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fairyoftbz · 3 years

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jealousy | l. hyunjae

🌊 pairing: bf! hyunjae x fem! reader 🌊 wc: 1.9k 🌊 synopsis: at the beach, your mood suddenly swings, and your boyfriend is too oblivious to understand why you're feeling that way. 🌊 genre: angsty fluff, comfort, very cliché, fluffy end 🌊 tw: insecurities, self body-shaming, a petty fight at the beginning 🌊 a/n: yeah I went to the pool the other day and it was pretty much this, except that I didn't have a hyunjae by my side lol... and Spotify played this olivia rodrigo's song a moment after.. but happy birthday to Hyunjae in advance!!! 🥰 🌊 requested: no!

╰☆☆☆☆╮

“What kind of fuckery is that?” you ask yourself when you take a look around you at the beach while Hyunjae was settling your stuff down in the sand, trying not to get too much sand on the cooler. He removed his t-shirt to be more comfortable, girls built like models ogled at your boyfriend’s back and abs, giggling together and biting their lips as they saw his muscles move around.

The beach was filled with slim, fit people, either working out or getting that tan for Instagram. The girls were so pretty and looked like models that could sign with Marc Jacobs, which had the ability to make you even more insecure than you already were. A feeling of uneasiness settled inside your body, especially your heart, who felt heavy with insecurity when you took another great look at the people hanging out around you.

“Here darling, take a seat,” he said as he placed down a wide tablecloth on the sand with your towel on it, thanking him with a brief smile before guiding him to plant the parasol to let you rest in the shade together.

His shoulders and biceps glistened with sweat as he stopped digging to hammer the parasol pole in the sand, rubbing the grains off his fingers to finally sit down next to you. His smile subsided when he noticed you staring into space, gaze on the water, a weary look painted on your face.

“Y/N, is there something wrong? Don’t you want to go in the water?” he quizzed you, not really understanding your mood swing. You were so excited when he offered to go to the beach, and now, you looked sad, almost disappointed to be there.

“You can go ahead, I’ll join you later,” you said as you rested on your back, covering your face with your straw hat.

Hyunjae observed you laying down, frowning as you didn’t even remove your beach dress. Something felt odd, weird. You loved being there and having fun in the water. What was going on?

He looked around to see what could have upset you this much, but he couldn’t find anything. People, friends and couples were laughing and enjoying the sun, just like he had expected you to do with him.

You open your eyes and clench your jaw when Hyunjae lifted your hat off your face, a veil of concern forming in his eyes. Shifting his weight on one hand, the other caressed your upper thigh, the warmness of his palm contrasting with your shivering skin.

“Did I do something that made you mad?” he dared to ask another question, trying to get a glimpse of your thoughts to try to understand what was actually going on. “No you didn’t. I just don’t want to go in the water now, the wind is making me cold,” you lied and Hyunjae sighed, understanding that you wouldn’t share what was on your mind for now.

He kissed your cheek anyway, mouth lingering on your skin a bit longer than usual and stood up, removing his cap and sunglasses while looking at the people around you with a frown. You watch him calmly walk to the water, silently watching the waves crash against his feet, calves and knees the further he walked in the ocean, his glistening back muscles moving as he raised his arms to dive underwater.

You sighed and rolled on your stomach, your back facing the shore as you folded your arms, using the back of your palm as a cheek rest, closing your eyes in the process. A single tear rolled down your cheek, captured by the edge of your sunglasses, followed by many more, letting the insecurities invade your mind. You didn’t even want to look at all the slim, IG models look alike smirking and eyeing your boyfriend up and down as he walked by. You already felt so uneasy to be here, you didn’t want to add fuel to the fire by looking at what you’ve always dreamt to look like being attracted to your partner.

But Hyunjae didn’t even notice those girls. His frown deepened even more when he only saw the back of your body, something quite usual coming from you. You absolutely adored the beach and the ocean, remembering one of your first dates where you told him that the beach - especially at sunset - was your solace, and now you were facing away from this source of comfort. Plus, there were occasions where you came here without really wanting to go in the water, just to enjoy the warmth and the sight of the ocean, happily waving at your boyfriend that was having fun in the water while you stayed in your seat.

He didn’t even notice them looking at him, because his eyes and mind were focused on you and you only, trying to find what had caused you to become this weary and down all of a sudden. He didn’t feel the same when you weren’t looking at him, when you shut yourself out and let your brain overthink on its own, refusing his help. A pinch of discomfort tightened his heart, regretting that he wasn’t as good at reading people as much as he wished to.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, what’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours,” he mumbled under his breath as he got out of the water, still not noticing that the source of your uneasiness were the ones staring at him, a few metres away from him as he walked back to you.

Droplets of salty water landed on your cheek and forearm as Hyunjae bent down to kiss your temple, forcing a tired smile on your face to try and not let anything show on your face.

“Is the water good?” you mindlessly asked as Hyunjae rested on his stomach, just like you, pushing his front pieces of hair back before putting his cap on.

“It’s a bit fresh at first, but once you’re in it, it’s good. You’d love it,” his voice trailed at the end of his sentence, eyes trying to probe your soul and bribe you to join him in the water.

“That’s great,” you nodded and sniffled, handing a bottle of water from the cooler to your boyfriend. He uncapped it but stopped, shifting on his side, resting his weight on his elbow.

“Babe, please, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting strangely since we got here, what’s going on?” he asked, voice ringing with frustration. You briefly looked at him before looking at the ocean, letting out a big sigh.

“Can’t you see anything, Jaehyun? Can’t you see that everyone around me, including you, looks like they just walked out of a Dior photoshoot by how slim and fit and pretty they look? That you have all the girls around us that ogle at you like you’re single? Yes I’m mad, yes I’m insecure, but I have my reasons, don’t you think?” you spat out your insecurities with teary eyes to your boyfriend’s face, who looked at you like he just saw a ghost.

That, was the last thing he had imagined. He never thought that you would get so insecure about this because you looked like the most beautiful girl in his eyes. He was about to speak up, but he placed himself in your shoes for a quick second, insecurities, as well as anger, started boiling in his veins as he imagined men looking at you like a fresh piece of meat.

You started scratching the skin around your thumb, a habit that you picked up when you were stressed and nervous and tears gathered in your eyes as you tried to ignore some girls still looking at and trying to flirt with your man. You wrapped your arms around your knees and pressed your chin on top of it, only to have Hyunjae positioning behind you to have you between his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle to press you against him.

He grabbed your hand to stop you from scratching it and he pressed his mouth against your shoulder, remaining silent as he tried to search for his words.

“No. I didn’t see any of those people, because I don’t care about how they look. I don’t care if the girls look like skinny models or if you find their faces pretty. Do you find the men here handsome ?”

“No,” you said in a wobbly voice, eyes glued to the ocean.

“Why?”

“Because I love you and I only have eyes for you,” you said in a shaky voice and Hyunjae remained in silence for a few seconds, knowing that you were smart enough to get what he was implying.

“So I don’t look at girls because?”

“Because you love me,” you said, voice wavering as tears rolled down your cheeks, Hyunjae holding you close to his chest, trailing salty kisses from your neck up to your cheek.

“Of course I love you, and with all my heart. I wouldn’t be with you if that weren’t the case.”

He grabbed your chin and you shifted to the side, sitting perpendicularly to him. His hands cupped your cheeks to make you look at him and he offered you a gentle smile, his thumbs wiping the paths the tears left on your skin when they rolled down your cheeks.

“I only see you, Y/N. You’re much more than looks, and you can’t say that you are horrible next to them. You are just yourself, someone more honest, prettier and funnier than all those girls around us. They don’t interest me at all, I only care about you. It’s not my problem if they think I’m handsome. As long as you’re in love with me, I'm at my happiest,” he caressed your cheek with tenderness, holding a huge amount of love for you in his eyes. You nodded, trying to make his words imprint in your brain and ignore everything and everyone that was surrounding you, but it was far from being easy.

You delicately touched his cheek and he kissed your inner palm while holding eye contact, assuring you that he only had eyes for you.

“Do you want to go in the water? Yes?” his eyes sparkled with joy as you nodded with a smile, your boyfriend springing to his feet and removed his cap, getting all excited when he watched you remove your beach dress.

“Stop staring at me like that Jae, we’re in public,” you giggled as you threw your dress at him, who hummed your perfume on the fabric before dropping it on your towel.

“I won’t. I want to let everyone know that I only have eyes for you,” he said as he grabbed your hand and started running towards the water, entering it with a big splash and laughter.

You dove underwater to get used to the salty water, reappearing at the surface a few seconds later, Hyunjae smiling at you. He wrapped your legs around his waist and held you close, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.

“Chill, chill,” you laughed as you pulled away breathless, Hyunjae’s hands caressing your body.

“No, no, I wanna show them that they don’t have a single chance against you. And that you’re taken,” he grunted the last part of his sentence, making you giggle and hugging him close.

“Thank you, Jae,” you mumbled and your boyfriend stares at you with a reassuring smile, pressing his lips to your temple.

“I love you Y/N,” you held eye contact again and Hyunjae was happy to see your smile, kissing your lips the following second.

Gosh, you were so in love with each other.

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mrs-march-ahs · 3 years

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48 and 31 for Jimmy please!! ❤️

The Darling Method to Cheer You Up

31. “My mouth? Or my fingers?”

48. “Watch yourself in the mirror.”

I’m sorry you had to wait so long! I hope you like it! :)

Please keep sending me requests, I hope to post more often.

Words- 2k

Summary- You’ve been feeling insecure so Jimmy cheers you up with his sweet words, and his fingers. He insists that you see how beautiful you are when you cum.

The ending isn’t as good as some of my other endings.

Enjoy! :)

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You sat on your stool, looking away from the mirror. You sigh and brush through your hair a few more times before quickly putting the hairbrush on the table, avoiding looking at yourself. Some days are easier than others, but today was particularly difficult. Selling tickets, you saw a lot of beautiful women come to the show to watch Jimmy. A lot of women who already knew him from Tupperware parties; gorgeous women who already had a taste of what it’s like to be with Jimmy. Though usually you watch the shows and cheer Jimmy on, you couldn’t bare to stay through the whole show tonight. After you sold your last ticket, you stood at the side of the audience, near a group of women wearing big puffy dresses; housewives with nothing better to do. Once Jimmy came on stage, they started giggling about him and sharing what it was like to have him work his magic fingers in you. What caught your attention was that one of them said that she wouldn’t bear having her man go and finger other women for money. If a woman that pretty would be insecure dating Jimmy, why wouldn’t you be?

And that’s when you left. You went to your caravan and got undressed and took your makeup off. You put on some of Jimmy’s clothes and after brushing your hair, you tried to look in the mirror. Jimmy was a big man, and his clothes were barely baggy on you. You couldn’t stand to look at yourself anymore and instead laid down on the bed, overthinking every inch of your body.

Thankfully, Jimmy interrupts your dark thoughts by opening the door to the caravan and greeting you. You give him a quick smile and then look away from him, so he doesn’t notice the tears welling up in your eyes. But as he slowly walks over to the bed, taking off his jacket, he bends down and looks at you. He puts his hand on your arm, worried about your lack of enthusiasm at him coming. You were always delighted that you and Jimmy could spend some time together, so your aloofness concerned him.

“Hey…”, Jimmy says softly, stroking your arm. You turn to look at him and he notices the tears in your eyes. He sits up on the edge of the bed and cups your face with your hand, forcing you to look at him. He wipes a single tear off your cheek with his thumb and softly asks you what’s wrong.

“I’m just…It’s cause…You go out every day and meet so many beautiful women, it’s hard not to feel insecure”, you say and sit up, avoiding eye contact with your boyfriend.

Jimmy frowned and looked you in the eye, which made you look at him.

“I can’t believe my gorgeous girl feels insecure”, he says softly. You huffed, which made him frown more.

“I love and cherish every single inch of you”. Jimmy put his hands on your waist and squeezed you a little. You immediately take his hands off your sides, but Jimmy doesn’t give in. He pushes you back to lay on the bed and holds your wrists at the sides of your shoulders. He climbs over you and kisses you so softly that you feel like a porcelain doll, every kiss laying on you like he’s scared he might break you. You kiss him back softly and you two share the kiss for a sweet minute, as you melt inside at how comforting it is to have Jimmy close to you. The kiss is full of love and care and doesn’t become sexual until Jimmy starts kissing your neck. Your heart flutters and as he marks your neck with some tender love bites, you can’t help but moan. You stiffen up slightly as Jimmy straddles you and pulls on your shirt to take it off.

“I love you wearing my shirts, but I love it even more when you’re not wearing my shirts”.

“That didn’t make sense”, you giggle.

“Just shhh let me take it off”, Jimmy says and rolls his eyes dramatically. He smiles at you straight after and pulls your shirt off, leaving you in only undies. He looks at your chest and admires you, before he lets out a little moan and leans down, pressing more sweet kisses on your skin, from your neck down to your boobs. He smushes his face in between your boobs and exhales happily.

“How could you have these on your chest all the time and not love yourself?”

You laugh at him and bite your lip nervously as he starts kissing them again. Every soft suck on your skin sends tingles straight down to your undies. Jimmy lowers his kiss down to your stomach, his hands never leaving your boobs, kneading them gently. He kissed down your stomach and your thighs, each kiss leaving an imprint with a bigger impact than the last.

“My mouth? Or my fingers?”

You break out of your lax and relaxed state and look down at him between your legs. Your lips open and close as you can’t decide, but Jimmy makes the decision for you.

“I’ll give you what no other woman at Tupperware parties gets”. He resists the temptation to rip your underwear off and gently slides it down your legs instead. He spreads your legs with his hands forcefully and gets comfortable between them.

“Wait! Shall we uh…69?”, you say and look down at Jimmy only an inch away from your heat. Every breath he takes makes you shiver.

“No darling, tonight is all about you”.

Jimmy, like most other guys, loves blowjob and it was hard to believe he would willingly let down a time to face fuck you. But you didn’t argue, although he was being sensual with you today, you knew that if you protested, his dominant Daddy side would come out and punish you.

He licks a long strip up your slit, making you moan and throw your head back to relax your body. You yearned to take in every bit of love and pleasure he was going to give you today. After a singular lick, he forcefully spits on your pussy and thrusts his fingers all the way in. Surprised at his sudden actions, you let out a loud moan as you listen to the sound of Jimmy pulling his fingers out of your wet pussy and humming in satisfaction at how covered they are. He pushes them back in and wriggles them, slowly increasingly curling them at the roof of your pussy. You throw your head back into the pillow and open your mouth, not stopping any moans that want to come out. Right as Jimmy curls his fingers at a sweet spot inside you, he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks on it. You grip the sheets beneath you and let out rhythmic moans each time Jimmy curls his fingers. After a few more curls and sucks, you clench your jaw and try to hold in your orgasm as much as you can. Jimmy pulls his mouth away from you and immediately replaces it with his thumb, rubbing circles in time with his fingers.

“Let go baby, don’t hold it in”.

His sweet words (but mostly his fingers) bring you to orgasm and you moan his name, shaking your legs and the bed. Jimmy smiles watching you cum, listening to the moans you make and the creaks of the bed. He keeps his fingers in you a little longer and pulls them out when you look tired. You try to catch your breath and look over at Jimmy standing up next to the bed. He puts his big arms under your knees and behind your shoulders, and you give him a puzzled look. He picks you up and you giggle, not expecting it at all. He walks you two over to the stool you were previously sat on, in front of the mirror, and sets you down on his lap. You stare at the mirror and frown, noticing how messy you look. Stray hairs, fly-aways, and your face and chest with sweat droplets on them. Jimmy picks you up slightly and slowly sits you down on his dick making you gasp, still sensitive and tight from your previous orgasm. You hold onto his strong arms as they wrap around you, holding your legs, and you look down.

“Now doll, don’t wriggle too much, remember we’re on a stool”, Jimmy laughs and kisses your shoulder. You put your feet on his knees and slightly push up and down, trying to ride him as carefully as possible and he holds onto your legs to help you. After a few slow jumps, you put your hand between your legs and rub your clit, looking down at it, watching yourself ride Jimmy.

“Watch yourself in the mirror.”

Your eyes widen and you turn your head to look at Jimmy, but he cups your face and turns it to the mirror in front of you. He puts his hand under your knees and grips tightly, holding you up. He gives you a smirk in the mirror and thrusts up, fucking you faster. You rub yourself faster and try to keep your eyes on the mirror, but pleasure overtaking your body and making you shut them. Jimmy quickly lets go of your leg for a second to slap your ass, making you open your eyes and look at him in the mirror.

“Now, what did I just say?”, Jimmy says sternly and quietly, right in your ear.

“Yes Daddy”.

You look at Jimmy innocently in the mirror and he picks you up and fucks you faster. His expression changes as your eyes practically beg for him to stretch you out. He kisses your neck, not breaking his dominant eye contact with you in the mirror and you quickly approach your second orgasm.

“If you look away while you cum, I’ll pull out”.

You whine at him and he clicks his tongue a few times in your ear. You obey his dirty words, and you watch Jimmy moan in your neck, his thrusts getting sloppier. You clench around him as pleasure takes over you, you strain trying to keep your eyes on the mirror in front of you instead of closing them. Jimmy always kept his word and edging isn’t something new to either of you, so you kept looking in front to make sure you get what you want. He groans loudly and kisses your shoulder. You both moan as you release together, looking at yourself and each other, both covered in sweat and moaning incoherently. He thrusts a few more times in you and then rests you on his lap, not pulling out.

“Aren’t you beautiful like this?”, Jimmy whispers and rubs his hands over your thighs and your boobs. He kisses your neck and shoulder and you watch him in the mirror, admiring your body, love practically pouring out of his eyes as he touches all his favorite parts of you. There was clearly no need to be insecure, and it warmed you on the inside to think that you get this man in a way no other woman does. You fall asleep by his side and wake up to his morning kisses.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be insecure just because you see gorgeous women every day-”

Jimmy interrupts you, “I see plenty of women every day; the only gorgeous woman I see is you”. You smile warmly at him in the mirror and look over your shoulder to give him a kiss. You clearly bend over a little too much as your combined weight makes you both topple backwards and off the stool. You quickly stand up off him, getting off his dick, and put your hand out to help him up.

He accepts, holding your hand tightly and pulling you back down towards the floor and right on top of him.

#ahs #american horror story #american horror story freakshow #jimmy darling #jimmy darling x reader #jimmy darling x #jimmy darling smut #jimmy darling ahs #ahs smut #ahs imagine #ahs jimmy darling #ahs fanfiction #ahs freakshow #freakshow

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ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Sixteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n:

***

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

In Cassian’s arms, Nesta is shocked for all of a second before melting into his heat, kissing him back with just as much tenderness and joy as he gives her.

Fireworks go off, illuminating the scene around them, but he doesn’t hear or see any of it. Confetti poppers are popped, sending glitter and paper flying everywhere, and still he kisses Nesta.

It’s not until the fireworks show hits its crashing climax that Nesta flinches, breaking away from his lips.

She hates loud noises, Cassian remembers. He stupidly considers covering her ears against the noise for her, but then her shoulders relax, and she comes in again for a deeper kiss. His hands tangle in her bronze hair, and when they next break apart, he remembers the words he’s been holding in for so long. “I love you,” he says against her mouth, imprinting the shape of the words onto her lips. Her answering grin is bright enough to match the moon.

For a single moment, they are a perfect couple. No secrets, no baggage, no outsiders to judge them. And then the fireworks die out and the confetti falls to the floor, and the lights seem to turn bright enough to burn the eyes. The party returns to normal, and so do they.

Nesta is clutching Cassian’s wrist, looking like she has something she needs to say, but then her gaze drifts past his shoulder. To where her sisters and his friends are. She looks up at Cassian nervously. “Can you—”

“Deal with that?” he finishes for her, referring to the friends who had surely seen everything. “Yes.” It’s his responsibility to bear in the first place. Nesta doesn’t owe anybody except her sisters an answer.

Nesta looks torn between feeling guilty and grateful. “I should be there with you.”

Cassian can’t help but be awed. Nesta, who can’t have dinner without knowing what’s on the menu at least two hours ahead, has no idea what to expect from his friends. And still she’s offering to face them with him.

He takes her hand and runs a soothing thumb down her racing pulse, then her sweaty palm. “Go back inside,” he tells her, placing a kiss on her fingers. “I’ll find you when I’m done.” He might put a little sensual promise into his words to ease the nerves lacing her body, but he doesn’t know if it helps. She nods and stalks off.

Cassian stays where he is and leans his arms against the wooden balcony railing, staring into the clear night while the rest of the guests slowly trail back into the warmth of the cabin. He and Nesta will have to clean up this whole mess of confetti and streamers tomorrow, and they’ll have to do something about the new wine stain he spotted earlier on the couch—

Feyre storms up to him first. “How long?” she demands.

He looks sidelong at her. “How long, what?”

“How long have you had feelings for my sister?” Her cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold or rage Cassian can’t tell. This isn’t the question he expected from her.

“Since the day you told me to pick her up from the middle of the woods,” he answers honestly.

Feyre turns impossibly redder. “And how long have you been together?”

“Since Thanksgiving.”

Feyre looks seconds away from attacking him. “I trusted you—”

“Darling.” Rhys has come up behind her, Mor and Elain trailing him. Azriel watches coolly from the door, likely only there to see the drama unfold.

Rhys puts a hand on Feyre’s back, and she ignores it. “I trusted you to take care of her, to live with her, because I knew you would never take advantage of her like that. Because I believed you wouldn’t do exactly what you’ve just done,” she seethes at him.

Cassian stares in disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about right now?”

“I’m talking about how you’ve had a hard-on for Nesta this whole time, in close quarters with her, and never thought it was worth mentioning to me.”

“I share one kiss with my girlfriend and that’s what you jump to? That I preyed on your adult sister? You really have no other questions for me?” His voice raises with every sentence, and a few guests lingering on the ground below glance up toward the balcony.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” She’s nearly shouting at him. “You didn’t tell me anything. You lied to me, knowing that Nesta is—Nesta.”

“For good fucking reason, I’m starting to see.”

“Cassian,” Rhysand says warningly.

Cassian didn’t hear him. “What is your real problem with Nesta, Feyre? Where is the problem in me loving her and her loving me? Do you think she’s incapable of making decisions for herself, or is this another thing where you’re jealous she has a life outside of you?”

“That is not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” he demands.

“You know!” She stabs a finger at his chest, chin quivering. “You know how she is, how she feels and sees things differently than most people, and how her history with men isn’t great. And you still thought it was okay to drag her into a relationship. Why else wouldn’t you tell anyone about it, if you didn’t feel it was wrong?”

Cassian’s face turns colder than the frozen air around them. “I don’t know who you’re talking about right now, but it isn’t your sister,” he says. “It’s not my fault if you don’t know her the way you thought you did. Take that up with her, not me.”

Feyre’s breath steams in the air before her. “I will,” she fumes. She spins on her heel to leave, but Cassian catches her by the wrist.

“After you cool down,” he demands. “You’re not ruining her night.”

Feyre stares him down for a long moment, and eventually shakes his hand off her wrist. She walks back inside, waving Rhys away when he tries to follow. Elain, who Cassian forgot was there, stares at him before going inside as well.

Rhysand turns back to Cassian with ice in his violet eyes.

“Don’t start,” Cassian says, tired. “She doesn’t need you fighting her battles for her.”

“That’s not what I was going to talk about,” he says. “You lied to us.”

Mor bundles deeper into her white coat. “You really love her?” she says quietly.

Azriel steps into their little circle beside Cassian without saying a word. Supporting Cassian in silence.

“I liked having something I didn’t have to share with everyone,” Cassian says, the admission feeling heavy on his tongue. “And I don’t regret it. It was nice while it lasted.”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” Mor mutters.

“So,” Rhys gestures at the spot where Cassian and Nesta kissed, “that’s it? You’re dating Feyre’s sister now, with nothing else to say?”

“This isn’t a damn group decision,” Cassian grits.

“That’s not what we meant,” says Mor. “But you’ve been hiding an entire girlfriend up here for months. We have questions.”

“Then I’ll hold a Q&A session later,” he says sardonically. “But since we’re on the topic of Nesta, I do have something to say.”

Mor and Rhys look taken aback.

Cassian straightens up. “You don’t have to like her. You definitely don’t have to be friends with her. But I expect all of you to respect her, even Amren. If it’s not something you would say out loud about Feyre or Elain, then it won’t be something you say about Nesta. You will be on your best behavior around her, and you will not upset or scare her away. Is that clear?”

Az snorts. “Yes, General.”

Cassian cuts a sharp look in his direction. “That applies to you, too. Don’t toy around with her.”

Az grows solemn and nods.

“Is that it?” Mor raises a brow.

“You might find it harder than you think.”

She scoffs. “Well, if I had known I was bitching about your girlfriend this entire time…”

“You wouldn’t have changed,” Azriel interjects. “You’d be even worse.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, whatever. I can play nice.”

Cassian looks to Rhys.

“I haven’t spoken a word to her in years,” Rhys grumbles.

“You will respect her, even when she’s not in the room.” He doubts Nesta will be happy to have shit talked about her when she isn’t in a sex-driven haze.

Rhys looks away. “I can’t believe you even have to ask me such a thing,” he mutters. “She’s with you now, of course I’ll lay off her.”

“And you’ll stay out of the sisters’ issues,” Cassian adds.

Rhys smiles wryly. “When did we switch jobs? You want to be boss now or something?”

“If we’re done here, can we go the fuck inside?” Mor groans. “I’m freezing. And I’m holding you to that Q&A session.” She points a finger at Cassian.

He allows himself to grin, feeling truly light for the first time in months. It isn’t a band-aid solution to everything, but it’s better than lying to his family for the rest of his life. Mor and Az head back inside, and Cassian and Rhys trail them. It’s not until Cassian reaches the door that he remembers—

“What was it you wanted to tell me earlier?” He turns to Rhys.

Rhys looks startled, then uncomfortable. “I don’t think it’s the right time for it anymore. You might not want to hear it at all.”

Well, now Cassian’s curious. “Just tell me. I want to know.”

Rhys holds in a sigh. “Fine. Let’s talk inside.”

***

It’s almost two in the morning when the last guest goes home, and Feyre has no excuse left to idle around.

She finds Nesta in the kitchen doing dishes, her back turned to Feyre. Her heels have been discarded, her hair is tied up out of her face, and her sequined dress sleeves are pushed up her arms so they don’t get wet. She looks so… at home. Like this kitchen and the rest of the cabin is undeniably hers.

It reminds Feyre that it wasn’t Cassian kissing Nesta that felt like a punch to the throat. It was when Feyre saw Nesta break away, smile brightly, and kiss him back.

Feyre carefully approaches the island and clears her throat. Nesta doesn’t hear her over the sound of running water. Feyre tries again harder, but swallows the wrong way and ends up in a coughing fit.

That gets Nesta’s attention. She spins around to find Feyre hacking like an idiot, and shuts the tap off. “What’s wrong with you?” she says.

Feyre coughs one final time, her throat scratchy now. “Water. I need water.”

Nesta’s eyes nearly roll out of her head, but she grabs a clean glass and fills it up, handing it to Feyre.

Feyre chugs half the glass and sets it down with an exhale. “I was trying to say,” she starts after an awkward moment, “that you look very settled here.”

“I am,” Nesta says without pause.

“And you’ve probably heard about my—argument with Cassian by now.” Cassian, who is no longer just Feyre’s friend, but Nesta’s boyfriend. Someone Nesta loves, if Feyre heard correctly in her fury.

“Unfortunately, wooden walls carry sound pretty far.” That’s all Nesta bothers to say before turning the sink on again, resuming her dishwashing.

Feyre used to think Nesta’s lack of words meant she had nothing to say. Now she suspects there’s a storm of words raging in Nesta’s head. Too many words to even try to string together coherently, so she stays silent instead.

“I wanted to ask for your side of the story,” Feyre says. “I didn’t even think to consider your feelings before I went off at Cassian, and I might have made—some assumptions.”

“You implied that I was too weak-minded to make decisions for myself and that Cassian took advantage of my weaknesses to get me into his bed.” Nesta’s tone is flat, her eyes on the plate she’s scrubbing.

Feyre winces when she hears it out loud. “Yes, I did that.”

“Why should I tell you anything?” Nesta says. “You clearly have no problem believing what you already believe.”

“I can’t know how you feel about things if you never tell me, Nesta,” Feyre tries to defend. “I’ve been going off my assumptions for years because you don’t share anything about yourself. If I had misconceptions about you, you never corrected them.”

“And that’s an excuse to not ask me about my feelings? To not come to me when you have concerns about my life?”

“I’m coming to you now,” Feyre says. “That’s the whole point.”

When Nesta doesn’t respond, Feyre adds, “I know that we don’t know how to communicate without offending each other. So for five minutes can we just put the defensiveness aside and talk about this?”

“I don’t know what there is to talk about.” Nesta rinses the last glass and shuts the water off, going to dry her hands on a towel.

“I’ll start then: Why didn’t you tell me about you and Cassian?”

Nesta stares at the countertop. “If I answer that question honestly, you’ll call me cruel.”

Feyre hides her flinch, and decides she doesn’t need to hear the answer. Deep down, she probably already knows it. “Alright. When did you start liking him as more than a friend?”

“October. Do you want cake?” Nesta turns toward the fridge in search of dessert.

“I’m good,” Feyre says. “How did you—fall for him?” She’s had all night to think about these questions, but it still sounds impossible saying it out loud. Like two worlds colliding in the weirdest way.

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Feyre repeated for the third time that night, sequestered with Elain touching up her makeup in one of the bathrooms. “Does it make sense to you?”

“I can see it,” Elain said flatly. “Nesta’s emotional, and Cassian’s emotionally intelligent. If anyone could put in the work to understand her, it’s him.”

Elain didn’t show a hint of feeling since she watched Cassian sweep Nesta into his arms and kiss her like a hero from a romance novel. When Feyre later asked Elain if she wanted to talk to Nesta with her, she curtly refused and proceeded to leave the party early.

Now, Nesta busies herself by digging through the fridge. “He’s kind. He’s unfaltering. He’s easy to talk to. It doesn’t hurt that he’s hot.”

“Is that it?”

Nesta shuts the fridge, cake in hand. “Why don’t you ask what you really want to ask, Feyre?” She yanks a drawer open with a little too much force and grabs a fork.

This, Feyre hasn’t practiced for. But she needs to find a way to voice it. “I never knew… after Tomas, I didn’t think you would trust a man again. I didn’t trust a man with you again.”

Nesta whips her head to glare at Feyre, and Feyre shrinks away from her near-feral stare. She spoke too much. She fucked it up already.

“What do you know about Tomas?” Nesta says lowly.

“It doesn’t take a genius to know that Tomas was shit. I never liked him. I was so happy when you left him.”

“And what?” Nesta drops the cake onto the island with a thump. “You thought he broke me? You thought I’d never find love again?”

Feyre looks down, playing with her nails. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe, Nesta,” she says quietly.

“And I’m trying to tell you I don’t need your protection. I never did. You do not get to assume what I’m fit for and what I’m not. You do not get to pretend to know me when you’ve never made an effort to understand me.”

“Made an effort?” Feyre can’t believe Nesta’s words. “All I’ve ever done my whole life is make an effort—to talk to you, to be close with you.”

“No,” she says firmly. “You only ever tried to make me do things your way. You wanted me to be more like you. I always came over to your place, I always participated in your parties, I always did the things you wanted to do even when I hated it, because that was me making an effort for you.”

The words take a long time to sink in. Feyre finally swallows. “Do you always have to be so cruel?”

“I’m not being cruel. This is just me. The person you see is the person Cassian fell in love with, and he likes me just fine. You’re the one who’s never liked me.” Nesta’s chest is heaving. “Yes, I am well aware of my flaws, and yes, I’m putting in the work to get past them. That’s what therapy is for. But until you look at your own issues instead of being personally offended by mine all the time, I can’t speak to you without wanting to scream.” She’s trembling as if she’s holding in a shriek right now. “I can’t keep bearing the weight of it—of our past, of everything you want that I can’t give. You won’t let me move away from it.”

Her words ring in the silence.

Feyre’s face is cold, and she touches it to find tears on her cheeks. “I didn’t know…” She blinks, looking away. She suddenly wants to be anywhere else but here, where all she’s good for is torturing her sister. But Feyre is twenty-one years old and she’s getting too old to keep this hateful thing between her and Nesta alive. She reaches for the cake and takes off the lid. “Get me another fork,” she sniffs through tears.

Nesta stares at her for a long moment, then does what she asked. Feyre wipes her eyes.

They sit across from each other at the island and dig in without bothering to get plates. Feyre takes a bite and makes a face at the sour taste, nearly spitting it out. “What is this, lemon?”

“Yes,” Nesta says, stabbing her fork into the cake. “Lemon is for guests.”

“Implying you have different types of cake lying around?” She points to the fridge.

“Chocolate is for Cassian. You can’t have it.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Shared cake, Feyre thinks. How long until they sign up for coinsurance?

They eat in silence for a few minutes, but Feyre’s mind whirls the entire time. She has to speak first, but she doesn’t know where to start.

The beginning might be good.

“I…” she speaks hesitantly, “didn’t mean to make you feel responsible for the past. That wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

Nesta doesn’t look comforted by her words. “You think Dad wouldn’t have let us all die in our pile of bills if you hadn’t stepped up?”

True. Feyre used to drown in bitterness over it: working forty hours a week and then some just to keep the family alive, and receiving nothing in return. While Nesta escaped to the woods to read all day and Elain flirted with boys in mall parking lots, Feyre carried the brunt of reality on her shoulders. It wasn’t until their father died and she got out of that town that she realized—if it was anybody’s fault, it was his.

“I think we all did our best to survive,” Feyre says. “Especially you. But if it’s moving away from me and Elain that you want, I can’t give it to you.”

Nesta looks unsurprised. Before she can argue, Feyre states firmly, “I can do things your way. I can come to you. We can learn to meet each other halfway.”

“Then you’ll be disappointed when, even after all that work, I still find you annoying as fuck.”

Feyre actually laughs. The sentiment still stings, but… “We’ll just have to see how it goes.” But what if Nesta never does like her? The thought nags. What will she do then?

Nesta narrows her eyes at Feyre. “And what about Elain?”

Her absence in the kitchen suddenly feels pointed. Feyre twirls her fork. “We’re not as close as you think, you know. I don’t always know what she’s feeling. You might have to figure her out on your own.”

Nesta looks like she would rather die.

A knock sounds at one of the kitchen entryways. Feyre turns to see Cassian leaning against the wall, looking warily between the two sisters. “I hate to interrupt,” he says, “but can I see Nesta now?”

It still startles Feyre: he’s here for Nesta, not her. That’ll definitely take some time to get used to.

“For sure,” Feyre says, getting up from her seat. She looks back at Nesta, wondering about how much more they need to say to each other…

From the look on Nesta’s face, they’ve done enough for tonight. “I’ll be calling, then,” Feyre says.

“Can’t promise I’ll answer,” Nesta replies.

Of course. Feyre turns on her heel to leave, but stops before Cassian for a brief moment. “I’m so sorry.” The words flow a lot more easier with him than they would with Nesta. “I said some terrible things outside—please forgive me.” She’s genuinely terrified at the idea of losing Cassian over her battle with her sister.

Cassian smiles down at her, not his usual grin but something gentler, more understanding. “There’s nothing to worry about.” His eyes dart to Nesta for confirmation of this, and he must like whatever he sees, because he looks back at Feyre and ruffles her hair. “Glad you’re feeling better, kid.”

***

Once Feyre leaves and Cassian can hear her and Rhys getting ready for the limo drive back home, he finally allows himself to approach Nesta at the island. Rounding the counter to where she sits, he wraps her into a hug.

For once, Nesta doesn’t question his unsolicited affection. She leans in and wraps her own arms around his torso, resting her head against his stomach. “Where were you this whole time?” Her voice is muffled in his shirt.

“Nowhere,” he plays off easily. “Just talking to Rhys about work stuff.”

The conversation lasted much longer than Cassian would have preferred, but by the end of it Cassian’s stance was firm.

“It’s a year-long project based in Milan. It would technically be a promotion for you, and you would work on-site the whole time. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to get out of the cabin,” Rhys said.

“By sending me out of the country?” Cassian scoffed.

“With the way you’ve been avoiding us lately—I know now that it was about Nesta, but when I heard about the position, you were the first person to come to mind. Taking time to yourself, traveling on your own, making a mark without having your entire family attached to your hip… It sounded like something you needed, so I recommended you for the job.”

Rhys was scarily accurate, because those were all things that Cassian wanted. He and Nesta made lists about places they wanted to visit all the time. But doing it like this?

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to Italy.”

Rhys looked away. “That’s what I thought you’d say. You’re still in the honeymoon phase with Nesta.”

“Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t go. A year away from home? What are you thinking?”

Rhys raised his hands in defense. “Look, you don’t have to go. I can give the position away to someone else. But you’re the most qualified and deserving person on the team and we both know it.”

Even now, Cassian knows it. Unfortunately for Rhys, that won’t get his answer to change.

He smiles down to where Nesta hides in his arms, visibly exhausted after the night she’s had. “How did your talk with Feyre go?” he has to ask.

“I thought I was being pretty generous. I didn’t even call her a hypocrite for half the things I wanted to.”

“Does that mean it went well?”

Nesta sighs against his chest. “I think we reached some sort of understanding. Though I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person, for giving her hope of a better relationship between us.”

“I think it makes you a strong person,” Cassian says honestly.

“And what if I can’t deliver?”

“You can’t find out until you try.”

Nesta looks up to meet his eyes, and for a short second he’s overwhelmed by need. “Say it again,” he breathes.

Her brows furrow. “Say what?”

“What you said in the truck. I need to hear it again.”

“Oh, that.” She looks embarrassed. “Iloveyou,” she mutters quickly.

He pokes her. “Say it like you mean it, not like you’re announcing you have syphilis.”

She glares, but clears her throat and gets serious. “Cassian. I love you. I’m in love with you.”

His heartbeat stutters at the earnestness on her face. “Since when?” His lips spread into a grin.

Her face drops. “Yeah, this is really putting a damper on my feelings right now.” Nesta starts to squirm out of his arms.

“No, wait—” He tries to stop her.

“I’ll help you clean in the morning, okay?” She yawns, heading for the exit. “Good night, babe.”

“I was kidding—” He starts to follow after her, shouting, “Where are you going?”

***

Nesta wakes late the next morning with a solid warmth pressed against her back. For a second, it disorients her. She never wakes up before Cassian.

But she turns around and there he is, dead asleep while the sun is already high in the sky.

She reaches up on instinct to brush his silken hair out of his face. He’ll be pissed he missed his six a.m. workout, New Year’s Day be damned.

Putting on her glasses from the nightstand, Nesta carefully eases out of bed and crosses the room to pull the curtains shut over the wall of windows. When she’s satisfied that the room is dark enough, she tiptoes out of it.

The downstairs is still a mess from last night. Nesta wrinkles her nose at the sight of it. Discarded champagne glasses scatter the living and dining areas, and whoever snuck in those damn confetti poppers left a mess on the hardwood floors. Platters of long since finished food lie on random surfaces.

“Even the rich and sophisticated party like pigs,” she mutters to herself, stepping over a discarded throw pillow to reach the kitchen. She needs coffee and a hose to scrub this place down—

“Good morning.”

Nesta yelps, spinning toward the figure near the sink she didn’t see while coming in. “Fucking Christ!”

Azriel doesn’t blink, holding an apple in one hand and a paring knife in the other. “We’re out of coffee.” He looks like he just rolled out of bed, sweatpants and all.

“What are you doing here?” Nesta demands. “Where did you come from?”

“Ah, about that,” he says casually. “I never left.”

“You slept here?”

“Do you have breakfast? Because there isn’t even a box of cereal in this place.”

“Azriel,” Nesta forces his name out. “Start answering my questions.”

He has the decency to look sorry and blushes. “I needed some time away from Velaris. I figured the cabin would be empty since you moved out and I brought some of my stuff over last night.”

“So when I found you upstairs…?”

“I was staking out a room to stay in.”

Nesta has so many questions she almost forgets to be upset. But it’s hard not to be upset when she’s standing in front of a near-stranger in only Cassian’s shirt. “Does Cassian know about this?”

Azriel carves out an apple slice and shrugs dismissively. “He will soon.”

Her stomach churns with familiar anxiety. “But you can’t—” She wrings the shirt she’s wearing in her hands. “You can’t do this.”

“Why not? It’s my brother’s place.” His eyes dare her to disagree. “In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be living here when I decided to move in.”

“I don’t live here,” she says. In fact, she’s supposed to return to her apartment tomorrow. “But I spend a lot of time here and I didn’t get to prepare for—” she waves her hands in Azriel’s direction, “you.” It’s a wrench thrown in the gears of Nesta’s carefully calculated life.

Azriel raises a dark brow. “Do you need to prepare for me?” He pushes an apple slice into his mouth.

“Yes!” This is a change she had no say in, and those are the worst kind of changes.

Azriel puts the apple and knife down and leans against the counter. “Prepare for me, then.”

“What?”

“Before Cassian gets up, take the time to get used to the fact that I’m going to be around for the next few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Nesta pales.

“A month, tops,” he promises. When Nesta doesn’t look reassured, he says quietly, “Go on. Do what you need to do to get comfortable.”

“But I barely know you,” she says. Well, Nesta knows Azriel is the pretty brother and the quiet brother, but now she’s starting to think he’s also the weird brother.

That’s three things they have in common, at least.

“Uh...what do you want to know?” He tries to sound nice, inviting. Nesta uses that awkward tone all the time.

It actually brings her some semblance of comfort. She sits down carefully on a barstool and asks, “Why are you really here?”

“I’m avoiding someone,” he answers without hesitation.

“Who?”

“Nobody of interest to you.” They’re doing rapid fire mode, then.

“Do you know how to cook?” she says.

“No. Do you?”

“No.” A loss on both parts. “What are you good at?”

“Minding my business.”

Nesta narrows her eyes at him. “Like you were minding your business outside Cassian’s room last night?”

He makes the slightest wince. “That was an unfortunate incident where I toyed with you. It won’t happen again.”

She doesn’t know why, but she believes him.

“What won’t happen again?”

Nesta turns to find Cassian trudging into the kitchen, looking only half-awake. He notices Azriel. “Oh, hey bro.”

Azriel nods. “Hey.”

Cassian is about to drop a kiss onto Nesta’s head when he freezes. “Wait.” The look on his face makes Nesta forget her earlier discomfort; she laughs out loud.

Peering all the way up at him from her seat, she says, “Your brother is moving in. I am reacting to this like a well-adjusted human being.”

He raises his brows. “Are you now?”

“I didn’t freak out one bit,” she says, trying to spare Azriel from her boyfriend’s overprotective wrath. Cassian doesn’t buy it.

He looks at Azriel and tilts his head toward the living room. “You wanna talk?” He leaves before the other man can answer.

Nesta shrugs apologetically at Azriel’s stunned face. “I did my best. He’s going to give you a lecture on boundaries now.”

“No, he’s not,” Azriel grumbles as he starts following after Cassian. “He’s going to beat my ass.”

***

a/n: when in doubt, write a flashback scene in italics

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13

#nesta archeron #nessian #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic

233 notes · View notes

tllthesundies · 3 years

Note

prompt idea...more of a guide rather than a specific moment though! stoic dom harry who completely melts for his cute boyfriend lou :)

tags: non au, mexico city hslot, dom/sub, daddy kink, degradation kink, feminization, spanking, coming untouched(?)

"Great show, Harry!" one of his crew says to him as he passes down the stadium hall.

Harry's sweating underneath his suit, red lightning bolts zapping through his veins and blood as he takes steady steps to his dressing room. He nods to each crew member he passes, thanking them and blessing them, continuing on. There's a ringing in his ears that's constant. Every loud step he takes, the clack of his heeled boots, feels important as they knock against the walls and echo through the hall; his hips are walking first, guiding him; and it takes him a good five minutes to find his dressing room, ignoring everyone that passes by him, and when he approaches his door and grabs the knob to push it open, he peeks his head in first.

Louis's sitting at his small vanity, playing with something red in his hands.

Harry stays still.

"I know you're there," Louis then says.

A corner of Harry's mouth twitches up. He walks into the room and closes the door behind himself, coming closer to Louis. "Yet you ignored my presence," he comments, and snatches the red tube out of Louis's hands. It almost looks like lipstick. "What is this?"

Louis stands from his chair and snatches it back.

"Lipstick."

He walks away from Harry to a settee, and Harry tilts his head. He doesn't like that.

"Are you being difficult, baby?"

Harry had the intentions of preparing himself as he walked to his dressing room, for when he entered it, of starting it. But Louis's energy is coming off a little too commanding for the position he knows he's supposed to be in; like he thinks he's going to successfully challenge Harry. So, Harry breaks his character a little, and he smiles at his own words; and he knows Louis hears his smile, because he turns around to look at Harry, a secretive glint in his blue eyes.

"No," he answers, plopping down on the green velvet settee. "I would never, daddy."

Daddy is code.

Harry eases the smile off his face, and, shrugging his fringed suit jacket off of himself, he throws it gently onto the other side of the settee, leaving him in his mostly unbuttoned white shirt and trousers. He picks up a leg and sets his foot on the right side of Louis, all while Louis stares at him, and he leans forward to pluck the lipstick out Louis's hand again.

Louis doesn't protest.

Harry uncaps it, twisting the button to reveal the cool-toned red colour. He assesses it, then uses his free hand to reach and grab one of Louis's and places the lipstick in his hand and looks directly into Louis's gaze, unblinking.

"I want you to put this on," he commands quietly.

Louis blinks.

"Okay."

He does as Harry says--slow and sensual with his movements; it's a little messy in the corners, but it's perfect.

"Now, give it back to me," Harry says, reaching out a hand. Louis complies, but Harry keeps it in his own hand. "Now"--he uses a hand to pull at his collar--"I want you to kiss me right here, darling." Louis gets on his knees to match the height of Harry's shoulders, and Harry points to a spot right before his collar. Louis leans in, carefully leaving a stained kiss, and pulls away. "Kiss me here." Harry uses his same fingers to point to his right jawline. Louis repeats the process. "And, now, kiss me here, princess." Harry trails both hands down to his belt, and undoes the zipper. He puts his foot back on the ground, pulling his trousers and underwear with it just enough to expose his hard prick and balls. His cock is standing tall, blood having rushed from his thrill of the stage and the anticipation of seeing Louis afterwards straight to his dick. He places a hand underneath his cock and moves it up to expose his balls; he uses his other fingers to tap it lightly.

Louis raises his eyebrows at him, but, slowly, lowers himself and angles his head to get close to his ballsack.

Harry feels him leave the imprint of his lipstick kiss, lips cooling against his warmth and musk; but as Louis's head starts to come back up, Harry grabs a handful of his hair.

"Not so fast."

Louis meets his gaze, eyes glistening as he keeps peeking at Harry's cock that's so close to his face.

"What, daddy?" he asks--and his voice is so shy and soft, it almost makes Harry's cock twitch.

Harry tilts his head.

"You know what to do."

He roughly lets go of Louis's hair to see what he'll do.

Louis straightens his posture as Harry lets go of his cock; it bounces right in front of Louis's face, and Louis's caught in a sudden daze at the thickness; at the length; at the girth that he's choked on so many times before.

Harry's hoping he'll choke on it right now.

Louis's lips ghost over the tip of Harry's cock, his gaze flickering up at Harry and what's in front of him. Slowly, he opens his mouth to suck the tip in only. His cheeks hollowing out, he makes sure to treat it like an actual lollipop; Harry's head tilts back slightly at the sensation of Louis's tongue digging and swiping between the slit, then looks down with hands coming to grip his own hips to stare directly into Louis's eyes. He's going to watch him take Harry all the way; and Louis proceeds to: he slowly slides down Harry's cock halfway before re-emerging to his tip, his red lipstick smearing all over Harry's cock; then he slides forward more than he did; and it's a game of taking Harry further down his throat, easing himself on it. And Harry just watches. He doesn't give Louis the satisfaction of moaning and groaning; he holds it in.

Harry grabs a handful of Louis's hair once again as he starts to fasten his pace--he becomes so fast he chokes in between, but that's exactly what Harry wants.

"Stop," he commands, voice stern.

Louis instantly stills.

Harry pulls him off his red-stained dick, shoving him backwards on the settee. Louis doesn't bat an eye as Harry uses one to grip himself and wipe all the lipstick remnants off onto his hand, then he leans forward and, with rough pressure and slow movements, Harry smears the remnants over Louis's face. He starts at Louis's jaw, going anticlockwise, fingers and pad of his hand rubbing over his cheeks, mouth, and nose.

He's smearing Louis's actual lipstick simultaneously.

When he lifts his hand, Louis's looks like a tragedy: smeared, pink and red swollen lips, with smears of lipstick over his nose and cheeks, eyes bright and a deeper blue.

He sneaks a hand behind Louis's head, at his nape, and lowers his head to connect their lips.

It tastes like cosmetics, like dick, but there's still the taste of Louis in there; a little minty, a little sweet; and Harry tears apart his lips. He gnaws at his bottom lip, biting into it, then he slides his tongue in--and Louis's doing his best, trying to match harry, but they're both aware Louis can't keep up with Harry's movements; Harry's too unpredictable and disastrous: the opposite of Louis.

Louis loves feeling helpless under the hands of Harry.

He pulls back.

"Take off your pants and get on your knees facing the back cushions," Harry demands.

"Yes, daddy," Louis says, soft and quiet.

Louis takes his trousers and underwear off together, kicking his shoes off, as well. His small cock is hard and a little red, and Harry feels slight pity for it, but he displays no emotions externally. That's not his part of his job as Louis' dom. Louis gets on his knees and faces the back cushions, arse on display, and Harry bites his bottom lip at the sight.

He gets close to run his fingers over the plumpness of his cheeks, then whips his hand back to strike a hard smack against them.

Louis whimpers.

"Shut up, whore," Harry commands. He lands another smack that echos in the room, and a red spot begins to blossom on the exact spot. Louis hangs his head, whimpering again, and Harry scoffs at him. "Look at you. Crying over a spanking. How pathetic." He uses his other hand to pull Louis's hair, yanking his head back, and keeps smacking him with the other, eliciting groans and soft cries from him. He uses the back of his hand a few times, so, that his rings cause a bigger reaction from Louis's skin. "You're so easy, baby--is this all it takes? A little spanking, a little sucking cock? You choke on my cock and then expect to be rewarded. Whores don't get rewarded. They get punished."

This specific smack is with his fingers, and it's so hard that it elicits a cry from Louis he only releases when he's coming.

Harry lets go of his hair, Louis's head falling forward, and Harry kneels onto the settee beside him to see come oozing from his dick, covering some of the cushions and Louis's hands. It's a bunch of white goopiness.

"Harry," softly, weakly exhales Louis.

That's cue to break character.

"Oh, baby," instantly coos Harry, brushing gentle fingers against Louis's hot cheek. He quickly grabs his own underwear from the floor, the closest thing to a flannel in this dressing room, and starts wiping Louis and the settee off. "I love you so much; you did incredible, my love." Louis's so pliant, it's incredibly easy to bring Louis down into his arms and embrace him, bringing comfort and peace to him. "I could do everything and anything for you, Louis, and it still wouldn't be enough. You deserve the sea, the sunsets, the lakes, the gems found under rocks, and all its bliss trapped within, yet you're too bright for it all. You're an angel sent from above."

Louis lowers his head onto Harry's chest, and Harry can feel him smile.

"I love you, too," he giggles. "Now, wipe this fucking lipstick off my face that you caused."

#drabble #I tried? :D #i hope this is close to what you wanted. i haven't done in depth smut like this in a while

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Glass Swords

Summary: Tovar knew he had bad luck–it came with the curse the witch gave him on his thirteenth birthday. Trapped in a contract by a band of bloodthirsty noblemen who use Tovar for his skill with a sword, he has all but resigned himself to a life of servitude. But then a job shoves him into the path of a princess who almost makes him smile. (Cinderella!AU)

Pairing: Pero Tovar/F!Reader

Warnings: None really. I make an allusion to the events of the movie but you don’t have to have seen it to understand this.

Word Count: 4.8k

(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites)

Or you can read on Ao3!

Once upon a time, there was a boy who seemed to have remarkably good luck. He was born to a wealthy, aristocratic family, and being the firstborn and a son guaranteed him a title of his own. His horse always came first in races, his opponents were always making simple mistakes in duels. He always had the keen eye to find a forgotten bit of coin on the ground. His first shot always hit its make when he was hunting.

Yes, Pero Tovar was lucky.

Until his luck soured at the hands of a woods witch.

On his thirteenth birthday, on a hunt with his band of friends and loyal servants, he darted into the forest to call for the hunting dog that had gone after gods-knows-what instead of the fowl they’d been hoping for when they set out. Again and again he called for the hound with no luck.

“Your dog has ruined my garden,” came a sudden voice behind him.

Pero turned to see a woman, old and shrouded in tattered grey robes, emerging from the forest shadows. An answering howl soon followed and a muddied hound bounded up to him, remnants of flowers and trampled vegetables hanging from his panting mouth.

And Pero laughed. What else was he supposed to do?

“For too long I have been held at the whim of your family. They have forgotten the treaty they signed when they came here, building your castle on my land and promising that you would provide. That you would never forget. But you have. And then you laugh when my little source of happiness was trampled by a hound.” Words tumbled from her chapped lips in a language he did not recognize and soon felt as if a bucket of icy river water had been dropped over his head.

“What did you do?” He hissed, feeling himself shake like a scared deer.

“I have made sure the world treats you as it treats me.” Her weathered mouth stretched into a smile he could see beneath the cowl. “But I am not cruel. I only want you to learn a lesson. But your lot seem stubborn so I would not be surprised if it took you the rest of your life.” She stepped forward and pulled a blade from the folds of her robes and Pero took an instinctive step back.

Almost instantly, his heel caught on a root and he tumbled to the moss-covered ground, pain zig-zagging up his spine as he landed.

The witch only laughed and continued forward. She twisted the blade in her hand and she held it out to him. And it was not as if he could say no. Not now. The short sword was clear—like glass. As soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, he felt the cold stone form to his grip, imprinting itself to his touch.

“When you’ve pierced the heart of a princess with your glass sword, then and only then will the curse lift.”

“A-a-a princess?” Pero parroted, feeling his stomach drop.

But the witch was gone and all he had was the glass sword.

His bad luck made itself known when he collided with his sister as they both rounded corners and she tumbled down the stone stairs of their home. Sancha was fine, thankfully but Pero would never forget how the blood pooled around her head or the scream she let out as she fell.

That was his fault. He knew it would only get worse as time progressed. He would not endanger his family. And so, Pero left a short note for his mother and father, telling them that he would return once he’d earned his honor on his own. The note he left for his sister told the truth, apologize for her injuring asking for her forgiveness even though he knew he already had it. Sancha was too pure of heart to ever hold any anger.

He set out. At first, trying to find another witch to counteract the curse. Then, to healers who promised anything and everything for the right price. And then, little by little, his hope faded. For a moment, he did consider driving the short blade through the heart of a princess—any princess—to just be rid of the curse. So he could see his family again. So he could live without worrying about bridges, loose bricks, or roots—or the millions of other things that the witch had made unlucky.

But he couldn’t. And in desperation to stay fed, he took up work as a mercenary. Another unlucky decision. It had led him to far flung lands that would have been an adventure to rival any explorer—he had fought creatures from another world!—but he did not enjoy any of it (aside from a few fleeting moments). And he could kill people who were trying to kill him all the time. Pero was good at it, he found. But it did not necessarily give him much opportunity to even know any princesses or be able to pick them out of a crowd so he could…stab them.

His bad luck continued.

When he failed to return to his employers, a group of nefarious noblemen from some country he didn’t care to remember, with the Black Powder they had requested, there were consequences. And now he was stuck in a contract, unable to leave his ‘employment’ because a bottle of ink had spilled across the contract and blotted out a very telling bit of information. He could not leave unless they were all dead. And if he broke that contract, his life would be forfeit.

He never would have signed—obviously—if he had been able to read that line.

But it was done. He was trapped. His bad luck mostly did not endanger his life—and he was sure the witch made sure of that. It would be no fun if it killed him and he was able to rest in death. The closest he had come to death because of his luck was when an ornamental sword fell from its hold on the wall and nearly took his eye.

One of the noblemen who benefitted from his terrible contract said the scar made him look fearsome. But he said it with a curdled milk smirk that rolled Pero’s stomach. It wasn’t a compliment, he knew.

And now he was called in by his ‘employers’ to settle another job. He vaguely listened—something about needing the little kingdom’s valuable port for some trivial reason and the easiest way to acquire the port was for Pero to kill at least the king and his eldest son so the second-born son could become king. Apparently, the noblemen who were employing him had an agreement with the power hungry prince. Pero was sure there were more details but he did not care to commit them to memory. He knew how to kill and his timeline.

That was all that really mattered.

But first, he needed to scout through the dense forest surrounding the castle to find a way in.

He weaved between trees as he started toward the castle. The outer perimeter walls had been easily climbed without drawing attention and while the surrounding grounds were vast, they were not heavily patrolled. As he continued to close the distance to the dark stone of the castle, Pero started to believe that this might the easiest job his contract had ever permitted him. The one solace he had was still being able to learn languages easily so he was able to learn of this mostly-unattended part of the perimeter wall by listening at the nearest market.

The sound of a horse’s hooves on the drying leaves drew his attention, his head whipping to the side, to one of the few bits of sunlight that slipped through the thick trees overhead.

It was a woman—one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, if he was being truthful—sitting atop a horse. She was smiling up at the birds as they sang in the branches. She was dressed in a simple smock and her horse was unsaddled. She was probably a maid from the castle.

But that did not detract from how his throat tightened as he looked at her. She was, after all, beautiful. It was almost embarrassing how he didn’t even realize she had spotted him until it was too late.

“Hello, sir.” Her voice was kind on his ears and he was instantly wondering if she would speak again.

“Hello, my lady.”

“Are you lost? It is not often I see strangers in the kingswood.” She nudged her horse toward him, uncaring of the danger strangers often present. Or maybe she was unknowing. There was a certain sweetness to her that Pero knew could not be feigned.

“I am hunting, my lady. I hope I did not disturb you.”

She shook her head. “I was not aware the king was having a hunting party today. I hope I did not scare away your prey.”

“No, my lady. I have just lost the rest of our party. Do you work at the castle?”

“Yes.” Her smile seemed to be hiding something but Pero thought little of it, instead focusing on how the light made her eyes sparkle.

“Do they treat you well? I am sure I could put in a good word for you,” he said, knowing his roguish smile was starting to cut across his face. He might have the worst luck but he still knew how to make a pretty woman smile.

And it worked because she demurely averted her eyes before biting her lip for a moment. “They treat me much better than they should,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I thank you for the offer.” She cleared her throat before looking at him again. “I can fetch you a bit of water or ale from the kitchens, if you would like? You must be parched.”

“No, no, my lady. But you are kind to offer.”

The sound of someone calling out in the distance had her turning her head with a frown. “I’ve lost track of the hour. I must go.”

And then her dark horse was setting off, galloping between the black-barked trees, and disappearing from sight before he could even ask for her name.

Pero did not find a way into the castle that day. He could have, but he didn’t. His employers allowed him another day of scouting in the woods and he happily took advantage of it and hoped his curse would subside just for a day, or even a few hours, so he might happen upon the maid again.

And his silent plea was heard as he found her at the base of a large tree, a well-worn book settled on her lap.

“Hello again,” she said as she spotted him.

“Hello, my lady.”

She patted the bit of grass beside her and Pero wavered for a moment before taking the offered seat. “Hunting again today?”

“No. I must confess that I was hoping to see you.”

Her answering giggle had something squeezing in the deep recesses of his chest. “Well, you have found me.” She closed the book carefully and turned to face him a little more. “What is your name? I have tried to guess it but I do not think any name I might have conjured would suit you.”

He could have told her his true name. It was not as if she would be able to stop him in his quest. But he knew to never think he could outsmart his curse. “I am Tovar.” And then he quickly added his title that he had not used in decades: “Marquess Tovar.” As if that would somehow make his lie about hunting with the royals more believable.

She gave him her name in return and then started to gently, simply pull him into conversation about anything and everything—from the animals he was unfamiliar with in the forest, to learning how the she grew up inside the castle and still got lost in its twisting, turning halls and rooms.

He knew he should be committing the hints she was giving to him about the castle’s layout to memory but didn’t want to. He only want to continue to hear her speak. She would ask him questions too, about how he was finding her homeland and if he still “did not require a bit of drink to slake his thirst from the kitchens.”

She was…sunlight. And such a sharp contrast to the darkness of the kingdom she resided in with its masses of dark stone, fog, and black wood trees. She did not deserve such darkness. Sunlight. She should have been bathed in sunlight, in warmth, in all things light and lovely. Not here. Not in the dark and cold. Even if it was her home—even if she called it home with a tilt of her beautiful lips.

“Tell me, Tovar. Are you coming to the Masque tomorrow night? I would like to see you again.”

“There is a Masque tomorrow?”

She nodded with another smile and stood, brushing the moss and dirt from her little dress and apron. “The King is celebrating his birthday and his daughter has finally returned from her time abroad.”

“A princess?”

She laughed and held out a hand toward him, helping him to his feet. “Yes. I thought the king would have told you about her when you were hunting.”

“I’ve only heard of his sons,” he said, not entirely lying.

“Either way, will you come to the Masque tomorrow?” She looked so hopeful, so happy. He could not tell her no. And it was with a soft kiss to his cheek that she bid him goodbye and he was left in the dark of the forest, watching her disappear again.

A Royal Masque. And a princess. Perhaps his luck was turning on its own.

This would provide the perfect opportunity for him—kill the princess and be able to dance with the woman whose lips pleasantly burned his skin.

It had been easy to procure an invitation to the Masque. It had been harder to find an outfit that would not gain him unwanted attention. The shops were nearly all too busy or too empty but he did eventually find a decent enough ensemble and matching mask without emptying his coffers too much. His employers had been pleased to know he had found a way into the castle without too much fanfare and seemed to approve of his plan to carry out their plot at the masque. (And if another royal died that night, who would think that it was not part of a larger plan instead of a desperate man trying to break a curse?)

Pero handed over his invitation to the major-domo standing in front of the black and gold doors and was finally ushered inside—even after a few of the knights eyed the short sword sheathed at his hip. The halls were filled with more shining dark stone and gilded suits of armor from centuries past. Paintings and tapestries were hung along the walls, depicting the kingdom’s fabled rise to power. Blooms of white flowers were littered about, a sharp contrast to the darkness that seemed to permeate each corner of this little kingdom.

No couples had already to the floor to dance yet but he did spot a few practicing an almost-familiar set of measured steps away from onlookers. The raised dais filled with a few ornately carved chairs—thrones, he supposed—was empty. His targets were not here yet.

But perhaps she was.

He scanned the crowd but did not spot her—even with everyone wearing masks, he was sure he would recognize her from leagues away.

Music suddenly blared, announcing the arrival of someone important. He turned with the rest of the crowd and listened as the royals were announced. There was the youngest son, the next, and then the eldest. The king was escorted by his daughter, but the answering applause and cheer drowned out her name and Pero could only crane his neck too much to try and get a look before he started to look suspicious.

The first official song was called and the heir apparent took the dance with his betrothed before other couples were allowed to join them on the gleaming wooden floor.

Pero continued to scan the crowd, briefly touching the small vials he’d hidden within his doublet, and found the servant in charge of bringing goblets of wine to the king without much trouble.

It was easy.

But then a woman dressed in fine clothes of the kingdom’s sigil was striding toward him, uncaring of the masses of people bowing and curtseying in her wake and she only slowed to a stop when she was right in front of him. This must be the princess. A mask of gold covered most of her features but her eyes sparkled in such a way that Pero could have sworn he had seen them before. They were alight with recognition and mischief.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

“Your highness, I-”

The princess tilted her mask up and…

And that was when he realized, the girl from the forest and the princess…were the same person.

His fleeting moment of happiness had actually been another stroke of bad luck. How cruel.

She looked just as beautiful in her finery and jewels as she did in the smock she had donned in the forest. Her grip was gentle as she carefully started to lead him in the dance and didn’t laugh when he stumbled over her gilded shoes. Eventually, thankfully, he righted himself and was able to properly dance with her, letting the music guide his steps with her gentle corrections whenever he missed one or two.

“You’re a princess,” he said, hating the moment they left his lips.

“I am. Very astute of you, Tovar.” She laughed and stepped back from him as the song ended with a flourish and clapped for the minstrels. But then she turned back to him “Come with me,” she murmured, just low enough for him to hear. The princess didn’t wait for his answer and grasped his hands, quickly leading him through the crowd, some of whom tried to stop them, asking for his name, for a moment of the princess’ time, on and on it went. But she did not falter. Her grip did not loosen.

Not until they were out of the humid air of the ballroom and in the beautiful, cooled night air did she finally stop. Her smile was still wide and his face hurt as he felt himself trying to, unconsciously, mirror her expression. His face was not used to the movement. “What are you up to, princess?”

“I have something to show you.” She squeezed his hands once. “Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I don’t mean to steal you away if you have someone else waiting for you.”

Pero shook his head. “No. No, princess. I am happy to know you want my time as much as I desire yours.”

She bit her lip with a soft giggle. “Well, I do hope you like it.” She stepped back to link her arm through his, and continued to guide him down the shining palace steps and into the lush, green gardens. It was as easy for her to pull little bits of information from him as she tossed her golden mask into a bush without a care.

“Tell me of your homeland.”

“It is beautiful, your highness. Filled with sunlight and…” he drifted off, finally allowing himself to think of his home and family for the first time in years. “I miss it very much.”

She was quiet as he thought and did not seem to mind as he came back to himself—a familiar, gentle smile on her lips as she looked at him. “You do not strike me as a man who would leave someone or someplace you love so fiercely without cause. What pushed you to do so, if I may be so bold?”

“Bad luck,” he answered simply. “But tell me, why were you in the forest? Not once, but twice and without an escort or lady’s maid.”

Her face twisted into a pout for a moment. “I must admit that I do not care for every bit of royal life. It can all be so…tedious.”

“So, you snuck away?”

She nodded. “Donned my maid’s dress and took my horse from the stables while the hand was busy tending to my brother’s mare. It took hours for them to even notice I’d missed luncheon.”

“Did you not just return from abroad? I would have assumed that they would scarcely let you out of their sights.”

She shook her head with a laugh as they slowed to a stop in front of rusted gate she opened and waved him through. A secret garden greeted them, filled with all the color that the rest of the kingdom seemed to lack. Even in the moonlight, he could see the vibrant yellow, pink, red, and orange hues of the flowers that were growing haphazardly and unkempt by practiced hands. It reminded him, achingly, of the gardens his mother and Sancha would tend to on their own at home. They had always liked the free-roaming blooms over the careful structure of the manicured grounds.

“They like having me close, true. But underfoot is nothing but annoyance for everyone involved.”

“What is this place?” He asked, letting her pull him onto a simply carved bench in the center of the garden.

She turned to him with another smile—she seemed so fond of smiling. “This was my mother’s secret place. Free from the confines of my father’s kingdom and his advisor’s disapproving eyes. She would bring me here when I was little and teach me the names of all the flowers and how to care for them.”

It did not take long for Tovar to recognize the hurt in her tone.

He wondered if she heard it in his voice when he spoke of home. Of his beautiful family in Spain. Perhaps that was why he rarely spoke of them. But he wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her everything. So, he tried. He told her of the gardens his mother grew and refused to let their servants touch. Told her of how the fields around his home smelled sweet in the spring. Told her of all the colors he had seen on his adventures—even if he had to omit some bits of information to not reveal his true profession. And she listened keenly, asking questions and always seeming to think whatever he had said was interesting. In turn, she told him of her brief time in her mother’s ancestral kingdom, learning all she could and feeling torn when she knew she had to return to her home kingdom.

He was hardly aware of time passing, or how close they had grown on the bench until he heard a crier announcing the time—it was nearing midnight. He turned at the sudden noise and his hand slid across the bench—and quickly earned himself a handful of thorns to the webbing between his fingers. He hissed but hurriedly stopped himself as her gentle, soft hands cradled his and started to remove the thorns one by one. “Bad luck indeed,” she said, teasing. “I had trimmed those blooms back.”

Bad luck.

The sword at his hip grew heavier.

He could do it. He could run the blade through her chest and pierce her heart and be done with this wretched curse. But her eyes were shining in the moonlight and she smiled at him and he…couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Seeming to sense his distress, her smile faded. “Tovar? What ails you?” She reached out toward him and the moment her soft hand touched his cheek…he fled.

Decades of running toward dangers left him in an instant and he ran like a coward. Out of the garden, through the crowded ballroom where people shouted for him to stop, and out into the courtyard.

He fled. He ran until his legs gave out.

And it was only then that he noticed his sword was missing.

Hiding in the woods was not the most comfortable of living quarters but it was not the worst he had used since he had run from home.

He would not face his employers’ wrath. Another job left unfinished would cost him his head, he knew it. To survive, he hunted and forged, only moving into the outskirts of the market when he truly needed to buy something—like healing herbs for when he cut open his arm on a low hanging branch, or new boots after his toe caught on a sharp stone and tore the sole clean off.

Perhaps it was his need to survive and not be noticed, but it took Pero weeks to realize that the kingdom was in a tizzy.

The King had nearly been murdered as the masque and his second son was implicated in the plot. A band of foreign nobles had been arrested and their heads now sat on spikes outside the castle.

But that was not all.

Apparently, the princess had been scouring the kingdom looking for the man she had danced with at the masque—who had left behind a very peculiar short sword; its handle seeming to fit only one man’s hand.

It felt silly to let himself hope.

Could he? Should he let her find him? The curse still loomed. He would not subject her to the danger that seemed to follow him. He could not-

“There you are.”

Apparently he had been ruminating too long and had not noticed the small band of people approaching him at the edge of the market. The princess—and he was loathed to admit that he had momentarily let himself refer to her as His Princess—was standing in front of him with her familiar, beautiful smile on her lips and his sword in her hand. She turned it over, holding the hilt toward him as he hastily bowed.

“This is yours, yes?”

He nodded and reached out for it, feeling the familiar hand fit into his hand like it had for decades. But soon a gentle warmth bloomed up his hand until he could feel it burrowing in his chest. Something had changed.

When the king learned of Tovar’s true identity, he was able to grant his daughter’s wish of allowing their betrothal. A son of duke of a wealthy kingdom was a worthy match—and the king liked to make his daughter smile, too, even if it was at the side of a foreign duke who came into palace looking slovenly.

But Pero was still nervous. Even if he no longer tripped on stairs, bricks did not fall and nearly crush his skull, animals did not dart in front of his feet. He wanted to be sure—after all, he had not delivered a heart to the woods witch.

But, on the eve of their wedding, as Pero paced in his ornate and comfortable bedchamber, a sudden blast of cold air had him turning. In front of him stood a familiar woman. Her robes were still tattered but she was…glowing. Near ethereal. The woods witch had come again.

“I could feel your worries from leagues away, little duke.” Her smile was all teeth and he knew to keep quiet. “While I would have preferred the actual heart of that beautiful princess, the curse has been lifted. That little glass sword led her heart to you. You are free. I promise you that.”

“I am sorry,” Pero said, feeling the words rush out as he looked at her. “I am so sorry, my lady.”

“I know,” she hummed before she glanced around the room. “She will like Spain more, little duke. I promise you that.”

Before Pero could ask for specifics, the witch was gone in another gust of cold wind.

Pero watched his wife’s smile grow broader and broader as their carriage drew closer to his castle.

The sun was shining. The air was sweet with the scent of springtime flowers and green grasses. It was filled with the colors he had promised her that night in the garden.

His family greeted them warmly and his sweet mother and sister cried in joy at finally having him back home while his father did look quiet near tears, too. Pero just watched it all with a smile on his face, so large and persistent it hurt his face.

“It is beautiful here,” she whispered to him that night in their bedchamber. “But, of course, I would expect nothing more from the land who gave me you.”

Pero kissed her, smiling against her mouth.

His glass sword was forgotten on their bedside table.

He had all he needed, all the good luck in the world, right here in his arms.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

A/N: please let me know what you think!

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar imagine #the great wall #pero tovar

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 3 years

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Sleepy Sex Part 12 - Liam (Nikita)

A/N: I’ll be honest I had no idea who Liam was and then my darling friend @yespolkadotkitty sent me the link to @dornish-queen video of Liam and I read her story and then like the next day @artemiseamoon wrote a Liam story and I was like ok I can do this now! You should check them out because they are amazing! Thank you for reading, reblogging, commenting and liking.

Pairing: Liam x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + NSFW (Oral (language, F! Receiving, P in V sex, angst, major character death, gunshot wound, cauterizing a wound, mentions of blood)

Word Count: 2.2K this is the longest of the Sleepy Sex series I have written

My Masterlist

The dinner was cold, the candles had flickered out, and you sat dejected on the couch working through the second half of the wine bottle. The television flickered across your face, but the sound was muted. Reaching for the remote, you flicked it off and let out a large yawn, downing the remainder of your glass. You should clean up the mess, put away the leftovers, shower, change your clothes, but your energy was depleted. The hours of waiting for him to come only to be disappointed again was heartbreaking.

You knew who and what he was, but it still didn't lessen the blow each time you wound up disappointed and alone. You kick the door closed behind you and approach the bed peeling back the covers and crawling in. You clutch his pillow close to your face and inhale, but no trace of him is there anyone, just the fresh linen and lavender of your detergent. Liam never left any imprint. There were no photos of him in your home, no extra clothes, or a favorite mug. He was a ghost. He had to be for the life he lived.

No one could know about him either. Your friends, family, colleagues, everyone thought you were going to end up alone, even you thought that yourself most of the time. His work was dangerous; he'd admitted that to you one night after you both realized it was becoming more. More than two people who fucked each other's pain away, more than two people who had an occasional meal together. Just more.

Liam wasn't one to put a label on things, but you knew you were his person, just as he was yours. The altogether fact making it more gut-wrenching every time he snuck out in the early morning on your fire escape without waking you. The ghost of a kiss on your forehead before you could even open your eyes.

You feel the tears stream down your cheek, and you bite your knuckles hard to prevent the sobs from overtaking. You loved him. You loved a ghost. Eventually, your tears subside enough for you to enter a restless sleep, continually tossing and turning. You dream of the life you want with Liam, something stable and normal. A life where the man you love is not a cold-blooded murderer. You barely hear the sound of the window opening over your tumultuous thoughts.

You keep your eyes shut tight and reach towards the nightstand where you know the knife is hidden. Liam had gotten it for you after he told you what he did, never wanting anyone to harm you because of his life. He'd taught you how to use it, sharpen, clean, and conceal it. The hilt is light in your hand, and you drag it beneath the pillow.

It could be Liam, you know, but the odds of it being someone else with nefarious intent enters your mind. The bed dips behind you, and you strike quickly. Your arm swinging low to slice open the belly of your possible attacker. Liam's voice ringing in your ears, "aim for an artery or the belly; they will bleed out faster that way."

"Fuck," Liam's voice hisses as he shoots back off the bed and meets your wild gaze. He flicks on the light on the nightstand and looks down at you. Knife poised in your hands the way he taught you and lip between your teeth, hair wild, and panting. "I don't know whether I should be proud or concerned that you almost stabbed me." You put the knife back into the nightstand, and he lowers his hands from the defensive pose.

"You could use the door, you know, like a normal person." He smiles at your annoyed tone and finishes removing his shirt as he had started. You reach forward and place a hand on his torso, "What's this?" Your fingers graze the gauze pad held on with tape, and he sighs.

"I got shot," he says it so casually, like someone telling you about a paper cut at the office.

"What?" Your voice is hollow, and he pulls your hands off him and sits down beside you. "What do you mean you got shot? How could you let someone get that close?"

"Y/N, it's a part of my job. Sometimes people get hurt at work." You feel the rage rise up in your chest, and you pull your hands away from him like a burn.

"You don't have a normal job, Liam. You are an assassin; you kill people. An accident at work for you could be your death. You don't make mistakes, ever. Now tell me what happened?" He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, and scoots back to lay against the headboard.

"It was nothing. Just some old friends who wanted to say hello. Don't worry about it."

You scoff, letting out an unamused chuckle. "Don't worry about it...how can you even say that?" You stand up and pace the floor of your bedroom. "Every single day, all I do is worry about you. You missed dinner again, and you want to know what I thought? That you're dead. You never call, text, hell, I'd be happy with a goddamn smoke signal! Anything to let me know you're okay. That you're alive." You throw your arms up in exasperation, and he watches you with those cold, calculating eyes from the bed.

"Do you want me to leave?" his voice is calm and quiet.

"No. No, I want you to stay with me. Move-in with me, go out to dinner, meet my parents. I want to be with you! Not spend every night wondering where you are. Worried you're being buried in an unmarked grave in the desert with a gunshot wound to the head. I just want you to be with me."

He looks at you, and your hands tremble; he suddenly looks so exhausted. His eyes droop, and his skin becomes pale. "Liam? Baby?" You surge forward and catch him before he falls off the bed, collapsing. You scream for him and lay him on his back, pulling off the bandage soaked with blood. "Shit, shit," you try to think of everything he's taught you, and you notice the knife sticking out of the drawer.

He's bleeding heavily, and you grab the knife and run to the kitchen turning on the flame on the stove. You pull down a bottle of Ever clear and take a quick swig cringing at the burn. You put the knife over the flame and watch it turn red, the flame flickering in your eyes. When it's hotter than hell, you walk quickly back to the bedroom and pour alcohol over the wound.

"I'm so sorry, my love," you whisper and place the knife to his stomach. The smell of burnt flesh fills the room, and he lets out a pained groan as the wound closes. You rush to the bathroom and grab the first aid kit doing your best to give it air before you patch him up.

You pull the chair close to his side of the bed and collapse into it. Holding your head in your hands. His breathing returns to normal, and his face, once scrunched up in pain, softens. You lean forward in the chair and reach for his neck, making sure he still has a pulse, and pull away relieved.

You stay up watching him for hours but eventually fall asleep, your eyes heavy with exhaustion. When you come too, a blanket has been draped over your body. The shadow of a figure is moving beneath it up and down. You clench around the fingers dipped inside you, warmth floods between your legs, and you hear hi sucking as your clit is pulled into Liam's hot mouth.

"Liam," you moan and pull the blanket off, revealing the predator devouring your body. "Baby, what are you doing?"

He doesn't respond, only quickening the pace of his fingers and licking at your pleasure point, making his tongue swirl just the way you like. Who knows how long he's been between your legs but his large hands move your thighs over his shoulders and pulls you closer. The cascade of pleasure erupts, and you're cumming on his tongue as he continues to work you through it. When you're shaking so bad you can barely speak, he lets go and gives you a soft smile from between your thighs.

"I'm thanking you for saving my life," he's quiet, and both of you are lost in one another's eyes. Until he moves up to kiss you softly. "Let me make love to you," he whispers against your lips, and you shake your head no biting on his bottom lip.

"We can't, your stomach," he cuts you off with another kiss before pulling back to your haunches.

"What if you rode me, baby?" You look at him wide-eyed, feeling more awake. Liam was always in control of every aspect of his life, including his sexual one.

You nod slowly as he gets up and lays down on the bed. You carefully straddle his hips taking extra caution not to touch the wound on his stomach. His hands reach forward and line you up with his cock. Guiding you slowly down onto him. You both moan at how well he fills you, the tight warmth of your cunt clenching around him.

He holds on to your hips, and you slowly rise up and almost pulling him out entirely and then impaling yourself down on him. The two of you moving in sync together as you chase down the high of being together. It's impossible to tell where he ends, and you begin both of you connected in such a way beyond the physical.

His eyes bore into yours as you rock faster and move a hand down to rub your clit. The other hand on his chest to brace yourself. "I'm close," he pants, tightening his grip with one hand and slapping away yours as he takes over, rubbing your clit. "I need you to cum with me baby, soak me with those delicious juices."

You feel your high reaching a boiling point, and he takes his hand off your hip and brings it to your chin, forcing you to look at him. The tears in his eyes have you slow down, but he bucks up into you, keeping up the pace. "Hey," he breathes heavy, "I love you." You feel the crash of ecstasy crash into you like the waves upon the sand. Him spilling into you at the same time, painting your walls with his cum.

"Liam," you cry out, "I love you." He smiles so brightly his entire face is illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. You fall to his side, being careful of his wound. His arm curls around you and brings you tight to his side, placing his lips on your forehead.

"Sleep," he whispers, "I love you."

"I love you, Liam," you yawn, "so much." Your eyes grow heavy, and everything darkens as you drift off to sleep.

In the morning, the bed is empty and cold. He's been gone for a while, you surmise, and your heart clenches thinking upon his confession. You knew Liam loved you, but that was the last time he'd ever said it. You get up to shower and clean up the mess from last night, knowing that whatever came next, all would be okay because he loved you and knew you loved him back.

******

Two days. He'd never gone that long without communication before, and those same feelings of fear begin to grow in the pit of your stomach. The doorbell shocks you out of your stupor, and you run to yank it open. A woman stands there, her arms folded behind her back, and you feel the tension in the air. Whatever she was here for, it wasn't good.

"Are you," she pulls out an envelope with your name on it and reads it to you.

"Yes, what can I do for you?"

"I hate to have to tell you this, but Liam is dead." The world stops spinning. Instead, you are now the dizzy one. Nausea rises in your throat, and you fall back into the apartment and land on the floor. A sob ripping from your throat, the woman stands awkwardly in the doorway. "I know this must come as a shock, but he left something for you." You look up at her in confusion, and she hands you the envelope. You take it from her hands and hold it close to your chest. Inhaling the scent of lavender and linen from your own bedding.

"I'll leave you to grieve. I'm sorry for your loss. I left the card for the medical examiner's office in the envelope if you wanted to make arrangements." She backs out of the door and shuts it disappearing down the stairs.

Your hands shake as you rip open the envelope. Liam's handwriting sticks out amongst the page, the slight curl of his letters. The one thing that was always distinctly him.

My love,

You told me last night that if anything happened to me, you would never know. But if you are reading this, then you'll know it has. I'm not one who can spout poetics and write you long letters filled with my undying love. So I will keep it simple.

I love you.

I want you to live your life. Fall in love, get married, buy the house, make babies, and forget me. I'm gone.

But for the moments, I was on this earth. I loved you, and only you.

Goodbye, my love,

Liam

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @xjaywritesx @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @lunarthoughts @aellynera @lucifer- @houseofthirst @phoenixhalliwell @chicken-ona-stick @agirllovespancakes

#liam nikita #Nikita #Female reader #Liam Nikita x reader #Pedro Pascal #Sleepy sex series #Autumn Writes

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galaxy-barnes · 3 years

Text

Near Ditmas Park

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: cheesy fluff!

A/N: @chase-your-dreams-away Dearest. Darling. My favorite slice of pepperoni. I love you to the Moon and back, and there's not a day where I'm not grateful for your friendship, your support, your love, your presence in my life. You make me happy beyond words. Happiest of Birthdays to you! 💕🎂

There were many things you never imagined doing in life - like dating Steve Rogers.

The first date was shy, a little awkward, too. A coffee spilled by shaky hands, but at least it gave you something to laugh about. And a good reason to meet up again. You still remembered vividly, although it was over three years ago now.

You and Steve have been through a lot, and it wasn’t always easy. But when it was evident that this was something more than a few dates, and your visits started to become more frequent, the Avengers welcomed you with open arms to stay with them.

As much fun as that was, recently, it became tiresome, too. You needed your own space, that was clear. Moving out - together - seemed to be the next logical step, and the team supported you, too. Sealed a deal on a house in Brooklyn, near Ditmas Park. It needed some fixing, sure, but nothing a super-soldier couldn’t handle.

After spending the past few weeks cleaning and planning out the layout of the rooms, you finally started painting the walls. There was so much space now. Steve called dibs on the extra room on the ground floor to turn into a study, and you happily agreed to it. It’s window looked directly to the backyard, too, and he loved the idea of painting by it. While the previous owner clearly did not like gardening at all, the grass was well-kept, if a little plain. For now. You already had plans on filling the garden with your favorite flowers.

But right now, your attention was on Steve. You watched as he dipped the paint roller in the bucket next to his feet, an ease and carefreeness in his every movement. It was hard to believe how peaceful he looked.

A part of you still had doubts, even after all these weeks of working on the house together. The thought of Steve putting down the mantle and passing on the shield for real seemed like a joke to most - but there was an ache in his very bones that he only let you to see.

It was you with him in the dark when the night was riddled with terrors. It was you who kissed his brow and hugged him close, whispered him back to sleep. The media took the news with mixed feelings, but Steve had already made up his mind, and as unsure as he was at first, Sam agreed on carrying on his legacy.

You didn’t realize you drifted off and were staring too long until a few drops of paint landed on your nose, breaking you out of your reverie.

“Hey!”

Steve watched with a grin as you wiped your face. “You looked pretty far away. Care to tell me what were you thinking about?”

“Nothin’” you mumbled.

“Liar.” he laughed, flicking another handful of paint at you.

You gasped. He did not just do that.

Reaching for your brush, you were ready to retaliate, but he sprinted out of the room, cackling as he ran down the stairs. You ended up chasing each other around the house, the both of you covered in paint by the end of it - but the smiles on your faces made it worth it, and Steve’s carefree laughter was now imprinted on your heart.

It was all blissfully perfect until the next morning, when you received a call for an assignment. Even though you were no Avenger, your work was still important - and they requested you personally, although you made it clear you won’t be taking on any cases in the next few weeks.

They insisted until you agreed to think it over, and while you wanted to fight it, Steve seemed strangely at peace and encouraged you to accept.

Snuggling closer to him as you lay in bed, you laid your head on his chest, still hesitant. “Are you sure about this?”

He hummed, holding you close. “Bucky and Sam already offered to help with the furniture. We’ll get everything set up by the time you’re home, don’t worry.”

You looked up at him with a sad pout. “But I wanted to be here too.”

“I know.” He leaned down, pressing a soft, quick kiss against your lips. “But it’s only for a few days, and the house will be ready to be moved in when you get back. Trust me, you don’t want to be near when Bucky tries to assemble furniture. He can’t even make out IKEA instructions. ”

You had to laugh at that, heart already feeling lighter. “Alright. I’ll let you guys have your fun then.”

Four days. Four days of nothing but conferences and meetings to sit through and oversee, but they were finally over. Steve came to pick you up at the airport, and now you were next to him in a car, on your way home - home, to your new house. Steve made sure to call you whenever he could and thanks to Sam, you were now in possession of a video of Bucky dropping a hammer on his feet - even so, you couldn’t wait to see how everything turned out.

“Excited?” Steve asked with a smile as you got closer.

You nodded. “Yeah. I still can’t believe it’s ours.” you said, looking out the window, watching the tall buildings of the city centre replaced by cozy houses.

As the car came to a stop, you were ready to jump out and run inside, but Steve stopped you.

“Wait! You, uh… you can’t go in yet.” he said, and you saw his cheeks tinted pink as you turned to him, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“What do you mean I can’t go in? It’s our house, Steve.” you said playfully.

He dropped his head with a laugh. “I know, baby.” When he lifted his gaze to you, his blue eyes were dotted green with mischief. “But there’s something I want to show you. It’s a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Steve, we planned everything together. What can you possibly surprise me with?”

“Just humour me, okay?” he asked, and how could you say no to those puppy eyes he gave you. With a huff, you agreed, letting him hold your hand and lead you up to the front door.

“Okay. Close your eyes.”

You gave him one last look of doubt but complied, listening to him fumbling with the keys. When he finally opened the lock, Steve gently took your hands, guiding you inside. “Careful now.” he said, stopping only to close the door behind you. “Just follow me, okay?”

You sighed, still not sure what he was up to, and it was getting a bit annoying. You worked on the house together. Planned out everything together. They sent you photos of everything while you were away. There was nothing to hide, unless…

You stopped dead in your tracks.

“You broke my mother’s vase, didn’t you?”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve burst out into vivid laughter so suddenly that it left you embarrassed, cheeks heating up and a pout on your lips.

“Sweetheart,” he giggled as he kissed the pout away. “The vase is safe in the room upstairs. Don’t worry.” he managed, tugging on your hands again. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

Reluctantly, you let him lead you again; felt the carpet disappear from underneath your feet as you stepped out onto the small porch in the backyard, then the soft grass. You were about to complain again when you noticed a sweet, rosy fragrance on the air. It felt familiar, but you couldn’t quite remember it. With knitted brows, you took a deep breath, trying to recall it.

Steve saw your confusion and with a chuckle, pressed a soft kiss on your forehead. “You can open your eyes now.” he whispered.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp.

Where there was only grass before, now large bushes of peonies lined the sides of the garden. White, pink, and some the color of dark rose - and all of them in full bloom, just for you.

They were your favorite, and Steve knew this… but it still took your breath away that he’d prepare something like this. It was beautiful.

“Steve, how did you… and when?” you turned to him, a few tears welling up in your eyes.

He shrugged, pulling you into a hug. “I talked with a gardener weeks ago. Nat was supposed to take you out for a nice long shopping trip, but then they called you over for that conference… it was the perfect opportunity.”

You couldn’t believe it. He had it all planned. Just for you.

He cupped your face, thumb gently caressing your cheek as leaned down to kiss you. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #vidra's writing

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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

Text

Holy Ground - Chapter 4

The one where Andy seems to have lost everything, but he’s not ready to give up.

A terrible car accident ruins Andy Barber’s idea of a perfect life. But if the love’s still there, why wouldn’t he retrace the steps that led him to his happy ending? After all, the best love stories were made to be written more than just once.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist and if you’d like to be tagged on my following Chris Evans and characters stories, just fill out this form.

A month had passed and the dates continued. I’d take her to a small restaurant, we’d share wine and stories I already knew all about, before I had to take her back to the hospital and sleep by myself yet again.

She was making progress, they’d tell me. She was starting to remember things about her past, what happened to her parents, knowledge she had gained whilst in college. Even the name of some of her favorite students.

Nothing about me. Well, nothing of substance, anyway. Nothing that would make her realize we’ve been through all of this before, all of the first dates, first touches and kisses… So we kept on reliving it, and I kept hoping it would help her remember.

A month had passed and the doctors finally decided she could go home with me. We introduced her to the idea through a nice nurse that had become sort of a friend to her ever since she woke up.

From what I heard, she asked my wife if she’d like to spend the night with me after one of those dates we kept having, and after a fit of giggles, she admitted that she did. And so that night, when I picked her up, I knew there was the possibility that I might not be sleeping alone tonight.

I couldn’t really focus on that thought. I didn’t want to create expectations only to be left feeling empty and alone when I got back to that large, cold bed. And so I focused on her, on how happy she seemed to be, spending time with me.

I took her dancing that night, and it’d been so long since I’d seen her look so ecstatic. She’d always loved to dance, and I loved any excuse to have her body tightly pressed against mine. But even when I had to step away to get us drinks, she kept her body slowly moving to the beat of the song, smiling with her whole face when her eyes met mine.

I never wanted her to stop dancing. But when she looked up at me from under her eyelashes, gaze so uncharacteristically shy, I couldn’t stop myself from licking my lips at her quiet invite.

“Do you want to take me home?” She couldn’t understand the impact those words had on me. Home. She wanted me to take her home. We couldn’t arrive there fast enough. I watched with intense gaze as she stepped foot in the house we’d decorated together, taking notice of the way her eyes looked at the details, the paintings she had chosen, the colors of the wall we had painted together.

I’d fucked her right on the floor of this living room more times that I could count.

“Do you like it?” I asked, and she nodded somewhat timidly, like she didn’t think she fit there somehow. The thought concerned me almost as much as it infuriated me. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

When she shook her head, I smiled patiently at her, waiting for her smaller frame to approach me so I could cradle her face between my hands. “Do you want to go upstairs?” This time she nodded, even though my question was barely over a whisper. We were close enough for her to understand it.

I kissed her then, eager to touch her, to taste her lips and caress her body. I absentmindedly thanked myself for the fit of rage that had me breaking all of the picture frames inside the house weeks ago. That moment of vulnerability stopped me from freaking her out tonight.

She hid her face in the crook of my neck as I carried us upstairs, just like she always did whenever we were going to bed - both to sleep and not at all. And then, after I’d put her down on the floor and reached for the edge of her dress, she stopped my movement with a gentle hold on my wrist.

“I-I’ve never done this before.” And it hurt. It hurt because she had, I’d been the one to take her virginity a few years ago. The memories from that time flashed before my eyes as I looked at the face of the woman I loved and saw another version of her, one that I’d yet to uncover. “But I really want to do this with you.”

Her words brought some comfort to my desperation. I leaned down to cover her lips with mine again, allowing my hands to roam all over her body and in seconds, her dress was on the floor.

“You’re so beautiful, darling.” She looked flushed, but if from the compliment, my heated gaze or her own desire, I couldn’t tell. And in that moment, I was taken by the realization that it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that she couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter because it happened, and she was mine. She was mine back then and she was mine now. She had chosen to be with me right now, and I was gonna make the most out of this experience.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” I asked when she was completely naked and sprawled out on the bed before me. I was down to my pants too, and I got rid of those before I got down to my knees, desperate to have her taste on my lips again.

“Andy, that feels so good.” Shivers went down my spine at the feeling of her nails raking over my scalp before she managed to get a grip over my hair, pulling on it whenever I twirled my tongue around her clit.

“I’ll alway make you feel good, sweetheart.” My cock pulsed inside my boxers, and still all I wanted to do was lick her up, drown myself in her taste. I’d spent too long without her wetness, I needed to get it imprinted on my lips again.

She cried out when I filled her with two of my fingers, and I remembered she thought this was her first time. “You like this, darling?” After she nodded, I pressed on, “Does it hurt?” She shook her head, clearly unable to speak, and so I got back to the apex of her thighs, licking and sucking on her little nub until she was shaking underneath me.

“It’s alright, baby.” I always had to coax her orgasm for the first times we’d laid together, her being too inexperienced and unfamiliarized with the sensations coursing through her body. “I got you. Cum for me.”

I watched hypnotized as she threw her head back while she clenched around my fingers, and I felt tempted to climb up her body and mark that pretty little neck she had exposed with a hundred million love bites, but I didn’t. I didn’t want her to feel pressured, feel like my weight on top of hers was me hurrying her process just so I could fuck her.

But I didn’t need to worry, because as soon as her eyes were open again, she reached out for me. “Come,” she called, tiny hand grasping for mine. “Want you inside.” I’d always found adorable how she cut down her sentences when she was eager for me, and witnessing it again only added to the desire I felt for her.

I climbed up on the bed and reached out for her other hand, keeping both of hers clasped on mine as I fused us together. I’d almost forgotten how it felt to be inside of her. This connection… It went beyond the sexual, it felt spiritual.

I kept holding her hands as I started to fuck her, losing myself to the feeling of being this close together again. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in, and I only let her go when she pried her hands away to claw at my back.

“Shit… Take my cock so well.” It was gentle, the way I thrusted in and out of her, easily finding that spot that had taken me a while to discover back when we started having sex. But it was also desperate - I was desperate. A part of me really believed I’d never get to have her like this again, never get to share this sort of intimacy with her, cherish her body, give her pleasure.

But here we were.

“You like that, huh?” I couldn’t help but tease, hearing her passionate moans reverberating across our room. I already knew she did. I knew just what she liked. But when she moaned my name as a response, I almost lost it right then and there.

It was the best kind of torture. Being this close and still having to keep some part of me intact, remembering that she still hadn’t given every part of her in return. I didn’t want to hold back. I wanted everything with her, once again.

It didn’t take much to bring her to climax, and hers elicited mine, like she always did. When it was said and done, I made sure to cuddle her just like I knew she needed, especially considering this was the first time she remembered doing this.

“How was it?” I asked, kissing her temple as I caressed her skin, relaxed in the knowledge that I’d fall asleep hearing her heartbeat against my chest. “Did I manage to make it great for you?”

She pushed away from me just enough to meet my eyes and smiled. “It was perfect.” But once she readjusted herself against my chest, she still commented, “I thought it would hurt more.”

A bittersweet smile took over my features, but thankfully she couldn’t see it. In fact, I watched as she fell asleep on my arms, muttering an “I love you” that would probably still freak her out if she’d heard right now.

I couldn’t imagine a world where I wouldn’t get to share a bed with her anymore. So that night, for the first time in a while, I didn’t feel alone as I closed my eyes and followed her into Morpheu’s arms.

#my series #andy barber smut #smut #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber reader insert #andy barber reader #andy barber reader inserts #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber fan fiction #andy barber imagine #andy barber angst

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scxrlettwxtches · 4 years

Text

[11:45p.m.] kiss in vehicle + missing each other | hwang hyunjin

warnings: heavy making out, suggestive

requested: yes!

a/n: how did this get so long oh my o_O anyways, i really hope you like it, anon! i was shamelessly projecting with this one, and i had a lot of fun writing! <3

The most unusual part of the drive back to your house was how silent it was.

Hyunjin and you were never silent, especially in the car. You loved to play music, either stealing the aux cable from Hyunjin by distracting him with a kiss or turning on the radio and waiting to see what would play. You loved to sing, and Hyunjin loved to harmonize with you. He loved to prattle on and on about his day, his dance practice, the periods when he was in a different class than you, and you loved to listen intently, clinging on to every word.

But this time, the only noise filling the car was the ambient humming of the engine as Hyunjin drove down the quiet streets.

Neither of you could think of anything to say. Both of you have spent all day trying to avoid approaching this topic, but neither of you could truly stop the moment from happening.

Because despite all the loving hugs, kisses, and sweetened words, none of it was going to change the fact that the two of you were heading to opposite ends of the world when morning came. Hyunjin was accepted into a prestigious dance academy in California, and you...you were going abroad, wanting to explore the world firsthand rather than read about it from a textbook.

The car ride was totally silent, but that didn’t stop you from shamelessly gazing at the love of your life, trying to take in every one of his features, imprinting it in your brain in case this would be the last time you would ever be able to look at him so freely and without restraints. Maybe by the next time you met up, he would be dating or married to someone else. Maybe, by the next time you met up, he wouldn’t be your Hyunjin anymore.

Your boyfriend pulled into your driveway with practiced ease, having done this basically as a routine for the better part of his junior and all of his senior year. He’d take you out sometime in the afternoon on weekends or even weekdays if he made a strong case to your parents, and he’d have you back home before midnight as he had promised every time.

As he stopped the car, both of you refused to make the first move. Technically, it should’ve been you, because you were the one that needy to get out of the car and walk into your house, but you couldn’t. How could you, when you knew that this would be the last time you could see Hyunjin like this for a year, maybe more?

Like you, Hyunjin was having trouble putting his thoughts together, too. Now that he couldn’t divert his attention to driving, his hands fumbled around nervously, not knowing what do with them. On a normal day, they would be on you the moment he turned off the car, touching you in some way, whether it be hands on your waist, your soft cheeks, your neck, anything. But now, he didn’t know what to do, especially when you looked like you were teetering on the edge of a breakdown and, honestly, he was too.

“Did you pack?” Hyunjin asked, finally forcing his voice to work, although it felt hoarse and difficult.

“Yeah, I finished everything last night,” you answered softly, looking down at your legs as you played with the hem of your skirt. God, people walking past your car might’ve assumed that you two were basically strangers, not a couple that’s been together for almost two years.

Hyunjin nodded, letting the conversation stall, “That’s--um--that’s cool.”

Somehow, the sheer awkwardness, the slight stumbling over his words brought a small smile to your face. It made things feel almost normal again, like the way Hyunjin would act like he was the playboy of the century and then get suddenly flustered the moment your lips brushed his cheek.

“Are you packed?” You returned the question softly, daring to look up at him as you asked.

“Yup, although mom did most of the work.”

“That’s no surprise. Your spacial organizing is abysmal.”

“H-hey!”

The two of you fell into an lighthearted banter, and you were almost surprised about how genuinely easy it was to shift back into a norm with him. Feeling embarrassed, feeling like you’ve just been petty, spending your last moments together pouting rather than really relishing every second, you opened your mouth to apologize just as Hyunjin did the same.

“Hyunjin--”

“I’m--”

You looked up at him, startled before you burst into giggles, “I’m sorry,” you said, covering your mouth, “You first.”

Hyunjin wore a dumbstruck expression on his face, gazing at you as if you were the most precious person in the entire world, and unbeknownst to you, that was exactly who you were to him. He shook his head, still staring at you, “No, please, you first.”

Playing with your fingers, you struggled to find the right words to say. I’ll miss you? Have fun? I’m so proud of you? Please don’t forget me while you’re away? None of them sounded right, and as your eyes gazed into Hyunjin’s, you confessed, “I...I don’t know what to say.”

A part of you grew nervous, expecting Hyunjin to scoff or be disappointed with how inarticulate you were being, but he let out a soft, awkward chuckle, “Honestly, I don’t either.”

You smiled at that, and the car was once again filled with silence, although it didn’t feel suffocating anymore. It was familiar, reminding you of the peacefulness you’d feel whenever you slept over at his place, huddled under his duvet and facing each other, gentle smiles adorning your faces.

The two of you gazed at each other, the longing, the sadness, and the love all conveyed through the dim twinkle in your eyes. It spilled out and out until the silence burst, your feelings overpowered the awkwardness of untimely goodbyes, and suddenly, neither of you could control yourselves.

Hyunjin acted first, as he always did, but you weren’t far behind him, tilting your head to the side, a perfect angle for him to turn and press his lips firmly against yours. Your hands ceased their nervous fiddling of your skirt and moved to cup his cheek, feeling his chiseled jaw and his soft skin under your fingers.

It was slow and languid, as if time had stopped and the only thing that mattered was this, Hyunjin’s lips against yours, his hands caressing your soft hair, carding his fingers through it. You loved this, you loved the way Hyunjin made you feel, the bubbling of joy and safety that you always felt when you were with him. This was familiar, the gentle push and pull between the two of you, not rushed in the slightest.

Then, Hyunjin slipped his tongue into your mouth, causing you to let out the softest, most innocent moan, and the atmosphere changed instantly. Hyunjin’s hands trailed down, his fingers gripping your waist as he suddenly began urging, guiding you over to his seat. What could you do other than give in? Especially when his lips had begun to suck eagerly on yours and when his tongue explored your mouth with newfound vigor.

You clambered over just as Hyunjin moved the seat back to give you more room. You settled on his lap, gasping for breath before diving back in for more. Hyunjin was happy, elated to oblige your silent demands.

The kiss was oh so different now. The urgency you felt, as if every second that passed was just stolen time, and the borderline desperation Hyunjin felt, a desire to touch you until the last possible second, to feel you against him, kissing him, caressing his face. Anything you’d give him, he would take it like a starving man.

Neither of you stopped until you were truly at the precipice, teetering on the edge of falling in far too deep. It was then that you pulled away from your love, chest heaving as a thin trail of saliva connected his naturally plump lips to your kiss-swollen ones. His hands, which had been roaming over every part of you that he could--that he was allowed--to touch, had finally settled, finding a home in the curve of your waist.

You stared at each other, his eyes a shade darker than usual and yours probably glazed over with bliss. Hyunjin had never kissed you like that before, whether to preserve your innocence or to avoid making you uncomfortable, and you wanted more of it. You wanted him to kiss you like that again and again and again.

“H-hey, Y/N--no, no, no--” Hyunjin panicked as your eyes suddenly well with tears, and whatever dark, sultry persona you’d pulled out of him earlier vanished as he fumbled to find tissues in the middle compartment, dabbing at your eyes and making sure the makeup you’d put on for your date night wouldn’t hurt your eyes.

“I’m s-sorry--” you stammered, not having even realized that you were crying until you felt the wetness roll down your cheeks, “I’m sorry.”

“No, please don’t be, love,” Hyunjin cooed, using that cajoling, gentle tone of voice he would whenever you had trouble sleeping or when you refused to take breaks during your most stressful days, “You have nothing, absolutely nothing, to be sorry for.”

“But, we promised that we wouldn’t cry,” you said, your voice wobbly as Hyunjin continued to dab delicately at your tears, “We promised, and now I’ve just gone and ruined it--”

“Y/N, when have I ever kept my promises about not kissing you as much in public, or not buying you presents on a whim?”

“N-never?”

Hyunjin giggled, wiping a stray tear with his thumb as he pecked your lips, “Exactly. Our promises are meant to be broken,” he hummed, resting his forehead against yours, “And please don’t be disappointed, but I also feel like bursting into tears right now, too.”

You choked out a laugh, bringing your hand to his cheek, “You’re such a dork,” your smile was shaky, not quite your happiest one, but it was as happy as you could feel when saying goodbye to the love of your life.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you mumbled, stroking his cheek with your thumb.

“I’m gonna miss you, too, darling. So goddamn much,” Hyunjin’s hand once against on your waist tightened slightly as he held you closer, and before your true fear could spill out of your lips, Hyunjin beat you to it.

“You...you won’t forget about me, right?”

It was almost endearing, the revelation that your greatest fear for the future was actually Hyunjin’s as well. In some way, it reassured you. It confirmed the feelings in your heart, showing that he truly cared for you in the same way you did for him.

And in the end, that was enough for you.

Reaching for his hand, you wrapped your pinkie lightly around his, and with a gentle smile, you murmured, “I will never forget you, Hyunjinie.”

“That’s a promise.”

#inkidz #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz oneshots #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin scenarios #hwang hyunjin blurbs #skz blurbs #skz x y/n #skz x reader #my fics

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orionlakehastodie · 3 years

Text

Caspian, Jason and Showers

A Bensie NSFW Fic

Inspired by the following cute things I picked up on interviews:

1.Jessie had a Prince Caspian poster on her wall as a kid

2.Ben knows Jessie's mum calls her Jason

WARNINGS: Bit of Dom! Ben

Jessie didn't want to say that she had a big crush on Ben as a thirteen year old when Prince Caspian came out because that would mean admitting that her first orgasm was humping her pillow imagining she was humping him.

She had gotten over the crush, was 100% sure that she was over it, so when he walked into a room, and smiled at her and she got so, so wet immediately after she knew she was fucked.

So is it any wonder that he's now here, in her childhood home, spending Christmas with her mum shirtless on her bed?

They agreed to not have sex, not while her parents and her brother are in the same house, but seeing Ben interact with her mum and help her dad carve the turkey and listen with apt interest with her brother's mundane prep school life just turned her on so much.

He was such marriage material her pre-historic hind brain is screaming at her womb to get filled by this beautiful man who laughed so loudly and so genuinely and made her family love him.

For goodness sake, she thought, smiling down at him as his dopey smile appeared as she pulled off her shirt revealing her ratty but comfortable sports bra.

"I love you." His eyes dart up to her at that point in time, and that was a feat in and of itself because Ben loves her tits, and he opens his arms wide and she falls into his chest with a laugh and snuggles against her most favorite place in the world - his neck.

His arms tighten around her and he peppers the top of her head with kisses.

"And I." Kiss. "Love." Kiss. "You." Kiss. "Jason". She laughs as Ben blows into her ear at the last word and trails a hand down to pat affectionately at her bum.

She playfully twists his nipple at the jest and he laughs, that wonderful heartfelt, tinkling laugh of his - and she realizes since meeting Ben, all her days were filled with laughter and sunshine.

"If you ever call me Jason while we're making love I'm going to dump you. I don't want to remember my mum when you're balls deep in me."

His hands start to knead at her bum now, covered only by her reindeer themed pajama shorts, his fingers trailing closer to the edge of the cloth.

"Oh my you were not joking about the Caspian poster. It's right over your bed."

She feels heat crawl up her cheeks as she lifts her head from his neck and turns to see his poster, in a perfect view of the bed. From this point it looks like he was looking right at you.

"Yeah... well..."

He picks up on her tone, because Ben knows her so well and his eyebrows cock up. "Jason. Naughty little Jason."

"Don't even- Ben!"

He rears up and flips them over, slotting his hips in between hers, his semi rubbing against her core.

"Jason, did you or did you not, fuck yourself on this bed while thinking of me?"

She shoves at his chest, blush spreading down to her chest. "Oh this is so embarrassing."

Ben laughs and takes Jessie's hand, kissing all her fingers before quickly tugging on the waistband of her shorts and slipping it down. She was bare underneath, her thighs sticky from her arousal.

Ben's eyes darken as she lay in her childhood bed, in nothing but her ratty sports bra, with his poster on the wall.

"Such a beautiful pussy." His fingers reach out to tap at her clit, once, twice, and she bites back a moan.

"I can't be quiet Ben."

It was true. One time on set Archie passed out on the spare bedroom in Ben's apartment in Budapest and when morning came he glared at the both of them for keeping him up until 4 in the morning on a 7:30 call time.

Sex with Ben can never be a quiet experience. He was too big, and long. And he knew just where to thrust to make her come. And she would come until her mind was numb and all she knew was the feel of his cock spurting inside her, filling her.

"It's okay. I won't fuck you. I want you to show me. Show me how you fucked yourself to a picture of me."

He takes her hands again, guiding them to her core.

Shit. That was so hot. And he smiles at her again, that lethal smug Ben smile as her breathing picked up and he slipped his own hands inside his boxers to pull out his thick cock.

She rubbed at her clit hard as he traced a thumb through his glans, spreading the precum.

Her eyes go to his face, but his eyes are trained on her pussy.

"Spread those lips for me, fuck. Show me that pussy. Jessie, love, fuck."

Ben never gets like this, but fuck if he wasn't so hot right now.

She takes both hands and spreads her lips apart, feeling her arousal spill from her tiny hole and trail down her ass.

"Fuck." Ben's voice growls as he reaches with a finger to catch the slick dripping between her pussy and her ass and brings it to his mouth.

"Fingers, inside you now. Two. Spread yourself please darling.

She was panting now, definitely panting as she inserted two fingers inside her and watched as Ben gripped his cock tightly.

"Ben. Oh God, Ben."

Her other hand rubbed frantically at her clit, she was so close, so close.

"Did you say my name? Did you say my name Jessie, when you made yourself cum to me?"

"Yes. Oh yes."

"Tell me. Tell me what you thought I'd do."

She was so close. So close she was in that place where pleasure and pain blurred

"Ben please."

"Tell me. Tell me and I'll do it to you sweetheart, tell me."

"Fuck I imagined your cock. I imagined you slamming into me. Filling me. I... I imagined you sucking at my tits."

He growls and she feels the bed dip as he shoves her sports bra up and out of the way fingers pinching at a nipple. He pulls her hand from inside her cunt and she almost cries the peak so near, when he replaces it with his cock.

"Oh fu-"

He swallows her scream with his mouth, as shoves his cock inside her, in one smooth pass, assisted by her copious slick and notches right under her cervix.

Her back arches as his balls slap against her ass.

"FUck you're so tight, so wet, Jessie, look, look at how my cock fills you. You take it so well. So well."

She can see an imprint of his cock pop up in her tummy with every deep thrust. He has never been this deep in her before, never this hard, this big, and she was so near to the edge that it only took one flick of her clit to drive her over, her legs shaking around him, as she came.

She frantically seeks his mouth the scream building in her throat as he switches angles and hits her right there again, and again, and again until she's cumming again. Legs frantically trying to close, but Ben's hands are spreading them, lifting her shaking and all but biting her tongue to not moan out loud and pumping into her at a fast pace.

"Ben!" She opens her eyes, sees him focused on how her pussy swallows his cock. "Ben, I can't anymore. It's too much."

"One more. Just one more. You can come one more time for me."

His hands rub at her clit, his head ducks down to suckle at her breast and then she turns her head and catches sight of his poster and the sensations were all too much and she explodes, pussy spasming so tight she pushes his cock out and liquid spurting out of her like a geyser.

Ben holds stock still, mouth dropping, as his eyes, so dark now meet hers.

"Did you just squirt?"

She has no words, unable to catch her breath with her pussy still spasming so hard.

"Did your just fucking squirt? Fuck you're so hot, bloody fuck."

His hands paw at her batting her legs open and he licks traces of her liquid at her pussy and she shoves his head away, too sensitive for the assault of his tongue but Ben is relentless and she comes again and squirts for him.

"Ben, Jesus... I can't-"

But her words die in her throat as his cock plunges into her again. Moving at a reckless pace, not even pulling out, just grinding into her as he buries to the hilt.

"I'm going to fill you. I'm going to fulfill your every fantast."

She wraps her legs around his hips, helping him piston into her, and her hands grab at his ass.

"Come then. Come inside me Ben, please."

He thrusts once, and spurts in her, and she feels it deep inside her, so hot, so much, filling her insides.

He collapses on top of her, mouthing at her breast as he catches his breath.

Her fingers bury in his hair as she tries to at last catch her breath.

"I should..." Her voice comes out in a croak, and he laughs and she swats at his ass playfully.

"I will put up a poster of Caspian in our apartment. If it makes you into this sex God I'll even paper our apartment with Caspian."

He was becoming sleepy she can feel him grow heavier on top of her.

"Have you ever... come like that before?"

"Never. And don't you be smug about it Benjamin Thomas."

He grunts and rolls over, his cock slipping out of her, causing their mixed juices to spill out of her.

"I should clean you... but... so warm."

He settles her on his chest, hands rubbing soothing circles on her back and soon she too, feels the lure of sleep.

"I love you, Jessie."

She smiles, settling his cheek over his still racing heart. "I love you too."

#ben barnes #jessie mei li #bensie #darklina #i am a clown #i need to know when ben met jessie's mum and heard her call jessie jason #jessie's dad also knows ben #i need answers

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mightyhemsworthy · 4 years

Text

BEDTIME STORY (Henry Cavill x Reader)

Summary: Hearing Henry’s reading out the Witcher turned you on more than you wanted to admit. Word Count: 1767 Inspired by: this video, God have mercy on my soul Warning: smut, smut, SMUT Author’s note: Gosh, I’m so done with this man. I needed to write this out of my system, I hope you’ll like it. Please keep in mind that English is not my native language so I’m sorry for any kind of mistakes. I would be glad if I could read your suggestions or comments about my story! ♡

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU ALL! I HOPE ALL OF YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE AND GET WHAT YOU WANT. ♡

Henry was sitting in a black wind’s chair when you came to your room. Your towel was covering your body, while you were tried to dry up your hair with another one. Your eyes shoot up at him and you saw that he was reading the Witcher. It was part of his daily routine now since he finished the shooting of the series. He started to reread the books and it turned you on more than you wanted to admit. But you just couldn’t help not seeing his eyes as they illuminated with excitement, as his lips slightly parted while he read the lines. You were just watching him as his eyes soaked up the adventures of Geralt. He was so sexy and nerdy at the same time that your core started to pool with emotions that you tried to suppress.

“You like what you see, darling?” he started with a dangerously low voice and you involuntary rubbed your legs together underneath the towel. He noticed it, he noticed every single detail about you, even though you thought he didn’t.

You tried to turn away as you continued to dry your hair with the towel. This way you couldn’t see that a cheeky grin passed on his lips.

“The witcher rode slowly,” he started to read out the lines and you froze on your spot as you’ve heard his beautiful voice which was now filled with desire. He was like a predator, who tried to seduce and hunt you down just by using his voice. He wanted to leave your shyness aside and wanted to drive you insane with his words. He wanted you to beg. To form what you want. To form what you need. “without trying to overtake the hay cart obstructing the road.” he continued as you turned back towards him, now just standing there and watching him as he continued the story. “A laden donkey trotted behind him, stretching its neck and constantly pulling the cord tied to the witcher's pommel tight.” he looked up and seen the most beautiful woman ever, your cheeks were flushed, your hair was messy and wet after you’ve washed it. After seeing you a state like this it was hard for him to hold himself back, but he had to keep his composure.

“In addition to the usual bags…” he swallowed hard and started but you interjected.

“Henry, stop,” your voice was hoarse, trying to do something with your hands because you felt so uncomfortable just standing there, mesmerized by his voice.

“What’s wrong, darling?” he asked, looking at you with his beautiful eyes. Since you didn’t answer he looked back to his book and continued to read.

“The stranger was not old, but his hair was alm-“ you started to get closer and closer to him. You didn’t even know what you did until you were standing by his legs. His voice was haunting you that he could play your body like an instrument.

He stopped and looked at you once again.

“Henry, please…” you whimpered, so he put down the book and pulled you into his lap. He was looking at you with so much passion that his gaze was burning every inch of your skin. Not to mention his hands… oh, his hands. He firmly and delicately grabbed your ass which was so perfectly fitting in his lap. You moved closer to him and you could feel him getting hard underneath you.

“You can turn me on just by using your voice,” you whispered into his lips and he tried to suppress a smile, but it was impossible to do.

“How turned on are you right now?” he asked, slowly unwrapping the towel off your body as he was opening a gift. He wet his lips as his fingers found your core underneath the fabric. Due to his touch, you suddenly became wetter than you already were. He just hissed, pressing his lips together.

“Please,” you whispered; you were desperately trying to get some friction to satisfy your needs. He didn’t look at you, but he took back the book and started to read again.

“The stranger was not old, but his hair was almost entirely white.” he held the book in his one hand, while he started to caress you with his other one. You moaned at the sensation, how he stretched you with his fingers, how his voice was drenched with lust. His voice was so low, he was almost grunting as he was feeling every single movement as well. You could see his biceps bulging underneath his shirt, while he was working skillfully with his hand. “Beneath his coat, he wore a worn leather jerkin laced up at the neck and shoulders.” with every single word, he pushed. Your breath became faster and stuck in your throat as he was pulling and pressing with each sentence. You buried your head in the nape of his neck, moving forward thus giving better access to him.

“As he took off his coat,” he whispered into your ear, now using his hands faster, while he started to read in a raspy voice. “those around him noticed that he carried a sword, not something unusual in itself, nearly every man in Wyzim carried a weapon, but no one carried a sword strapped to his back as if it were a bow or a quiver.”

“Henry…” you moaned. You couldn’t even understand the lines now, you were just concentrating on his voice and hand. He suddenly put down the book and grabbed your neck to press a passionate kiss to your lips. He was firm and definite.

Your bodies moved in incredible sync, pushing and pulling. You were ripping off the shirt on him, as he grabbed your tights, standing up so he could lay you on the bed.

The two of you suddenly moved away, so you had the chance to see his figure. He was so broad and big that all you wanted to do is to explore his body. After all this time you still couldn’t get bored of him, you adored his body and he knew it well as you mentioned it every time.

“Gosh, destroy me with that body,” you uttered, which was so out of context that he started to laugh.

“Wait for a little, darling,” his voice was so filled with joy that you immediately smiled as you looked at him. He was finally naked, but your body was still somewhat hidden. His whole body tensed up, as he pulled the whole towel and tossed it to the floor.

“Much better,” he growled and took his right position between your legs.

“Henry, let’s just…” you couldn’t finish your sentence as you felt his lips and tongue already on your aching desire, trying to burst from the pleasure he was giving you. Heat washed your body over, as he was using his mouth to give you the best satisfaction he could, while his fingers started to search for your boobs and playing with them. You arched, giving better access to him and couldn’t help but let out a moan as how well he used your body.

“Let me hear it, princess,” he commanded, and you started to shiver at this word. His voice opened some places in you that you didn’t know it existed. Your whole body trembled, grabbing the sheets as he was pushing you over the edge more and more.

“Let me hear how much you like it,” your breath hitched at his words. “Let me hear how much you’re mine,” he continued, replacing his tongue with one of his fingers again. “And…” he started, pulling out and then pressing in with each word. “Only, mine.” as he finished the sentence you were done too. The world stopped for a minute as your whole body started to pulsate, sudden relief and pleasure burying you over. His name was like a prayer on your lips, you mentioned it over and over again, till you somewhat regained yourself after what he gave you.

Before you could react, he was already on top of you, pressing his body to yours, while he positioned himself between your legs. He looked at you, brushing a few hair strands out of your face, while he looked down to your lips… so softly, that it almost consumed you.

Then he looked deeply into your eyes, looking after your reactions. He couldn’t find anything but deep admiration, respect, and love. And he felt the same.

“I love you,” he started, getting closer and closer to your lips. “so much,” he added, before finally pushing into you. You cried out at the sudden sensation. Even though he gave the best warm-up he could, he was so long and wide that it took a few minutes to adjust to his size. But he filled you up so deliciously.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said, slowly and carefully moving so you could get used to it.

“It’s okay,” you whispered while you got lost in his touch. Your lips melted together, while your fingers caressed his slightly wavy hair. He was constantly touching you, make you feel appreciated, your jaw, your neck, your sides. It was the best kind of making love and no one could make you feel this way, only him.

Your second orgasm of the night already started to pool between your legs, as well as Henry’s. You could sense how his motion became a little bit sloppy and out of movement when the two of you reached the skies together.

He grunted as he reached the top, grabbing your waist which would surely live an imprint on you, but you couldn’t care less, as you approached as well. His name was in your prayers again, while he continued to move a little bit to help you ride out your orgasm as well as his.

“I love you, too,” you said it back, constantly giving soft kisses to him. “I love you,” you repeated over and over, till he started to chuckle.

“I love you too, princess,” he said in an incredibly satisfied way as he got what he wanted. You were a moaning mess for him, who got what she needed. “I should read to you more often if I know this will be the end,” he added, and you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“I agree with you, Mr. Cavill,” you said as you moved your positions and now you were top of him. “I agree…” you murmured as you pressed another kiss to his lips, which was just the beginning of the night.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill fanfiction #my writing #nicole speaks #aghahhghag #my writings #mightyhemsworthy #im DYIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING #i want to know what yall think

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kalypsichor · 4 years

Text

two of us [ paul mccartney x reader x john lennon ]

summary: Nothing could have prepared Paul for what he sees when he opens the door. There are papers all over the floor, as though someone had swept them all off in a hurry. But that’s not what catches his eye. It’s the sight of you, bent over the desk so prettily on your elbows while John fucks you from behind.

prompt: ok i loved your story BUT what if professor mccartney DID walk in on them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) warnings: threeway, oral sex, s e x, some spanking, professor kinks galore, little bit of voyeurism

well. here’s the mclennon sandwich y’all asked for. part two of this

Something is… off with John.

Paul has never seen his boyfriend so distracted. When they go out for lunch, Paul has to repeat what says two or three times before John snaps out of it and actually listens. And, not to toot his own horn, but Paul is pretty charismatic. It’s why so many bright-eyed freshmen flock to his art history classes, hoping to get a hour just listening to his voice, ogling his pretty smile… only to shuffle out with failing marks. Paul’s class is hard and he’s not afraid to be upfront about it—it’s not his fault if the students are too busy daydreaming about his eyes to listen.

Anyway, the point is that something has been on John’s mind. Paul is determined to figure it out, especially because whenever he tries bringing it up, John gets almost… flustered. And John Lennon does not do flustered. He’s usually the one making others blush. Together, they’re quite the pair.

It’s probably one of the other professors, Paul thinks. They have an open relationship, so Paul doesn’t mind. He just wishes John would tell him who it is that’s got his head in the clouds.

So, naturally, he decides to confront John about it. Paul calls his boyfriend after class and they agree to meet in John’s office before going out for the night.

It’s a Friday night, so any reasonable student would be out getting plastered for the weekend, not visiting professors for office hours. The halls are quiet, dark, dimly illuminated by the dying rays of sunlight outside. Paul’s footsteps echo rather loudly off the tiles as he walks towards the English wing. They’re the only sound in the building. Even the other professors have left, either to get a head start on grading essays or to do some of their own drinking, but he knows John has his office hours for another half hour. Putting them on a Friday afternoon is a rather stupid idea, though, since no one in their right mind would choose Thoreau or Austen over Dan’s Sports Bar. Or, so he thinks… until he nears John’s office.

He almost doesn’t hear it at first, but there’s definitely some noise coming from behind the door. Did John schedule a student appointment right before their own meeting? Paul can’t quite make out what it is, though, so he chances the doorknob. It’s not locked.

Nothing could have prepared Paul for what he sees when he opens the door.

There are papers all over the floor, as though someone had swept them all off in a hurry. But that’s not what catches his eye. It’s the sight of you, bent over the desk so prettily on your elbows while John fucks you from behind.

You don’t even notice the intruder at first. Your eyes are screwed shut, mouth falling open in little gasps and moans that go straight to Paul’s groin. John, though, sees Paul almost immediately.

“Hello, Paul.” John’s voice is a little strained, and the sound of it sends your head snapping up and gaping at the man standing at the doorway. “Or, is it Professor McCartney for you, sweetheart?”

John doesn’t even let up his pace so you can barely respond, the feeling of his cock slamming into you almost too much to bear. You should be embarrassed, should be trying to cover up or push Professor Lennon away, but something about the other teacher watching as you get fucked into the desk unravels a hot spool of arousal in your stomach.

“Pro-Professor!” It comes out more of a sigh, one that makes Paul’s grip on the door tighten. “I didn’t-didn’t see- fuck, John.”

Paul shuts the door behind him and steps closer, watching your eyes widen at his motions. Something about the situation settles deep in his stomach and becomes almost… normal. “She calls you John?”

“Only ‘cus I asked her to.” John buries himself deep into your cunt and stills for a moment, catching his breath. It makes you whine and push your hips back, begging for some friction. “You should’ve heard her the first time, Paul. Loved callin’ me Professor Lennon… think it turns her on. Doesn’t it?” John slaps your ass and you whine, nodding your head.

“Pretty little thing,” Paul murmurs. He walks up to the desk until he’s standing right over you and reaches out to cup your face. You lean into the touch, cheeks flushing a pretty pink, and when Paul presses his thumb to your lips they fall open willingly. He can’t help groaning as you suck on his finger, eyes searching his almost like they're looking for approval.

“She takes cock so well,” John says, smirking at the way his boyfriend is completely mesmerized by your mouth. When he starts making shallow thrusts, just pulling out an inch before rocking back into your warm cunt, Paul’s eyes snap to his with a heat he’s never seen before. “Can you take Professor McCartney too, hm? Let him fuck into your pretty mouth while I fuck your pretty pussy?”

You whine almost embarrassingly loud at the thought of both men filling you up. John slaps your ass again and then soothes the red mark with gentle fingers.

“Got to hear you say it, darling.”

It takes you a second, but you gasp out your response.

“Please, please- wanna suck you off, Professor McCar-ah, ah, John!”

You don’t manage to finish your sentence but Paul takes it and unbuckles his slacks. He doesn’t even bother kicking off his pants, just pulls his aching hard cock out of his briefs and rests it against your lips. They part for him easily and Paul’s eyes roll back at the feeling of your warm mouth engulfing his length. When he hits the back of your throat, he stills a moment before pulling out again and then sliding back in. Paul fucks into your mouth at a leisurely pace which is soon matched by John, who takes his cue to start fucking your cunt in earnest now.

The almost rhythmic sound of grunts and skin slapping on skin fills the office and turns you on so much it almost hurts. If it wasn’t for John’s hips drilling you into the desk, your legs would probably give out. There’s just something about the two professors filling you up on both ends, something about how filthy the situation is, that ramps up your orgasm almost alarmingly quickly. Tendrils of ecstasy roll through your body, from John’s cock hitting your sweet spot with every thrust to the ache of Paul driving his length in and out of your mouth. John starts speeding up, fucking you at a brutal pace with both hands leaving even harder imprints in your hips, and Paul matches him, tightening his grip in your hair. It’s so much, it’s too much, this tingling that’s sweeping from your cunt to the tips of your fingers that are grasping so hard at the edge of the desk, just trying to hold on.

You come with a high-pitched moan, muffled around Paul’s cock, and John follows right behind you, hips stilling as he comes into your still pulsing cunt. You fall onto the desk bonelessly, so tired that you don’t even notice when John slips out and tosses his condom into the bin.

The feeling of fingers probing at your still dripping folds draws a whine from you. You’re still sensitive from just orgasming. But these fingers are different from John’s, softer.

Paul brings his hand to his lips, humming around the taste of your juices. And then you’re gasping, a shudder wracking your body at the feeling of Paul’s blunt tip nudging your entrance. Your cunt is still aching but you already want more, already want to be filled again.

“Well, come on, darling. I think it’s my turn.”

#john lennon x reader smut #paul mccartney x reader smut #mclennon x reader #mclennon sandwich #beatles smut #kalwrites #🥪#professor au

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starkeristheendgame · 4 years

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Could you do a fic where Peter ends up using his safeword?🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Of course! Thank you sm for the prompt you sweet little bean ❤️ I’m gonna set this in a sort of grey-area between Homecoming and Infinity War, as a set-up for the use of the safeword. I hope you like it!

Stay safe, my lovelies!

“That’s it, sweetheart. Real good for me - Fuck, yes - Take it, baby”. Tony’s words are growled into his ear, backed by the warmth of his panting skimming the hinge of his jaw as fingers twist in his hair, tugging his head back. The sting is just the right side of painful, forcing him to arch his spine, to push his ass back onto Tony’s thick cock.

Post-mission fucking has become kind of A Thing these days, ever since Peter nearly got taken out during a mission and Tony had lost his shit, freaking out before pressing Peter down into their bedsheets, driving his cock so deep Peter could almost taste it.

They haven’t even made it to the bedsheets, this time. They’re not even home. The concrete of the floor scrapes his palms where he scrabbles for purchase, desperate for leverage against the brutal way that Tony fucks into him, like he’s nothing but a tight, hot sleeve for his cock.

“Still so loose and sloppy, baby. My cock really ruins you, huh? Leaves you open and gaping like you’ll never be tight again” and Peter cries out, because its so fucking good. Good enough that the dust and rubble around them almost doesn’t bother him. He’ll feel gross later, and demand a shower, but right now the thick, hard tip of Tony’s cock is abusing his sweetspot, and his mind is a mantra of fuckyespleaseharderohgod.

The hand in his hair stops pulling, and presses his face down into the dirt, hard enough that the floor is like sandpaper on his cheek. There’s a chunk of beam keeping his hips up enough for Tony to shift, forcing his legs together so his thighs are squeezed shut, and he’s trapped.

Peter’s heart ticks up a notch.

“Bet if I held off even for a day you’d come crawling on your knees, begging for it” Tony rumbled against his neck, teeth skimming the vulnerable skin there as he draped himself over Peter, pinning him down with all of his weight. Still wearing the suit - Its a considerable poundage to bear, Peter’s back and thighs instantly tensing with the strain.

It would be hot, any other time. In the safety of their own bed, with soft sheets and luxury pillows. Now, its dirt and dust in his nose and the darkness of the crumbled building around them, Tony’s weight squeezing his ribs down around his lugs, trapping his limbs so there’s nothing he can do except lay there.

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, breaking off into a sobbed gasp as Tony pressed him down harder, trapping his arms underneath his chest as he sank his cock deep into his plaint little body, forcing it to part around him, as deep as it seemed he could go and then even deeper.

“T-Tony” Peter rasped, whimpering and writhing under the larger man, sucking in heaving breaths as the trembled. Tony cooed at him, pressing his cheek down into the dirt, braced on his forearm as he squeezed Peter down.

“Fuck, darling. So tight. Like I’ll never get my fucking cock back” Tony snarled at him, words thick-sweet and breaking through the sudden roaring in his ears. Peter twisted and mewled, trying to get his arms out from underneath him, but Tony clicked his tongue chidingly and ground his hips down, shoving Peter back into the dusty concrete.

“P-Please. I can’t - Its too much, Tony” he rasped, trying to get the right words out between hitching sobs.

“Aw, poor baby. Still not used to taking it big, huh?” Tony cooed, patronising and full of faux-concern as he rolled his hips, grinding Peter into the dust like he was typing to leave an imprint of him there. Peter wailed and shook his head as much as he was able, ignoring the way that the rubble dug into his soft cheeks and rubbed the skin there raw.

“N-No. Tony I can’t...I...Ple- Huntsman” he manages on a broken cry, and in a movement too quick for him to even register, the weight lifted off him, gone in a gut-wrenching moment of relief. He was distantly aware of the slow, dragged slide of Tony’s cock pulling out of him, leaving him open and gaping and exposed.

“Hey, Pete, Peter. Hey, baby. I’m here. Stay with me” Tony breathed, kneeling down in the dirt besides him with his still-hard cock slapping against the pelvis plate of the suit smearing the gold there with cum and lube. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shifted, squirming in the dust to curl into a ball as he sucked in billowing breaths, trying to calm himself down.

“I’m sorry” he whimpered, tucking his arms around himself for protection. “I didn’t mean - It was...”. He can’t finish the words, can’t admit that even in the middle of getting dicked down by Tony, the Vulture haunted him. The feeling of his own crushed bones was a ghost he couldn’t shake.

“Oh, sweetheart. My precious boy. Its okay, you’re okay. You can breathe, in and out, nice and slow. In...Out. Good” Tony’s gentle, low murmuring was easy to latch onto, a strong contender against the hammering of his heart and the roaring of his rushing blood. He felt sick, dizzy, and before he even realised what he was doing, he was reaching out for Tony.

Warm, flesh fingers curled around his own, holding with careful tenderness. Peter forced his eyes to open a little and noted that the suit had bled away, leaving Tony on his knees in the dirt in the slacks and shirt he’d been wearing before Director Fury had come storming into the Tower.

“Am I okay to come a little closer?” Tony asked softly, and Peter gave a hitching nod, closing his eyes again as he shook on the floor, trying desperately to shake the feeling of being trapped, crushed. It felt like the slabs of concrete were still there, digging into his fragile skin, grinding his bones together.

“I’m here, baby. I’m right here” Tony shushed his increasing sobs, thumb gently rubbing the side of Peter’s hand, giving him plenty of space but sitting close enough that Peter could scent his cologne, his sweat from the mission and their fucking.

There was a scuffle, the sound of a belt, and then Tony was talking again, gently. “Hey, baby. Do you think you can put your head on my leg? The floor is all dusty” Tony soothed, and Peter sniffled but shifted, obligingly lifting his head enough that a thick, strong thigh could take up the space between his scraped cheeks and the dirt.

“There’s my good sweetheart” Tony praised, still gently rubbing circles along the side of his hand. Peter’s breaths were less laboured now, but he still felt hot and humiliated, embarrassment leaking into the space that the panic left behind.

“You did so well, darling. I’m so proud of you. You know that, right? My precious little darling. So good for me” Tony hummed, one hand hesitantly settling on his shoulder, featherlight and giving him plenty of time to express that he didn’t want it. He kept his touch light, thumb sweeping gentle arcs across the muscle.

“I’m okay” he sniffled, opening his eyes. Tony had tucked away his cock and was sat on his ass, body leaned slightly away so he wasn’t looming over Peter, gaze soft and concerned. “I’m sorry. I just - It was the dirt, and I couldn’t move, and it-”

“Hey, baby. You don’t have to tell me, okay? You don’t have to explain it. You did so well, you used your safeword and I’m so proud of you. Take deep breaths, baby. Nice and slow. We can stay here for a while”. Tony’s hand swept a little lower, brushing his hip, and Peter could feel the tickling coolness of nanotech blanketing his bare ass, covering his exposed hole, as light as his touch.

“How about when we get home, we have a nice, hot bath, hm? Bubbles, that smelly shit you keep bullying me into buying...”

“That you secretly like because you use it when I’m not there and think I don’t notice” Peter responded in a wet mumble, shoulders hitching slightly on a soft giggle. Tony had made a big show of fussing and sneezing and sniffing himself the first time Peter insisted on having a ‘proper’ bath, but the younger boy knew his mentor had secretly grown to adore them.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I still say if I wanted to smell like that, I’d go sit in a florists’ shop for a few hours” Tony shot back, but his voice was light and amused as he continued to pet at Peter, feeling the way the boy’s rabbiting heartbeat began to slow as he calmed.

“As opposed to smelling like grease and rust?” Peter asked, voice a little rough from his crying. It felt like they’d only been sat here for a few minutes, but when he caught sight of Tony’s watch, he knew it must have been at least half an hour since his freak out. When he shifted, he felt cold and sore, arousal gone and leaving discomfort in its place.

“You wound me” Tony huffed at him dryly, hand sliding slowly and carefully up into his hair, scrubbing through it gently and using his thumb to sweep aside clumps of dust and rubble. “You feel okay to get up, sweetheart?” He asked after a pause, and Peter nodded, groaning softly as he uncurled, he and Tony using each other to wobble to their feet.

“I’m -”

“If you say you’re sorry again, I will be forced to do something soppy and over emotive” Tony warned him, and Peter closed his mouth, flushing, before opening it again.

“Thank you” he said instead, and Tony gave him the most achingly sweet smile.

“Anything for you, darling” the older man murmured, ducking down to press a sweet, loving, gentle kiss to Peter’s mouth as his fingertips skimmed his hips, dragging the nanotech up and over his body, ready to take them both home.

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