloss over with tears. He started to see you like that. There among all the shouting. You have to listen to all of them. So he couldn't. Did not allow himself to bring you into such a broken place.

You. You. Carmy's body had become addicted to your presence. He had no idea how he had managed to not go insane in that quiet, lifeless apartment before you moved in. He remembers how fucking angry he was when the landlord told him that he was going to share the place with another person. That he could leave and pay twice as much or just suck it up and live with a roommate. And Carmy was ready to do anything it took to get the person to move out, but the moment you stepped through the door, Carmy knew that you were going to change his world forever.

Now he felt like a lost kid, searching the streets leading to your shared apartment. Carmen didn't let himself think about visiting the hospital or the police station. Even if the neighborhood was sketchy. You could have been snatched from the back alley. No one would find you. No one will even know where to start looking. Carmy bet over, gagging a couple of times when the fear inside him reached its peak. No, he will find you by the apartment door. Cold and shivering, but safe. Maybe Nancy, your neighbor, was back home; you could have simply stayed there when you realized that you left your keys.

But you weren't by the door. And Nancy didn't open her door, no matter how much Carmy knocked on her door or how much he shouted. He was restless. Pacing the living room. His panic wavered. But it grew, that's for sure. Carmen yanked the bathroom mirror cabinet open, shuffling through the bottles of pills, knocking some of them over. Before popping a pill under his tongue. His heart was beating everywhere. It felt like every part of his body—every organ, every cell—had grown a heart of its own.

Then the sound from the entrance made him snatch his head to the side. Carmen nearly ran into the half-open bedroom door as he rushed back. There you were. Standing. Alive. Breathing. Your skin had a slight blueish tint, no doubt from the cold wind outside. "Where were you?", he breathed out, stepping closer to you, but you slipped past his arms. "Hey, I'm talking to you", Carmen twisted back, catching your upper arm in his. His tone was too loud and harsh, so he toned it back down slightly and asked, "Where were you?"

You pulled your arm out of his grip, just like you had done back in the restaurant. "Oh, now you care?", you bit back, turning away from him as you walked into the living room, reaching for the throw blanket. "What the fuck do you mean? Of course, I care ", Carmy said, arms raised in the air now with frustration. You shook your head. You didn't want to do this now. You were tired. Hungry and cold. Your head pounded as it was. "You went to the hospital?", Carmy's voice suddenly sounded small when his eyes darted to your hand. That was now properly bandaged, even around your wrist. You exhaled sharply, "Six stitches". There was no point in lying anyway. That shit hurt like an ass still. You tapped your jeans pocket, making sure that a couple of painkillers they gave you were still there.

"Did you Uber from there?", Carmy asked once more. The question was so stupid that you couldn't help but chuckle, "With what fucking money?" When you realized that you had nothing on you. You were already a block away from the restaurant. A smart choice would have been to go back, but you were too frustrated, too bitter, and too hurt to turn around. So you let the cold seep into you. Welcoming it even. "You walked?", Carmy's voice echoed again, and you pressed your fingers against your throbbing temples. "You've walked in the dark alone?", he asked as he stepped closer to you, now towering over your seated frame. "No, I fucking flew Carmen on a magical fucking horse who shits rainbows", you stood up quickly, your voice just as loud as his now.

You let yourself stare at him. The dull color of his face The tired eyes, bags beneath them. The messy curls. He had pulled so hard on some of the pieces that they looked almost straight. The sweat was still clinging to his forehead. "I can't fucking do this", you muttered so quietly. It's almost as if you were unsure, but then again, the past hours of thinking left fresh bruises within your chest. "I can't do this anymore", you said quickly, trying to keep the shaky breath at bay.

"No, no, don't say that", Carmy said, the panic coating his voice. You could tell that he wanted to reach for you, but he halted. Afraid you'll push him away once more. "What the fuck is this?", you motioned your finger between the two of you in circles, "This feels like a relationship to you." Carmen stayed silent, but you could see the way his fists trembled. The way the emotions were bubbling deep within. "I feel closer to the lady baking cinnamon rolls down the street than you", you admitted, turning your head to the side when the first tears fell down your cheeks.

"No, you're... we're... I love you", he muttered, trying to lean closer to you, but you raised your hands to stop him. "No, please", he pleaded. But you just shook your head, stepping aside. Walking past him once more. It all crumbled in front of Carmen. All the broken pieces he managed to juggle with your help came crashing down. He was losing you. Finally losing you. He lived to see the day when you walked out the door.

Carmy tried to breathe, but it was like there was no oxygen in the room. The sharp inhale felt more like a cry for help than anything else. Carmy's hand came over his heart as he pressed against the sharp paint there. You jerked back, the very first uneven breath already catching your attention. "Carmy", you call out, but there was no response. You watched him sink to the floor, and you're rushing to him instantly, "Carmen".

You kneel right in front of him, both palms taking hold of his face. "Bear, hey, hey, look at me". Guilt drenched your bones because this was all you did. You did this. You caused this.

"Please, I", Carmen crocked out, reaching to hold onto you. His lifeboat, his anchor. Yet his eyes were darting all over the place. "Hey, it's okay", you whispered, pushing some of the messy curls away from his face.

"Here", you pressed one of your hands to your chest right over your heart, "You feel that? Remember how we do it?", his eyes finally landed on you. He was close to fainting. The flustered blinking only proved that. "Try to match your breathing to that", you said softly, your fingers brushing over his palm soothingly.

"I'm so sorry", he choked out, bringing his arms to wrap around your back. You let him. Moving to quickly straddle his lap as you leaned into him, arms coming to wrap around Carmy's shoulders. His hand moved to run through your hair as he pressed you closer to his chest. "We're just both tired and frustrated", you muttered against his skin. "Don't leave me", Carmy begged, clenching fistfuls of your shirt in his hand, "Please, I would...", but you pulled away ever so slightly, resting your forehead against his. "We're not breaking up, bear. I'm here, and I'll be here. I love you". His breathing started to ease, but his grip on you didn't.

You let him stay like that for a bit. Let him ground himself. Let him hold you. Equally as desperate to be held and wrapped up in his arms. Your fingers ran over Carmy's tattoos, tracing the shapes as you listened to his heart slowly calm down. You knew that you wouldn't have been able to walk away. To just leave him. A cold shoulder, yes. Well, maybe. Because he was struggling. You knew most times it wasn't him speaking. Not to mention that the environment in the restaurant didn't help as well.

"Are you hungry?", you asked after a while. You were sure it was late at night by then. Carmy shook his head before asking, "You?", you shook your head as well. You probably wouldn't be able to keep anything down anyway. "But you need a shower", brushing your hands through his hair, you nuzzled your nose against his. "Are you suggesting that I smell?", Carmy kissed the tip of your nose before his eyes met yours. "I hate to break it to you, chef". Carmy shook his head, a light hint of a smile tugging At the corners of his mouth, "Heard".

You moved off his lap carefully, reaching an arm out to him to help him up. "You'll be here, right?", your heart broke that he was still triple-checking, but you couldn't blame him. There were close to no good things in his life. There was no one who wanted to keep him with all of his flaws. "I'm not going anywhere, promise", you say, cupping his cheek softly as you smile at him

Your heart feels heavy as you watch him go. Not moving until you hear the water running. You let out a deep sigh. The sting in your hand was only more sharp now, yet you still forced yourself to move. Still, made Carmy a sandwich just in case. Because you know he was shit at understanding his needs. And you doubt that he had truly eaten anything. You were filling up a cup of tea for him when you heard a phone ringing on the table. It was Carmy's, and the sound was drilling through your head. You reach to silence it; Ritchie's name bright and bold on the screen. You look at it for a minute. You wonder if there could be a chance that he... but you don't let yourself fall headfirst into wishful thinking. Turning the screen first onto the table, you turn away from it. Wanting nothing more but to sleep. Hoping that all your scrambled brain needed was sleep.

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Taglist: @nishinoyahhh @thewulf

#carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear #the bear imagine #the bear x reader #the bear x you

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norrussell · 9 months

Text

Lap Dance | George Russell⁶³

Pairings: George Russell x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: basically smut, lots of babygirl I guess

A/N: decided to try myself in this writing stuff and this has been sitting in my wips folder since January. I have a lot more for Lando and Pierre written so let me know if you'd want them. Also, English is not my first language :)

It was close to midnight and George and you were just coming back from the restaurant where you celebrated your two years anniversary. You both were a little tipsy; George struggled a bit with unlocking the door of your apartment and you just stood giggling beside him. Finally, the key clicked and he let you inside first.

"You looked absolutely gorgeous tonight." he said, looking you from up and down as he turned to face you. He walked up to you, grabbing you into his embrace and resting his hands on your hips.

"You looked good too." you whispered, looking up at him and pulling him by his suit jacket.

"Oh yeah?" he inquired, your noses brushing against each other.

You nodded and let him kiss you there in the hallway. Shortly, your kiss turned into a full make out session and you had to stop him when he reached underneath your red dress because you already had something else planned in mind.

"George," you breathed, your eyes closed, as he traced kisses down your neck. "I have something for you."

"Mhm, I'm sure you do..." he mumbled as he tried to kiss you again, but you placed your hands on his chest giving him a little push. He groaned, making you chuckle, but obliged.

"Come with me. But first, let's get you out of this jacket." he raised his eyebrows in wonder, but let you slid your hands down his arms to undress him.

You took his hand and led him to the living room where you sat him down on the couch. He looked up at you with his big eyes. You pressed a finger against his lips, disabling him from any words of protest.

"Now, be a good boy and wait for me to get ready." he quickly nodded his head looking up at you and not even blinking.

You smiled and ran a finger across his jawline. You went to the bathroom where you had already prepared a set of lacy lingerie and a robe. You touched upon your hair and makeup real quick before going back to the living room and played some sensual music to set the mood. Since you were coming from behind him, the sudden noise caused him to snap his head to the right. You walked over to him, placing your hands on his shoulders.

"It's me." you whispered into his neck before planting a soft kiss. You felt him tense, smiling satisfactorily to yourself.

You walked around the couch in front of him to see that he has also gotten comfortable. He was sitting back on the couch with his dress shirt half undone and arms and legs spread open. You bit hard on your lower lip. Shit, you should be the one in charge here, but seeing him on display like that made you want to commit to him instantly. You tried not to let that distract you from what you have planned to do. With regained confidence, you walked forward a bit. His eyes scanned you from head to toe and you noticed his breath deepening.

"You look amazing, babygirl." he breathed, his eyes lingering on your figure.

You started playing with the rope that was loosely keeping your robe together while walking even closer to him.

"You think so?" you asked, voice low, as you stood in between his legs now, towering over him with your robe fully open.

"Y-yes." his eyes fell from your face to your chest.

"Good." you smirked, straightening yourself and walking away from him.

You took the robe off of your shoulders and looked over at him, back still facing him. Shimmying your way out of the rest of it, you tossed it away and turned to fully face him. His breath hitched now that you were standing half exposed in front of him.

"Now," you started as you slowly made your way back to him "we are going to set some ground rules."

"Mhm," he licked his lips "and what are those, babygirl?" he reached to touch you and bring you closer to him, but you stopped him halfway.

"First one is," you said as you got a hold of his wrists "you can look, but you can't touch." you pinned his hands on each side of him. "And the second," you leaned closer to his face and brought a knee up to his crotch and started working it. "you can't get hard."

"You're making some impossible rules, honey." he let out a shaky laugh.

"If you do, I'll stop." you stopped moving your knee just to make the point even more clear. He gulped and nodded. "Good boy." George loved praise, you could see his eyes rolling back.

You let go of his hands and walked away from him once more. He adjusted himself on the couch, spreading his arms on the back of it as if to say come and get me.

Oh, and I will George Russell, you just wait.

You unclasped your bra and put a hand over one cup to keep it in place while slowly removing the straps off your shoulders. George's gaze darkened as you stood there with your bra being loosely supported with just your hands. You shimmied a bit, moving only your upper body, before you let the bra just fall off. He took a deep breath in, his eyes travelling all over your naked torso as if he's seeing it for the first time. His fingertips started dancing on the couch surface and you knew he was itching to touch you.

You flashed him a smile and took your time walking back to him, one foot in front of the other. Once you were near him, you looked at him with intention. His lips were slightly apart and his chest visibly moving up and down. Your eyes roamed around his body for a bit before you looked into his eyes again with a smirk. You crouched down in front of him, placing your hands on each of his knees. You moved your hand up, caressing his thighs, feeling his muscles twitch under your palms, over his stomach and up his chest to his shoulders. You straightened up and placed your legs on each of his sides, straddling him, but not sitting on his lap. He licked his lips and you felt his breath hit your chest.

"Please..." he looked at you with hooded eyes.

"Please what baby?" you slowly swayed your hips, playing with his collar and teasing him.

"Please, let me kiss you." he breathed, closing his eyes.

You leaned your face forward and he was ready, ready to capture your lips with his, but in the last moment you changed direction, grazing over his cheek with your lips to his earlobe.

"No can do, babe." you whispered and noticed he was gripping the sofa rest which made you chuckle in his ear.

As quickly as you got on, you got off him. You walked away unbothered, but not as far as before. You took your time, sensually moving your body to the rhythm of the music, giving him something to look at. You played with the ends of your thongs before you bent down and took them off completely without previous warning. You could hear him take a sharp breath in.

"Shit, baby..." he gasped at the sight in front of him.

You gave him a quick glance over my shoulder, your body still bent down. You stepped out of your panties, gave him a little bit more of a slow dance before you made your way backwards to him. You sat on the couch in between his legs with your back still turned to him. You started working your hips against him, leaning back over his chest and feeling his breath on your neck. Soon, you could feel something hard pressing on your lower back. You stopped moving and got up.

"No, come back..." he pleaded.

You turned around and looked at him. He was in desperate state, his head hanging back and unable to control himself any longer.

"You broke the rule, baby. I told you I would stop."

"I know, I'm sorry..." he was almost panting. "I'll try to behave, just please..." he was completely at your mercy now.

You pretended to give it a thought when you already knew what you were going to do next. You went back to him, straddled him, but still not sitting fully on his lap.

"That's all nice to hear, but I still think I'll have to punish you, baby." you whispered in his ear.

"Yes," he started rapidly nodding his head. "you can punish me. You can do whatever you want with me. Please." his breathing was heavy.

And then finally, you sat your ass on his lap. He did soften a little.

"Oh my god..." he groaned and you guessed that was a sigh of relief.

You started grinding your hips against him. You knew he wouldn't last much longer and it didn't matter anymore.

"Shit, baby, I don't know how much longer I can put it off..." he started squirming like he was trying to get away from you. You stopped moving to let him catch some breath.

"It's okay, George. It doesn't matter anymore." you caressed a side of his face.

"It doesn't?" he looked at you in wonder.

You shook your head, cupped his face and kissed him. His body prompted up, but then stood still unsure should he move or not.

"It's okay, George, you can touch me now." you smiled against his lips.

"I-I can?" he stuttered and you nodded your head. "Wow, I, uh, I don't know where to start." he nervously laughed.

"Let me help you a bit." you chuckled and took his hands. "You can start here." you placed them on your waist and his fingers curled around your warm skin. His palms started moving up your sides, over your boobs and around your neck. "It's your reward for doing so good. You've been so good to me, George." you said, feeding his praise kink and losing yourself in sensation his touch was giving you.

"You are so perfect, babygirl." he whispered against your lips before closing the gap between you.

Soon you started making out and your hips thrusted on their own. His hands were all over your body, grabbing your boobs, pinching your nipples, squeezing and slapping your ass. He placed kisses down your jaw and neck, over your chest to your boobs. He sucked and nibbed on your nipples while you were going crazy on top of him. You could even feel him grow again from under you.

"George..." you breathed, your fingers lost in his hair. He parted from you and licked his lips.

"Should we move this to the bedroom?" he looked up at you.

Unable to speak, you just nodded your head. He wrapped his arms around you firmly and lifted you up. Your legs immediately curled around his waist and he carried you to the bedroom. He softly put you down on the bed, towering over and admiring you.

"I've waited all night for this." his hands caressed your body. "And you had some nerve teasing me." he smirked.

"Was it worth it?" you asked.

"It was so worth it, babygirl. You were so good for me." he started leaving pepper kisses down your body as he spoke. "You were so good, babygirl, it would be a shame not to reward you." he kissed down your stomach, sinking lower and lower.

You gulped. He put his hands on your knees and spread them open. He begun kissing his way in on one leg and then the other. You gasped when you felt him suck on the skin of your inner thigh. He knew you loved marks and hickeys. He pulled away, admiring his work.

"It's gonna look so beautiful in the morning, babe." he then moved his attention to your core. "Ooh, babygirl, you don't even need much preparing. All this wetness just for me?" he chuckled and slid his fingers over your center.

You moaned at the contact. He proceeded to circle his fingertips around your clit, drawing figure eights, going slow then faster until you were a whining mess.

"Oh, George, please..." you panted.

"Please what, babygirl?" he perked up.

"Please... Finger me, please." you barely choked out.

"If that's what my babygirl wants, my babygirl gets." he pushed one finger inside of you and your eyes rolled back. He fingerfucked you with one hand and teased your clit with the other. You were only able to moan his name at that point.

"More," you uttered somehow.

"What? What was that?" he urged you to repeat yourself.

"More, George, please..." you cried.

"Oh, my babygirl is ready for more." he smirked as he slid another finger inside. You let out a moan and arched your back. He was so good with his fingers. "I think you're ready." before you could ask him what he meant by that, you already felt the warmth of his mouth closing in on you.

You squirmed and your legs automatically shut he needed his arm to keep them open. He sucked and lapped his tongue around you, his fingers picking up the pace. He knew you were reaching your climax as your moans grew louder and louder.

"Are you going to be a good girl and come for me, babygirl?" he asked in between licks.

"Yes..." you gritted, pulling on his hair, your hips uncontrollably going up and down, grinding on his face.

"Then do it." he commanded and you released. You came all over his fingers. "Oh, baby, look at the mess you made." he said, removing out and showing you his dripping fingers. You could only pant and look at him in your bliss. "You did so good. I'm so proud of you." he leaned forward to kiss you.

You kissed for a while and you took that to your advantage. You flipped you over, where now you were on top and had him crucified under you. He laughed, loving the way you played the dom. You circled your hips just to see how he was doing down there, but there was no need. You could already feel him. You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, tossing it behind and attacking his torso with kisses until you reached his waistband. You palmed his bulge with one hand and undid the button with the other. You took the zipper between your teeth and pulled it down, keeping eye contact. That had George roll his eyes back and rest his head on the mattress. In quick motion, you had both his pants and boxers pulled down and his member standing straight in front of you.

Even after two years, his size continues to surprise you. You took it in your hands, giving it a few pumps before you licked him all the way from the shaft to the tip. George threw his head back once again, moaning. You circled your tongue around his tip before fully taking it in your mouth. He audibly gasped. His fingers quickly removed your hair that fell forward, giving you more access. You bobbed your head up and down, still warming up to take him all the way in while George was gripping your hair and giving praises left and right. You looked up at him through your lashes. The boy was in another dimension right now. Well, you were about to send him to another one. You took a deep breath in, preparing yourself for what is about to come, and sank your head down all the way to his balls. He moaned so loud you thought neighbors from the building across the street could hear him. He held your head in place for a few moments before letting you lift your head up. You took a much needed breath before you could start working on him again, but he stopped you.

"No, no, no," he whined and cupped your face "if you do that again I'll be coming down your throat in five seconds. And I want to fuck you." he kissed you. "I need to fuck you. I need to feel you. Now." he kissed you again.

You nodded and reached for the nightstand drawer. You pulled out a condom, ripped it open with your mouth and rolled it onto George's dick. You positioned yourself above him and slowly slid down. You both let out a shaky breath when the tip disappeared inside of you. He held your hips, guiding you further down.

"There we go, baby, all the way in. You're taking it so well." he moaned when you fully sat on him.

You rocked your hips back and forth before you started bouncing up and down. You took George's hands and made him hold your boobs while you rode him. Your movements started to slow down a little and he noticed, making you lay on his chest while he took over. He thrusted into you until you could no longer even form moans. Your mouth just silently hung open. Soon that pit in your stomach started forming again as you were reaching your second orgasm of the night. You dig your nails into George's shoulder.

"You close?" he breathed. You could only nod your head in response. "I feel it, you're clenching around me." he hissed and fastened his movements. "On three?" you nodded your head again and he kissed your temple as he begun to countdown.

On three you both finished at the same time. You plopped down on George's chest with your full weight, catching your breath. He caressed your hair, his cock still twitching inside of you.

"You did so good, baby." he kissed the top of your head. "Thank you for tonight."

You prompted yourself up just enough to face him. "No, thank you. You've been amazing the whole day today. Sending flowers to my work place and the gift waiting for me in the apartment." you traced your finger across his face.

"I try to give you everything, babygirl." he kissed the back of your hand.

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, let's get cleaned up and go to bed, okay?" he removed a strand of your hair and kissed you quickly.

You giggled and nodded your head. He picked you up in his arms once again and carried you to the bathroom.

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thegreenthepeacetheorange · 5 months

Text

The Masterlist of Katniss's kisses with Peeta and Gale

(I'll put Gale kisses in red to differentiate and my thoughts/general analysis right at the very end)

Book 1:

“I’m sure they didn’t notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often,” he says. “They suit you.” And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don’t be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

Impulsively, I lean forward and kiss him, stopping his words. This is probably overdue anyway since he’s right, we are supposed to be madly in love. It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a boy, which should make some sort of impression I guess, but all I can register is how unnaturally hot his lips are from the fever. I break away and pull the edge of the sleeping bag up around him. “You’re not going to die. I forbid it. All right?”

“Peeta!” I say, trying for the special tone that my mother used only with my father. He’s dozed off again, but I kiss him awake, which seems to startle him. Then he smiles as if he’d be happy to lie there gazing at me forever. He’s great at this stuff.

Getting the broth into Peeta takes an hour of coaxing, begging, threatening, and yes, kissing, but finally, sip by sip, he empties the pot.

I’m about to leave when I remember the importance of sustaining the star-crossed lover routine and I lean over and give Peeta a long, lingering kiss.

“You will. I promise,” he says, and bends over to give me a kiss.

“Then I’ll just have to fill in the blanks myself,” he says, and moves in to me. This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. Neither of us hobbled by sickness or pain or simply unconscious. Our lips neither burning with fever or icy cold. This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. But I don’t get it. Well, I do get a second kiss, but it’s just a light one on the tip of my nose because Peeta’s been distracted. “I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

Discomfort causes me to move. I scoot over and shake Peeta’s shoulder. His eyes open sleepily and when they focus on me, he pulls me down for a long kiss.

“Come on,” I say in exasperation, extricating myself from his grasp but not before he gets in another kiss.

Haymitch has probably just about had it with me. And as for the audience . . . I reach up and give him a kiss. “Sure. Let’s go back to the cave.”

I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.

Peeta leans down and kisses me once, very gently. “The count of three,” he says. We stand, our backs pressed together, our empty hands locked tight.

Then there’s Peeta just a few yards away. He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. He rights himself and we just cling to each other while the audience goes insane. He’s kissing me and all the time I’m thinking, Do you know? Do you know how much danger we’re in? After about ten minutes of this, Caesar Flicker-man taps on his shoulder to continue the show, and Peeta just pushes him aside without even glancing at him.

I can feel Peeta press his forehead into my temple and he asks, “So now that you’ve got me, what are you going to do with me?” I turn in to him. “Put you somewhere you can’t get hurt.” And when he kisses me, people in the room actually sigh.

Book 2:

So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all.

Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale—watching him talk and laugh and frown — that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, “I had to do that. At least once.” And he was gone.

I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted.

In my head I hear President Snow's directive, “Convince me.” And I know I must. My face breaks into a huge smile and I start walking in Peeta's direction. Then, as if I can't stand it another second, I start running. He catches me and spins me around and then he slips — he still isn't entirely in command of his artificial leg—and we fall into the snow, me on top of him, and that's where we have our first kiss in months. It's full of fur and snowflakes and lipstick, but underneath all that, I can feel the steadiness that Peeta brings to everything. And I know I'm not alone.

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch's voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it's impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift ... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn't seem forced at all.

During ceremonies, we are solemn and respectful but always linked together, by our hands, our arms. At dinners, we are borderline delirious in our love for each other. We kiss, we dance, we get caught trying to sneak away to be alone. On the train, we are quietly miserable as we try to assess what effect we might be having.

“I'm so sorry,” I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. “Hey, Catnip.”

What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don't know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But I'm sure he doesn't remember it. Does he? I hope not. If he does, everything will just get more complicated and I really can't think about kissing when I've got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where's Peeta?” I say.

“What, because we're right?” Peeta wraps his arms around me. I give a small yelp of pain as my tailbone objects. I try to turn it into a sound of indignation, but I can see in his eyes that he knows I'm hurt. “Okay, Prim said west. I distinctly heard west. And we're all idiots. How's that?” “Better,” I say, and accept his kiss.

I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances?

I don't know what I expected from my first meeting with Peeta after the announcement. A few hugs and kisses. A little comfort maybe. Not this.

Cinna and Portia arrive with the dawn, and I know Peeta will have to go. Tributes enter the arena alone. He gives me a light kiss. “See you soon,” he says.

“Hello, again,” he says, and gives me a kiss. “We've got allies.”

“I do,” I say. “I need you.” He looks upset, takes a deep breath as if to begin a long argument, and that's no good, no good at all, because he'll start going on about Prim and my mother and everything and I'll just get confused. So before he can talk, I stop his lips with a kiss. I feel that thing again. The thing I only felt once before. In the cave last year, when I was trying to get Haymitch to send us food. I kissed Peeta about a thousand times during those Games and after. But there was only one kiss that made me feel something stir deep inside. Only one that made me want more. But my head wound started bleeding and he made me lie down. This time, there is nothing but us to interrupt us. And after a few attempts, Peeta gives up on talking. The sensation inside me grows warmer and spreads out from my chest, down through my body, out along my arms and legs, to the tips of my being. Instead of satisfying me, the kisses have the opposite effect, of making my need greater. I thought I was something of an expert on hunger, but this is an entirely new kind.

He puts the chain with the locket around my neck, then rests his hand over the spot where our baby would be. “You're going to make a great mother, you know,” he says. He kisses me one last time and goes back to Finnick.

I take Peeta's face in my hands. “Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight.” I give him a kiss and, before he can object any further, I let go and turn to Johanna. “Ready?”

Book 3:

I feel around for the parachute and slide my fingers inside until they close around the pearl. I sit back on my bed cross-legged and find myself rubbing the smooth iridescent surface of the pearl back and forth against my lips. For some reason, it's soothing. A cool kiss from the giver himself.

"Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer.

I'm light-headed with giddiness. What will I say? Oh, who cares what I say? Peeta will be ecstatic no matter what I do. He'll probably be kissing me anyway. I wonder if it will feel like those last kisses on the beach in the arena, the ones I haven't dared let myself consider until this moment.

Gale's not supposed to visit me, as he's confined to bed with some kind of shoulder wound. But on the third night, after I've been medicated and the lights turned down low for bedtime, he slips silently into my room. He doesn't speak, just runs his fingers over the bruises on my neck with a touch as light as moth wings, plants a kiss between my eyes, and disappears.

I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered,unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?" "I don't know," I whisper back.

"Later, there's a lot of kissing. Didn't seem very genuine on your part. Did you like kissing me?" he asks. "Sometimes," I admit. "You know people are watching us now?" "I know. What about Gale?" he continues. My anger's returning. I don't care about his recovery--this isn't the business of the people behind the glass. "He's not a bad kisser either," I say shortly.

Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

It's a long shot, it's suicide maybe, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Peeta full on the mouth. His whole body starts shuddering, but I keep my lips pressed to his until I have to come up for air. My hands slide up his wrists to clasp his. "Don't let him take you from me."

"She loves you, you know," says Peeta. "She as good as told me after they whipped you." "Don't believe it," Gale answers. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, although there's an edge of doubt in his voice.

Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?" I tell him, "Real."

My thoughts putting this together:

i tried to add some more contextual bits to kinda frame the kisses because they need it frankly

funnily katniss is the one who starts the whole kissing thing with peeta. first the (seemingly petty) cheek kiss and then she's the one who initiates the first few kisses in the cave. so of course then peeta follows her cue. and she's all "oh he gets in another kiss etc" later on but like.. you started it girl!

katniss and peeta's kisses, and the offhandish way in which katniss mentions them, make them seem like they were just natural and a part of their harmonious routine. they kissed like it was nothing most of the time. like it's just their thing. i think @thesmileykate mentioned how in her last kiss with gale she mentions that kissing is "not their way" and it's so true because it's not her and gale's way - but it is hers and peeta's

there's actually such a stark difference in the kisses she shares with peeta and with gale. there's really not much romantic about her kisses with gale at all. if at all actually. i think the only time there might be a slight hint of genuine romantic feeling is in her first kiss with gale but every kiss after that she either wishes it didn't happen or notes how miserable/not right it is.

real or not real is so valid because her kisses with peeta really completely blur the lines between real and act. it's so hard to tell. and she seems to enjoy kissing him which makes it even more confusing. like when she kisses him for the first time in catching fire. she starts it with the disclaimer that she needs to act up for the cameras but then she just falls into kissing him and says how under all the flashy lights and makeup etc, the heart and steadiness of him is still there. which completely complicates her kissing him

for petty reasons, i had to include the bit where after she kisses gale and thinks about in what way she loves him and then she's like nope, not doing that, but uh how about peeta though?

she only ever feels 'that thing' in her kisses with peeta and it's established in every book: in the cave in the first, on the beach in the second and at the end of the third book when they grow back together.

when hijacked peeta asks katniss if she liked kissing him, she says sometimes. when he asks her if she liked kissing gale, she actually doesn't really answer when she says "he wasn't a bad kisser either" and we know it's because she's being stubborn because she's angry that this conversation is happening with people watching and she doesn't want to be open and vulnerable about her feelings with that going on.

her kisses with gale are actually kinda pitiful...

a lot of the times when katniss kisses gale or he kisses her, it's like she's just reacting, not an active participant. but she's very much a participant in most of her kisses with peeta

her and peeta's kiss right before they go into the second arena is actually their first 'private' kiss because i don't think cinna or portia are in the room when it happens.

and while most of their kisses happen in front of cameras/other people, you can tell the ones that are genuine despite that. especially from the second book.

as i was making this, i also came across the bit in CF where she realises about the rebelling in 8, and she realises that all her acting up for snow didn't matter because the fire of rebellion was still raging - that's a turning point because i really do think she starts thinking of her kisses with him completely differently. they're not for the capitol or snow because that doesn't really matter anymore. which is why when she's confused about why he's not comforting and kissing her after the QQ announcement, that's purely her and her wishes shining through. because why would he be kissing her if there's no cameras around and she's 'chosen' gale at this point? but that's their thing. and that's what she expects. like from that moment on, her realising her acting is not gonna change a damn thing happening politically, she fully embraces kissing him and never again mentions doing it for the cameras or any other reason. it's for her

#everlark #thg #the hunger games #katniss x peeta #katniss and peeta #peeta x katniss #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

Text

Simply Irresistible

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader (Biker AU)

Word Count: 2,446

Summary: Joel takes you on the best first day you’ve ever been on

Author’s Note: More Biker!Joel because I love him so! This is connected to my first Biker!Joel story The Road to Love but they can be read separately. Thank you so much for the love this AU is getting, I’m really enjoying it! Thank you all so much for reading and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰

Warnings: lots of soft and sweet fluff, flirting, tension, f-ing-er-ing, little th-ig-h ri-d-ing, Joel can’t keep his hands to himself

The edit below is NOT MINE: my amazing friend Ellie @mrsmischief209 made it for me at the drop of a hat and I LOVE IT SO MUCH! Thank you forever my sweet! 💕

Joel Miller Masterlist

“He texted you again, didn’t he?” Jade asks as she peeks over your shoulder.

“Of course it’s him,” Dan adds. “Look at that smile.”

You finish replying to Joel and then stuff your phone in the back pocket of your jeans.

“You two are insufferable!”

Your tone is playful and you’re still grinning.

“You LOVE us,” Dan chimes.

“You do,” Jade agrees. “Now tell us what he said.”

“I do love you both,” you assure them. “And he was just asking what I was wearing for our date…”

“REALLY?!” Dan screeches. “WHY?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask,” you reply. “I just told him I was planning to wear a dress.”

“You didn’t ask why!?!” Dan nearly shouts.

“Maybe he wanted to make sure you’re dressed properly for the restaurant…maybe it’s a fancy and romantic place!” Jade says with a wistful sigh.

You look between your two friends and roll your eyes.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure I’ll find out!” you say as you wiggle past them to help a customer.

“I can hardly wait until Saturday,” Dan whispers to Jade as he follows after you. “I bet they don’t even make it to dinner.”

Jade and Dan share a mischievous giggle and you shoot them a glare, smirking when you see Dan waggling his eyebrows at you.

~Saturday night~

“Text me and Dan if you need anything,” Jade speaks into the phone.

Dan grabs it from her hand.

“YES! Text us everything,” Dan says enthusiastically. “All the juicy details…I want to know every last one!”

You hear some scuffling and hear Jade mutter a curse at Dan before she’s back and says, “sorry babes, Dan is very excited.”

“I am too,” you smile as you stand in front of your mirror and check yourself one last time.

Just then you hear the rumble of an engine and your stomach fills with butterflies.

“He’s here!” you whisper shout into the phone. “Gotta go!”

“HAVE FUN!” both Dan and Jade shout simultaneously.

With a laugh you hang up and head for your front door.

The doorbell rings and you let out the breath you’ve been holding in before opening the door.

Joel’s leaning against the frame, relaxed in his signature dark jeans that fit just right and a vest that shows off his sculpted arms and tattoos.

Your gaze lingers on his handsome face before you take in the rest of him, you fingers twinkling hello with a small wave.

“Hey sunshine,” he murmurs as his eyes sweep over your body appreciatively.

Even though he does nothing to hide the fact that he’s checking you out it doesn’t come off as creepy, it only makes you feel desired and beautiful.

“You look…” and he runs a hand through his hair, tousling it so his curls are more pronounced, “amazin’.”

“Thanks,” you answer sweetly as you take a step closer.

He lifts his hand and holds up a small bouquet of wildflowers.

“These are for you,” he says quietly.

“Oh Joel! They’re beautiful!” you exclaim, taking them and holding them up to your nose. “I love them! Thank you.”

He looks pleased and gives you a sideways smile. You place your palm on his chest and lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth, your lips lingering on his skin before you pull away, your eyelashes still fluttering against your cheek.

When you meet his eyes they wander over your features before settling on your lips.

“You’re welcome sunshine.”

“I just want to put them in water before we go. Come in for a minute.”

You leave the door open and rush off to the kitchen, grabbing a small vase and filling it with water. Joel remains by the door and openly inspects what he can see of your house.

“I like it,” he says when you’re finished and walking back to him. “It’s warm and soft and inviting…fits you.”

“Thanks. It’s home.”

You meet him by the door but he doesn’t move out of the way.

You nibble your bottom lip and look at him through your lashes.

“Ready?” you ask.

He lifts his hand to your mouth and presses the pad of his thumb to your bottom lip, gently pulling it free from your teeth. Then he takes your chin between his fingers and tugs your mouth to his.

Your hands instinctively curl into his vest and you press yourself against him. His fingers graze your jaw before ghosting down your neck and curling around the back of it to bring you impossibly closer, his lips finding yours again quickly.

“Mm,” he hums against your lips, kissing you several more times before announcing, “now I’m ready. Just had to give you a proper hello darlin’.”

You nod, unable to speak and still clinging to him.

His hand slides lower and wraps around your waist, tucking you into his side as he leads you out the door.

“Where’s your bike?” you ask without thinking.

“Disappointed sunshine?” he asks with a knowing smirk.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly and you give him a sheepish look.

“No! Not at all. I just figured…”

His fingers press under your chin and he lifts your eyes, ghosting his lips across yours as he whispers, “don’t worry, I promised I’d take you for a ride any time you want and I meant it. I just can’t have you riding around on my bike in that dress darlin’. It’s not the safest.”

“Okay,” you breathe out. “Is that why you asked me what I was going to wear?”

He nods with a wink and brings you around to the passenger side door of his pickup then opens it for you.

“I would have changed,” you tell him with a smile.

His intense gaze travels from your head to your toes and when he reaches your eyes again they blaze with heat.

“No,” is all he says before he takes your hand and helps you up.

Once you’re seated he leans forward and grabs the seatbelt, laying it across your body then buckling it. The action is thoughtful and sweet but every time his hands brush along your skin it fills you with anticipation, the need to have him touch you overwhelming.

As if he senses it too, his fingers close around your hand and he lifts it to his lips for a soft kiss, his eyes never leaving yours until he reluctantly releases you and shuts the door.

When he gets in the driver’s side you ask, “where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” he says as he shifts the truck into drive.

He sets one hand loosely on the steering wheel and lets his other inch across the middle console until it’s resting on your thigh, his fingers slightly hidden under the hem of your dress.

His calloused thumb draws small circles on your soft skin and you love how rough it feels in comparison. You place your hand over his and trace his long fingers, gently stroking them with your fingertips. He shifts in the seat and glances at you while he squeezes your leg, the air thick with tension.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long to get to your destination and when Joel turns down a small dirt road you turn to him with a look of confusion.

“There’s no restaurant here,” you say.

“No, there isn’t,” he answers. “Hope that’s ok.”

He parks and hops out of his truck then comes around to open your door and before you can ask any more questions he grabs you around the waist and helps you down, your body sliding along his until your feet hit the ground.

You stay pressed against him, your hands curled around his biceps. When he doesn’t release you, you dance your fingers higher, grazing his shoulder before they dip to the buttons of his vest and press to his warm skin.

“Are you hiding any tattoos under here?” you ask with your eyes still on his chest.

Your fingers toy with the first button and you pop it open, hearing his breath catch in his throat.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, tightening his grip on you.

“I want to see,” you whisper, lifting your eyes.

His eyes close briefly and you can see his teeth grind together before he shifts your bodies so he can press you into the side of his truck, the need to feel every inch of you overpowering every other thought.

You continue your exploration and push the fabric apart, slowly dragging your finger downward and parting it more, just enough to see the top of another piece of ink. You look up and into his eyes as your fingers undo one more button of his vest, exposing more of his tan skin until you can see the whole tattoo.

Your eyes drop and you trace your fingertips over the dark ink.

“Beautiful,” you breathe out.

He captures your hand in his, pressing it to his lips before he rests it on his shoulder and with his mouth just a whispered breath from yours his hands caress your body, his frustration evident when the material of your dress keeps him from your bare skin.

“You drive me crazy sunshine. From the moment I saw you…”

“Joel,” you plea.

His nose brushes yours before trailing down your neck, his lips following with soft kisses.

“I had a picnic planned…food, drinks…dessert. Even thought we’d watch the sunset,” he murmurs into your skin.

“Had?” you gasp, your fingers digging into his back as he nips at the skin above your pulse point.

“You expect me to sit through a picnic now?” he teases as his lips move over your collarbone.

“But it sounds so romantic,” you say, your voice breathy as you tilt your head back to give him better access to your neck.

“I thought so,” he smirks as he brings his lips back to yours. “I’ve got everything ready, just say the words.”

“Thought you couldn’t make it through a picnic…” you counter with some playful sass.

“I’d try just for you but I can’t promise anything.”

His fingers slip under the hem of your dress, languidly sliding along your skin until they reach your inner thigh. Every motion is deliberate and when he moves his hand to your hip and teases the waistband of your panties you groan out his name.

“Problem sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes full of mischief.

Your fingers work through his thick dark hair, and move down his back, exploring and touching all the hard planes of muscle.

You want more. Need it. And you can feel him throb against your stomach as his bearded cheek grazes your delicate skin and he captures your lips in a kiss that steals any remaining air from your lungs.

His hand slides down to your ass and he gives it a firm squeeze, pulling your hips harder against his. With a slight nudge he pushes his knee between your legs and presses his thigh upward, making you whimper into his mouth.

The hard muscle flexes and you can’t stop the way you grind yourself over him.

“Fuck darlin’,” he hisses when he pulls away, his breathing heavy.

Your lips part when he grabs your waist and rocks you over his thigh, your moans of pleasure the only sounds he wants to hear.

He removes his knee and replaces it with his hand, pushing your panties to the side and easily sliding his thick fingers through your arousal.

“Oh fuck sunshine,” he moans against your lips, “this all for me?”

Your hands claw at his back, trying to bring him closer and he answers your silent plea, slowly pushing a finger inside you.

He grunts as your tightness surrounds him and the urge to see your face takes over as he pulls back from your lips to watch you.

He holds your gaze as he takes his time, gentle, slow, deliberate pumps of his hand as he builds a torturous rhythm.

“More,” you demand, dragging your hands down his chest before your fingers grab hold of his biceps.

He flexes under your touch and you can see the chords of muscle strain with his every movement.

“Joel, more.”

He growls and with his free hand, takes a hold of your wrists, pinning your arms above your head and against the truck.

You clench around him and weakly push against his grip. With a satisfied grin he keeps his eyes on yours as he pushes a second finger inside you.

His movements remain slow and torturous and it drives you wild with impatience. You buck your hips onto his hand, trying to take him deeper but he keeps you pinned in place and draws out your pleasure.

“Joel,” you beg, your desperation swallowed by his lazy but sexy kiss that makes you roll your hips all over again.

He keeps you on the edge until you you’re trembling in his arms, strung so taut but not alone. His expression is filled with need, his muscles straining with the last remains of his barely contained control.

“Please,” you whisper, on the verge of falling apart. “Please, Joel.”

Whatever impressive control he’s mastering snaps and he starts to move his fingers faster, pushing deeper. He presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles until you shatter against him, your release spasming through you until you can hardly hold yourself upright.

“I got you darlin’,” he murmurs and you feel his lips press softly to your shoulder as he draws his fingers away.

Your eyes meet his and his expression is soft with satisfaction.

“I’d apologize for not being able to keep my hands to myself,” he starts, lifting his hand between your bodies, his fingers gleaming, and licking them clean one by one, “but I’m addicted.”

“Joel…” you whisper, still breathless.

He slants his mouth over yours in a grazing, taunting kiss and you bite his lower lip before he deepens it so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

When he tears his mouth away it’s only for lack of air and you can see him start to open it as if he’s going apologize again but you press a finger to his lips.

“This is by far the best first date I’ve ever had,” you whisper as you trace his jaw. “And we still have time to watch the sunset.”

“We can do whatever you want sunshine.”

Your lips curl into a coy smile and you press yourself closer, bending your head to his and kissing him.

Hard and hungry.

His large hand curls around the back of your neck and he keeps you close, taking over and kissing you back just the same.

@blackwidownat2814 @justkinsey @laineyreads @beccablogsthings @sstan-hoe @littleseasiren @faceache111

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x you #biker!joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal x reader #biker au

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