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negans-lucille-tblr · 4 months

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My Worthless Love || Part Two

Summary: At first, Dean can’t believe his luck that he gets to date a porn star, but soon the cracks start to show, and Dean gets to see a totally different side to the industry that bursts his bubble and leaves him torn.

Rating: 18+

Part Tags: angst, mentions of sex, being used for sex, hints of foreboding, fluff, romance, heart to heart

Part WC: 2753

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Your POV

You’re still thinking about your date with Dean as you sit yourself down at your dressing table in front of your vanity, reaching for your hairbrush to detangle your freshly washed hair. You sigh heavily, wondering if he’ll get bored of you soon enough, and knowing there’s only so many times you can expect him to be a perfect gentleman before he gets bored and finds a girl who isn’t an idiot and will fuck him on the first date. But you’d promised yourself this time it would be different. This time, the guy you date will be different, and the only way to ensure that is to make him wait.

You think about that drunk guy you’d walked past who clearly recognised you, and you smile softly when you remember Dean moving to your other side to protect you from him. You remember Dean brushing it off as just a drunk man trying to hit on an attractive woman, and how he didn’t seem to bat an eye at any of the other men whose attention you’d grabbed that night or the two dates before that, either. Either you’ve been extremely lucky and Dean extremely naive, or he knows your little secret, and he’s just biding his time.

In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if the guy that works for him at his workshop – Justin you think you remember him saying – hasn’t pieced it together yet. Maybe Justin being a bit too friendly with a few too many women has been your saving grace this time. But it’s only a matter of time now. Dean’s going to find out eventually, and you’d rather that come from you. So maybe it’s time to come clean, and show him the side of you that you wish you didn’t have to.

Your phone ringing cuts through the silence of the room and the noise of your mind, and you realise that you’ve only been brushing one section of your hair the entire time you’d been in thought. Clearing your throat, you put your brush down and grab your cell, sighing slightly at the name that’s flashing on the screen.

“Hey, Dick, what’s up?” you ask, trying to sound more enthusiastic than you are.

“Hey baby,” he practically cheers down the phone in his usual over enthusiastic patronising tone he always speaks to you in. “Listen, sweetheart, it’s been three days, pressure’s on to take this job.”

You sigh heavily at the very reminder. You’d been so caught up in Dean recently, you’d actually forgotten about that.

“C’mon, baby, you know the deal. You refuse this and the company won’t hire you again, that’s half your work gone,” he tries to push.

“Dick, c’mon, you know I don’t like that guy,” you remind him, playing with a loose strand of cotton on your bathrobe.

“We’ve all gotta do jobs we don’t like doing, Y/N,” Dick replies a lot more bluntly this time.

“Dick,” you try to reason, already getting frustrated. “You know what he’s like… you’re meant to be looking out for me, not pushing me to work with assholes like that.”

“No, I’m meant to be getting you work, but I can’t fuckin’ do that if you’re turning down scenes left, right and centre. This affects my pay too, y’know,” he huffs. “Just be a big girl, suck it up and do one fuckin’ scene with the guy, okay?”

You purse your lips, not wanting to give in or even compromise, but you know that Dick is right. If you turn down this scene, then the company is less likely to book you for other scenes, and then you’ll barely have any work or money.

“Fine, but I want them to be clear on my limits list, okay?” you press, waiting desperately for Dick’s confirmation.

“Sure, I’ll make sure they get it. I’ll send you the details for the shoot in the morning, get some rest.”

You roll your eyes knowing he can’t see it and hang up, throwing your phone back down onto the dresser clumsily as you clench your jaw and try to calm yourself back down. Once again you focus on brushing your hair, moving on to applying your skin care as you try to distract yourself with thoughts about Dean once again. But it’s no use, Dick has officially put you in a bad mood, and the thought of your new upcoming job is keeping you on edge.

Your phone once again begins to ring, and you’re just annoyed enough that you snatch it up without looking at the screen first.

“What?” you bark down it.

“Oh hey, urm, sorry, is this a bad time?”

Instantly you relax a little upon hearing Dean’s voice on the other end, and you take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of your nose to relieve some of the tension there.

“Sorry, I thought you were someone else, what’s up?” you pry softly, trying to remain calm.

“I urm… I know it’s late, but I was hoping we could meet up and talk?” he asks awkwardly.

“Dean, it’s almost midnight, we were together like two hours ago, what’s going on?”

“I just really think we should talk about something,” he tries again.

Your mind is too much of a mess to figure out just what Dean might be talking about. Maybe he’s hoping a late night call will change your mind about not fucking him on third date. Maybe he’s finally ready to admit he knows your secret. Maybe there’s something else entirely, but either way, now you’re intrigued, and it’s certainly taking your mind off of Dick and your new job.

“I don’t wanna get dressed up again,” you argue with a sigh. “Look, just come to my place, I’ll text you the address.”

You figure your apartment is the best place to be. You can throw him out if the conversation doesn’t go the way you want it to, and it means you don’t have to make too much effort to get ready and go out at this hour. Though as you hang up, you realise you should at least put some clothes on under your robe, and maybe a touch of make up. The guy has never seen you not dressed up for a date, so he doesn’t need that shock at midnight.

You text him your address as promised and settle for putting on some simple sleep shorts and tank top under your robe, hoping if you look ready for bed, he won’t take too long and will leave again once he’s said whatever it is that’s so important. Pouring yourself a large glass of wine, you figure you’ll need it as you try your best to relax on the couch and await Dean’s arrival, wondering just what the hell he might want to talk about.

As you sit and watch Dean bouncing his leg and looking around your apartment for what might be the hundredth time, you consider breaking the silence yourself, starting to get a little irritated that he hasn’t just spat it out already.

“Really is a nice place,” he compliments for the fourth or fifth time; you’ve lost count now. “Much nicer than my apartment. Urm… what do you do again to afford something like this?”

As soon as Dean braves looking you in the eye after his bold question, you know exactly why he’s here and take a deep breath.

“I think you know,” you reply softly, your heart beginning to thud just a little bit harder as your mind now begins to race, coming up with all the different ways this could go from here. You’re more disappointed than you thought you’d be at the prospect of Dean being just another guy that’s discovered your secret and wants personal gain from it.

“I might’ve found out,” he confesses, clearing his throat and looking away as a blush begins to stain his cheeks.

“And?” you prompt, not able to tell from just looking at him exactly how he feels about it. You’re still not even sure how long he’s known.

“And I figured we should talk about it,” Dean counters. “Can I– Can I get a beer or something, my mouth is like… really dry,” he starts to fluster.

“Sure,” you nod softly, getting up to head over to the fridge in the kitchen, glancing back over your shoulder as you watch him bouncing his leg even more violently than he had been.

Clearly the guy is nervous about the whole thing, but he must realise he’s got the upper hand here, right? You’re the one that’s been caught out in a lie here – Not a lie, just a half truth, you remind yourself as you twist off the caps of both beers and make your way back over to the couch. You hand him his beer and smile nervously at him, before sitting back down, telling yourself that you didn’t exactly lie at any point about what you do for a living.

You’d gotten good at avoiding the subject over time, and that didn’t change on your dates with Dean. You’d let him talk about his garage and fixing cars, and then distract him with more questions about himself before he could ask you what you do in return. And it’s not like you wouldn’t have ever told him. If things were going to start looking like they were getting more serious, you’d have come clean eventually. It’s just not exactly a good first date conversation, and you wanted to be sure that he actually liked you and not just the thought of you.

“So how long have you known?” you pry, focusing on playing with the edge of the sticker on your bottle.

“I found out tonight, after our date,” he confesses.

“Was it that guy that recognised me?” you wonder, wanting to know just how you’d given it away.

“No, but that and the guy walking into the door does make a lot more sense now…” he half laughs, though you can tell he doesn’t actually find it all that funny, so you’re not off the hook just yet. “I urm… well, I was kinda gonna… y’know… blow off some steam, and I accidentally found you.”

Dean’s cheeks only turn darker yet, and you almost find it cute that he’d be so embarrassed about that given what you’re talking about and who he’s talking to.

“I see,” you nod, finally understanding. You’re not exactly one of the big names, so you realised the chances of him finding you accidentally were slim, but not impossible, and if he really had no idea who you were before that, maybe this is some cruel twist of fate that he’s found out this way. “So, let me guess,” you sigh, sitting up a little straighter. “You found out what I do for a living and now you’re wondering why a professional slut wouldn’t even put out for you on the third date?”

You realise that your accusation is a little crass and a whole lot unfair, but you’ve been down this road with guys before. As soon as they’ve found out about your job, they’ve changed. As much as you’d like Dean to be the exception, you’re not holding your breath that he will be. You bravely look him right in the eyes when he doesn’t immediately answer, noticing them widen at your question as he instantly shakes his head.

“That’s not why I’m here,” he tries to defend.

“It’s fine, Dean, you don’t have to pretend to be some Prince Charming, I’ve been here before.” You don’t even mean for your tone to be so aggressive, but it is, and you start to realise just how angry you are to be in this position yet again. Maybe you should give up on dating altogether, just accept that men only want one thing from you. At least then you can’t be disappointed.

“What?” Dean frowns, his own voice starting to raise, his tone hardening just a little. “I never said–” he cuts himself off. “Hang on, why are you the one that’s pissed with me? I’m the one that just found out that the girl I’m dating fucks men on camera for the whole world to see and she didn’t even tell me!”

“But she won’t fuck you, right? That’s what’s bothering you about all this?” you argue back. “You know what, Dean? Fine, I’ll fuck you, let you have something to brag to all your little friends about, but don’t expect a fourth date after this.”

You rise to your feet and pull the tie on your robe, letting it hang loose to expose your pyjamas underneath, and Dean also rises to his feet, now frowning even deeper than before.

“No, that’s not why I’m here,” he insists once more. “Does it hurt my ego a little that you didn’t wanna sleep with me? Sure, but I’m a big boy, Y/N, I got over it pretty damn quick. What bothers me, is that you weren’t just honest about it,” he retorts.

“Can you blame me, Dean?” you implore, feeling pent up frustration turning into something else – something sad and heavy in your chest. “This happens every time. In fact, I don’t know why I’ve not learned my lesson yet, maybe this is all my fault, after all.”

“What happens, Y/N?” Dean presses, frustrated. “A guy gets upset because you lied to him?”

“No, a guy I’m dating finds out what I do, and suddenly that’s all he sees… and it’s all he wants from me.”

Dean opens his mouth, but no sound comes out yet. He shuts it again and takes a deep breath, looking down at the beer bottle in his hand before gently placing it down on the coffee table. He steps closer, and bites down on his plump bottom lip for a moment before opening his mouth and trying again.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about it like that,” he confesses with another blush. “I guess I was hurt that I’ve been nothing but honest with you, and I thought you’d been the same. I’m not used to dating like this, Y/N. I’m normally the asshole that only wants one thing, but you’re different, and I like you… and I’m not just saying that because I know what you do now. If we’re being completely honest, normally I wouldn’t even have the patience to make it to a third date.”

You giggle slightly at his brutal honesty, appreciating it far more than all those guys that just pretend to be different to the rest but really only want one thing. And there’s a sincerity about him that makes you believe him when he says he really didn’t know before tonight, and that he really did like you even before he found out.

“I get it now,” he reassures you, stepping closer again. “You didn’t want me to be like them… and I won’t be… not with you.”

“Please don’t be,” you beg him quietly, not even thinking about just how fragile and vulnerable it makes you to ask something like that of him.

“I promise I like you for you, Y/N,” he confirms, “or I wouldn’t be thinking about a fourth date, or how much I wanna kiss you right now and then go straight home afterwards, just so I can prove to you that I’m different.”

“So my job doesn’t bother you?” you check, feeling your own cheeks heat up.

“I mean… I’d rather my girlfriend didn’t show everything she owns on camera while sleeping with other men, but… I’m also not going to be the guy that tells you to change for me.”

“Hang on, girlfriend?” you smirk. “Slow down there, dude, we’ve only been on three dates.”

Dean instantly blushes violently. “I should go, I’m not used to this kind of rom com crap, I’m trying to be cute, but it’s clearly not working,” he complains, clearly embarrassed.

You laugh softly as you reach out and grab his wrist to stop him from turning away and heading towards the door.

“You should at least give me that kiss you’ve been thinking about,” you tell him with a gentle smirk, biting down on your bottom lip as a smile begins to flitter over his lips.

“Are you sure? It’s pretty passionate,” he tries to tease back, clearly getting his confidence back just a little.

“I think I can handle it, it’s you that you should be worrying about,” you counter, leaning your face closer to his with a quiet giggle.

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#my worthless love #dean x reader #mini series #dean winchester #smut #angst #fluff #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #negans-lucille-tblr

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dollslayer · 3 years

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Homecoming

Biker!Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Finally home after being gone on a run, you give Bucky the welcome he deserves

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: Housewife kink, unprotected sex, swearing, NO MINORS

A/N: Hey guys, I know it's been a minute sorry😅 Got the idea for this and couldn't get it outta my head. Hopefully you guys like it! If you do please comment/reblog!!! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

Outside the kitchen window the sun was disappearing behind the trees in the backyard, signaling the end of another day. You sighed, noticing the streaks in the glass and made a mental note to clean it before getting back to the task at hand. Dinner was still a few hours away from being finished but in the meantime it was the distraction you needed, even if you’d be eating alone.

It had been almost two entire weeks since Bucky rode off on a run with Sam and Steve with no word since. Last week you’d missed him so much but after one beep of the disconnected dial tone on the other end of the line you knew that Bucky had to have ditched his burner.

You didn’t know where he was or when he’d be back or even any way to reach him. You knew better than to ask anyone else from the club, though. Whatever the club did was their business and you were smart enough to stay out of it.

After this long of being in Bucky’s life you’d think that you would be used to the inconsistency but it’s hard to settle into anything knowing he could be gone at a moment’s notice. The love you two had made it worth it though, and secretly you loved how tough and grumpy he was for everyone else but was always so sweet and loving to you. Still, times like this where you’d be left alone for days or weeks at a time the loneliness was inevitable.

All the free time you normally had for Bucky was suddenly empty so you filled the void cooking and cleaning to distract yourself. At this point your fridge was filled to the brim with leftovers and if you tried to scrub the bathroom tiles again they might just come off. You just wanted everything to be nice for him whenever he did come home. You knew he appreciated it, if the last time he’d cornered you doing laundry was anything to go by.

You were pulling the pan out of the oven when you heard the familiar rumble of engines growing louder down the road. You nearly dropped the food out of excitement before you hastily set it on the counter. You checked your reflection in the hall mirror, wishing you’d have been wearing something a little nicer than some cotton shorts and a tank top.

You listened to the voices shouting over idling engines and eventually rev up again before retreating back down the road. You were teeming with excitement and nervousness as you undid the deadbolts and waited to hear his boots bounding up the creaky steps of the front porch.

The door swung open and you stepped back, biting your lip to contain your grin when you finally got a good look at him. He let out a soft ‘oof’ followed by a chuckle when you launched yourself into his arms and inhaled the comforting scent of grease and leather.

“Hi, Peach”

You returned a ‘missed you’, muffled by the layers of his jacket. He kissed your shoulder when you buried your face into his neck. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, allowing yourselves to revel in the feeling of relief. His hands pulled you away only to bring you into a deep but soft kiss that you couldn’t help but melt into.

When you broke away you took a step back to get a proper look at him. His jacket was dusty and his boots were caked in mud, trailing all over your freshly mopped foyer but you didn’t care, you were just happy he was here, he was okay.

His grin was wide and uncontrollable when he looked back at you and took in your appearance. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose.

“Smells amazing”

“I’ve got dinner waiting for you if you take off your boots” you say as you help to pull him out of his leather.

When he finally stepped into the kitchen and living area he looked around slowly, taking in all of the work you’d done while he was away.

“You been hard at work while I was gone, huh, Peach?”

You smiled shyly, dipping your head at him and turned away towards the kitchen to set out some plates on the counter. Your movements stopped when you felt the scrape of Bucky’s stubble against your neck.

His hands snaked around your midsection and he pulled you back into him, pressing your ass right into his hard cock. You gasped in surprise and he smiled into your skin as he continued to kiss it. You ground harder against him and he let out a low groan into your ear.

“You always keep everythin’ so nice for me, huh? Always takin’ care of me even when I’m not there,” his grip on your hips falters only so he can toy with the waistband of your shorts.

“You’re so sweet, Peach”

He hooks his fingers around the elastic and as he slides the shorts down your legs your movements stop.

“What about din-”

“Let me take care of you, Peach,” he insisted.

You squirmed as pressed his hips to your ass, forcing you to brace your hands on the counter to stay up right.

Where you had cursed yourself earlier for not wearing something nicer than lounge shorts you were grateful now as he curled his fingers around the top and ripped them down in one motion. Your shorts and panties fall past your knees and pool around your ankles and you struggled to hold yourself up. Calloused fingers run over the soft curves of your ass before delivering a sharp smack that has you gasping in surprise.

You felt the outline of his hard cock through his jeans and weren’t sure how much longer you could wait for him to cut to the chase. You ground back against him in hopes he’d get the message.

He chuckled in response and smacked your ass again before he took a step back to undo his pants. You whined at the loss of his warmth behind you and waited. The sound of the heavy fabric hitting the ground and then being kicked away was the only notice he gave you before a hand met your back and swiftly bent you further over the counter.

Your palms squeaked against the formica and your elbows landed harshly against it. With one hand on your hip Bucky used his other to run his tip over your wet folds. Normally he’d take more time with you but you were both too impatient to be with each other again and the excitement of his touch left you plenty wet and wanting.

He pushed fully into you in one go and shuddered out a groan at the feeling. It had been so long since he’d been inside of you that could hardly adjust to the impact. You didn’t care though, you just wanted him to keep going.

A few small pumps of his hips to test the waters quickly became not enough.

“Buck,” you whimpered.

“Yeah?”

His thrusts picked up in speed and soon enough he was pounding into you. The sound of forgotten silverware and plates clattering against the counter were overpowered by skin slapping skin and the moans forced from your lungs.

His grip on your hips readjusted as he foisted you further over the counter, forcing you to try and balance on the tips of your toes. It had been so long for both of you, there was no way he could hold out much longer. There was no way you could either with the new angle hitting inside of you just right. You clamped down around him hoping he’d get the hint, you didn’t know that you’d be able to talk if you tried right now.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much,” his pace increased, “You missed me too, I can feel it, Peach.”

You nodded weakly but the motion was lost as you were jostled back and forth with his thrusts.

“You always take such good fuckin’ care a’ me, care a’ the house. So fuckin’ good, Peach”

“B-buck, please” the broken words left your lips and that was all that he needed to drive it home.

“Ah shit, shitshitshit ‘m gonna cum” he forced out between harsh pants.

The build of pressure against your G-spot was too much and you cried out as you came. Bucky roughly fucked you through it and with a few final slams he shouted as he spilled inside you.

He collapsed on top of you, caging you in with his arms on either side as he caught his breath. You shivered at the feeling of your cum mixing together and sliding slowly down your leg even as he stayed inside you. He kissed your shoulder and helped to pull you back to your feet.

You twisted around and pulled on a loose lock to bring his face to yours. You gave him one chaste kiss and broke apart.

“Welcome home”

He kissed the tip of your nose and slowly ran his hands up and down your arms.

“Good to be home, Peach”

#bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky barnes x reader #biker au #marvel au #biker!bucky #biker!bucky barnes #marvel fic #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine

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lipstickbisous · 3 years

Note

could you write a oneshot where ransom is learning how to be more affectionate since the reader’s love language is touch. he does everything he can to make sure y/n knows he loves her. then maybe a lil smut at the end...? (by a lil smut i mean A LOT of smut)

i know a lot of people wanted something fluffy so this felt like the perfect mixture of soft smut!

flood - r.d.

SUMMARY: ransom’s new to this, but he wouldn’t be here without your help.

WARNINGS: bit of angst, fluff, soft smut; 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), mentions of penetration

the following work is my own writing. do not plagairise or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.

MASTERLIST

there's a small hum of delight as his fingers trace their way up her arm. his touch is warm and inviting, yet there's a distance between them. "honey," she whispers delicately and almost inaudibly, but her words never go past his ears without a response. he’s now holding his finger above her shoulder, pausing before pressing his lips on it. as he puckers them against the freshly-cleaned skin, there’s a wave of light running through her spine, but it disappears in a second. “what’re you doing?” her tone is less welcoming and he fills a little bit farther away from home--from her.

he doesn’t reply. it’s almost impossible to, not with the words stuck in the back of his throat where they’ll remain for the rest of the night. eventually, her eyelids will shut and she’ll return to the land of dreams where he finally says the words. however, he stays wide awake, eyes trailing from the ceiling, to the walls, to the loose string on the blanket, and then back to her. there’s something he feels when he scans over her body, covered by thick wool and a simple cotton t-shirt. as she rests, she is peaceful. it’s hard to see her this way so often.

and something about it gives him a sense of comfort.

when she wakes, he knows she’ll smile. she always does, but behind it is a fabrication that falters more and more everyday. he knows that at some point soon, her truth will be exposed and he’ll have to live with it. he’s ready. he knows she loves him, and he loves her too, but to confess it not only to her but to himself as well is too complicated in this moment right now. no--he has until the morning, and for the night, he’ll rest with her sleeping frame in his arms.

―

her earrings sparkle in golden lighting, imitating stars that sit outside of the window. the sky is painted black and her eyes burn with every passing second. “i’m sorry the service was bad,” he had sighed, picking at the buttons of his shirt. his jacket lied on the back of a chair, thrown lazily with tire. she looked through the large mirror--his reflection showed dark under-eyes and messily combed hair. he looked down to the floor as she slid off her heels and hung them around her middle finger. she swung them in the air and threw them on the floor beside the bed where he sat slumped.

she kneeled with her back towards him, motioning to the hidden zipper in her dress. “it’s alright, ran,” she rasped. three drinks were three too many and her throat was becoming dry with an ache for water. his fingers gently undid the back of her dress and pushed it gently off her shoulders, watching it slip to the floor where it crumpled. “i had a lovely time.” she wasn’t lying and he knew it, but there was a hint in her voice that suggested the opposite. she now stood bare in front of him, holding her arms against her naked chest and hand covering her mound.

he turns her around with a hand on her waist. his touch is still warm but there’s shivers that let her twitch in his grasp. he pulls her arms from around her so that her glory is completely revealed. her deepest secrets, her depths, her softest edges are open to him, and yet his gratitude is still hidden away. a hesitation is found in her confidence for just a split second, but he knows her well. his eyes catch hers in a moment of perfection--their breaths are matched, their lips both parted with just an inch to spare, and their fingers are both finding the others, intertwining and pulling them closer.

her thumbs finished pushing his shirt’s buttons from their holes, peeling it off of his body and leaving it to lie on the bed, but he brushes it to the side where it joins her heels. “’s cold,” he murmurs, attaching his lips to her collar bone and leaving a trail of marks up to her jaw and down to her lower breast. her arms engulf him, fingernails pulling just ever so lightly at the skin yet there are tiny red crescent moons staining his skin.

“i know, honey,” she coos, tilting her head at a slight angle when his lips latched themselves around her bud. his tongue enveloped it and began to harshly suck, and he let his hand firmly place itself upon her bare breast, shielding her from any cold air. “keep doing that,” she barely whispers. his hair is twisting around her fingers, her nails are digging at his roots, pulling with just enough pressure that he emits a deep moan. it’s one that rumbles from the depths of his chest with a gravely tone, and it sends a certain shock to her heat, along with his fingers that are slipping through her folds.

her slick was warm on his fingertips, enabling him to slide around until finding her hole; it was practically begging for him to explore. “all for me?” he whispered into her skin, roughening his grip on her breast and tightening his lips around her nipple. “so perfect and beautiful.” as his finger played with the rim of her hole, he practically cried the words into the air. he lied her down on the bed, smooth skin against chilling linens, and rested his cheeks on her hips. his mouth, fanning puffs of hot air against her, was inches away from her mound. he drooled at the way she dripped onto the bed, creating a small puddle that shimmered. “look at you, honey.” he pressed a firm kiss to her clit; a sudden sensation she’d longed for since the morning had her clenching the bedding in her palm. “so sensitive,” it practically came out as a laugh.

“shut up,” she burned at the cheeks, mouth twisting into a sweet grin, and fisted her right in his hair, pulling his mouth down to her core. his nose bumped her pearl before she felt his tongue diving through her folds, lapping at her slick, and nudging at her hole. he latched his lips onto her cunt and let the taste of her linger in his mouth. it was a sweet and musky flavor that he savored before gulping it down and diving for another taste. “f-fuck, it feels so good.” she rasped, arching her back forward and sitting herself upon her elbows.

she looked down to see her boy eating her from the inside as if it would save his life. his hands were pushing her hips into the mattress, pinning her in position, fingers rubbing the skin on her hips. suddenly, the tip of tongue poked through her hole, easily gliding past and entering her canal. it was warm and even more of the undeniably addicting flavor flooded through his mouth. he darted in and out, occasionally brushing against a patch of spongy material--she’d react with yelps, mewls, and begs. “s-so good,” she spoke mindlessly, not a single clue given to her words.

and much to his confusion, right when her moans were close to reaching their peak, she pulled his head from her heat and brought his lips to hers. his eyebrows furrowed as his hand pressed firmly against her chest to break their contact. both mouths were tenderly swollen pink. he cocked his head to the side, and her hands found themselves grabbing his hair. “ransom,” she whispered, delicately and roughly as if it was the only thing that gave her life. “fuck me.”

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mochikeiji · 4 years

Text

Troublesome Baby

↠ Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x Reader

↠ Warning: SMUT! Slight size kink, nipple play, overstimulation, hint of breeding, Akaashi wanting to make his baby know how pretty she is and how wrong people are about her.

↬ Word Count: 4.5k

Summary: Pissing a delinquent is never a persons choice. And what pisses off Akaashi most was when people picked on you instead of him.

⇢ Day 2: Delinquent

A person's feelings can be confusing. One minute they're saying they like a good guy who knows how to keep track in time and hs his future planned out and the second they're liking someone whom their parent's had warned them about.

If you like someone who was always up to no good, are you a masochist? They would ask. Are you out of your mind? They would scold. Do you have any idea how this'll affect your life? They would judge.

You'd like to think otherwise of people who wore tattoos, have so many scars, are always picking fights or having that gangsta stance and aura. You prefer to see them as still a human being with a cold outer shell in order to protect themselves from the cruel world, shielding their gentleness deep within.

It was cliche; a bad person getting soft for one person. But that's how it is even in reality. Sometimes, we can only be vulnerable to the ones we trust the most. And the ones we trust the most are the loved ones.

And those who we love, never deserve how they spit at the world.

That's how Akaashi was with you.

Everyone was shock by the time the former first year had a drastic demeanor change. He was timid, reserved back at his first year in highschool. Polite, and what you'd expect to have an astounding school performance. Hey never would've thought that joining the volleyball club would change someone so idly.

They always thought they were a team filled with passionate players who loved to play fair, but it turns out they loved to get rough around games and outside matches.

Roughness was never Akaashi's agenda. But with a stoic facade and built, athletic feature, he fits in perfectly to look like someone you should stay away from. Still, he kept on being the reserved person he was by hiding his wounds underneath his uniform or volleyball jacket. He doesn't admit it outloud, but he was insecure about his beating wounds.

The times where he and the team would go on random beatings after losing a bet or if someone dares to mess with anyone close to them happened often. Now that word was spread that you, sweet little you, happened to be the pretty faced setters girlfriend is targeted by many disgusting comments.

No man would want to tolerate that or will tolerate their beloved pummeled onto the ground. From all the members of the team he was voted to be the most terrifying one, he doesn't stand down from a fight especially for his baby, he wouldn't stop until the person who made a worthless comment about you, the person who would make you look down at yourself, the person who would make you cry is at their mercy.

His delinquent phase soon carried on until he reached his 20s. Even though now he was an editor and his teammates had their own domestic lives and jobs ahead, they kept up with their ways to earn a bit of cash during the night. Minus Bokuto on some occasions due to his volleyball tournaments world wide, it was mostly just him and the former third years. Even the two females had managed to know their ways into the dangers in joining as long as it helped them raise the cash up a bit.

And that leads the scenario now, you cleaning up his wounds again at the peak of 1 am in the morning after a misunderstanding beat down the past hour. He came home more bruised and bloodied than before— that meant they were outnumbered. Usually, it's Bokuto who would bark at the people who would mess with them. He was known to be feared due to his popularity, but inside the group, it's really just Akaashi who was the monster amongst all of them when he was angry.

You didn't know how long you were going to tolerate this. Him always coming back to you with new scars drawing his skin and you patching him up. It was always like this since highschool, but as you grew, people get tougher, bolder. This was too much.

"Keiji, please stop doing this."

Dabbing the cotton on the alcohol a little and tapping his skin gently to avoid stinging him, you were sat on your study chair whilst he was sitting on your shared bed. You were already trying to hold in the dam from breaking as you had been cleaning all his wounds for the past minute, but as you do, they only seem to get bigger and painful for you to bear.

"I don't want you to keep getting hurt."

Finally putting ointments on his arm, he uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, and raises you too look into his eyes. Ones that weren't feral as they were a couple of hours ago.

"They were bad mouthing about you, I wasn't letting that slip."

"But it's fine! People bad mouth about me a lot even before.."

Inside it still stung. To be growing up mocked by society in any way they see flaw in you. You were always an insecure woman up until now, any little words from others can make you into a brawling mess. What more if some threatened you, you'd be a fleeting coward.

Akaashi knew that about you when you began dating. At first he didn't pay mind into it, but the more he got to know what a kind and loving person you were, he realized just how cruel people can be to those with soft hearts. He hated those to the bone, he would never tolerate that kind of person throwing a pile of crap to someone above them.

"I just don't want to keep thinking one day you won't be coming by the door because of this..I'd rather you just stop being like this after years than to get more bruises. I don't care about the money, Keiji, I earn a lot too."

Your trembling figure was obvious, he knew how emotional you get for whenever he gets reckless, and how you over think of the things the people he has placed back in their place said about you. He never liked the fact you tried to be strong for him so many times and not even reaching out for comfort from him.

"Baby."

He cooes softly, moving away the medical kit from your side and hoisting you up from your chair with ease, allowing you to straddle his lap. You were easy for him to carry considering the height difference, thus making him more protective of you seeing as you look like a small child in fear.

Protesting softly at him to put you down since he was just freshly fixed up, Akaashi let's your head fall on his naked shoulder blade with his hand behind your head, giving your hair a slow stroke down to your back.

That's where you started to cry on his skin.

"I don't care about the money that much, I just hate it when someone threatens or mocks you without even having to know you."

He hears you sniffle at his skin, your tears wetting a small patch on it along with your face. He hushes you for a second before patting your bum, indicating he wants to see your face. With head lowered, you pulled away from his shoulder, sniffling down the tears while roughly using your wrist to wipe your eyes.

He grabs one of your wrist as his soften eyes met your red ones. He lowers your hand down to your lap, with your other one following as he was the one to wipe your tears away.

"It hurts me to have them say such things and have you crying like this. You have no idea how far you are from what they say."

The both of you took a small pause, letting him squish your cheeks with his thumbs rubbing underneath your eyes as small, left over tears escaped. Your hands below pressing against his bandaged abdomen, wondering how much trouble he's gone through just for you with a new batch of tears ready to fall.

"You don't cause me trouble, baby. I did this because you didn't deserve it. It was my decision, not yours or anyones. You will never be the reason for my troubles."

He was an observant guy, any little sign of of your body he knows what's going on. He slides your hands up from his abdomen, to his chest and placing them on his shoulders for you to hold onto. Tilting his head a bit to get an angle of your view, he gives you an adoring smile at the sight of your lips slightly pouting out and your eyes wide and glossy.

"You look cute right now."

Blinking away the blurred vision, your heart thumps a little from the way he was looking at you and his small compliment. You loved it when he gave you a lot of assurance and reminders about yourself. Even in times where they seemed unnecessary.

His finger tracing your cheeks to your nose, tapping at the tip making you shut your eyes and crinkle a little. When he groaned at the shift of your hips now snugging against his growing bulge, he quickly places his hands on your hips to hold you in place.

Your eyes popped out, stammering apologies saying you didn't mean to do it on purpose while gripping his shoulders. You hear him sigh out, worried you might've hurt him but soon vanished when you felt his hands sliding down once again to your bum.

"Why don't I show you how pretty you really are?"

He moves from his position. By instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he lays you down on bed and pushes himself up.

"W-wait, your wounds."

"I'm fine, baby, don't worry."

His hands found their way down to your pajama shorts and pulls them down with ease. He let's his shirt that you were wearing on as it only fueled his arousal at the sight of you looking smaller compared to him.

Thighs shaking and biting back a moan when his index finger slid down on your clothed slit, he repeats his actions upwards and downwards until you shortly got the middle part of your panties wet.

"Just enjoy and relax for me."

You clutched the pillow underneath your head when his finger started to press in your clothed slit, his warmth radiating strongly against your sensitive regions, it made you grind shyly on the finger teasingly trying to intrude your entrance.

He bites lip at the delicious sight and pulls his fingers away, spreading your legs apart so that he could settle himself on his stomach and his face near your lower lips. Sliding your panties down almost too quickly, he pushes your inner thighs to spread for him, giving him a better view of what his teasings done to your body and blowing cool air on your twitching hole, drooling with more arousal.

He hears a small whimper from you and looks up, you covering your mouth with the back of your hand, and your other fisting the sheets. Giving your inner thighs a kiss to calm you down, he winks at you before repeatinf his early ministrations on your now bare pussy.

"You're so easily aroused."

It came out like a breathy whisper from his lips as he watches his finger slide up and down. The thought of you tight and clenching to nothing makes him want to plunge in immediately.

He hums pleasingly at the sight and slowly inserts his index finger in. You moan out loudly in surprise, hiding your face to side and not wanting to look down thinking you might just cum from the sight. He began pulling his finger out and then pushing it back in, he wiggles a little inside of your hole loving how warm and wet it was, until he inserted a nother finger in to stretch you.

"Keiji!!"

He thrusts both fingers in with a decent pace, not wanting to go fast knowing how sensitive and easily you'll cum. His mouth was watering at the sight of his fingers being swallowed in your small pussy, and leans his face down with his other hand spreading your lips and giving it a small kiss that made your hips jolt up as he began to attack your clit.

"K-keiji! Too good!"

His free hand holds one of your thighs way to keep you spread amd at his mercy. The two fingers inside of you thrusting erratically when you tightened around them, now hearing the sloshing noises and his mouth sucking you to death.

He watches your head move from side to side and your chest heaving from his treatment. He can feel his own cock painfully erect inside his pants and moves bit, moaning against your clit at his boxers friction, and your hands finding their way to his hair and begging him not to stop.

"Keiji! Please, please, don't stop! Please, I'm close!"

His fingers beckoning inside of you knowing what he was now pressing at and flattens his tongue on your pussy before smirking up and saying,

"Go on, pretty girl, cum for me."

Hearing his voice was like a knock out for you as your hips arched up and the grip on his hair tightened. The pads of his fingers pressing and teasing your sweet spot until you were cumming hard for his mouth to take in.

He pumps a few more thrust until your orgasm faded. You whimpered from the additional thrust and grabbed his wrist to stop.

"Too much, Keiji.."

Hungry eyes raking your sweating body and wet folds, his pants getting unbearable at the moment and zips it down immediately along with his boxers, letting his cock free and breathes in the cool air as it hits his cock that made it twitch in need.

How much he wanted to keep eating you out despite being sensitive, but the need to be inside of you caves in as he hovers above your quivering body and attatching his lips with yours. He slips in his tongue to deepen the kiss, grinding his cock against your wet slit as you moaned inside his mouth from the much needed friction and something inside your needy cunt.

But Akaashi wanted to savor the moment, he knows you were a virgin. He's only fingered and eaten you out during the years of relationship. Even though the thought of having his cock a taste of your cunt drives him insane, he wanted to make sure every part of your body was touched, kissed and adored like he promised.

"Mmh!"

Fingers now tweaking your right nipples as your legs tried to close themselves from now having to be stimulated from your torso, to his hard cock still grinding tantalizing. But his body was in between them, and his mouth was practically eating your whines and mewls for him. Seeing how sensitive you were getting over the little touches he was giving made him moan against your lips. His hand moves to tweak your other untouched nipple and pulled a little, your back arching as he releases his mouth from yours letting you moan loud.

Your back still arched giving him a quick access to suck on your erected nipple, biting softly yet playfully in synch with his pinching on the other nub.

"KEIJI! HAH— PLEASE!"

Trying to move away from his mouth and fingers by pushing his head gently, he uses other hand to pin both of your smaller ones above your head and releases your nipple with a pop, shivering from the air.

He stops playing with the other one and moves there to suck on it. His finger moving to the soaked one and pulling it softly. You trashed on his hold as he continued to assault your breast. Not seeing the way his eyes are now getting half lidded at the sight of your teary ones from the amount of pleasure and the sound of your pleading singing in his ears.

"AH! Keiji!! Please— no more!"

But he knows how much you didn't want this to stop. If you really did want to stop, you would've used your safe word. But just smiles at you fondly, letting his finger move from breast to breast and pulling and pinching quickly.

"Mm, I just love," he pulls a little harder on your left nub, but not to painfully for you, "How your body reacts to me." you hear his chuckled laugh when he stops to massage your breast alternatively, leaving you whimpering from how skillful his hands were.

"You're getting cuter and prettier as time goes by."

Shamefully, your walls clenched from his words. He knows judging by how you bit your lip and shutting your eyes and grins at you. He knows how much you loved getting praised and told all the lewd things he wants to do to you.

"You'll be prettier with my cock stuffing inside you, won't you, baby?

Hands trying to pry his stronger ones away so that you can hold him, hide on his skin and let him ravage you. He does however, using both his hands, he separated your arms and pins them at the side of your head and proceeds to attack your neck.

"Baby."

He cooes at the side of your skin, cock now lubed from his pre cum and yours with the tip just poking on your lower lips impatiently.

"Please..inside, Keiji, please."

Yours legs widened themselves, preparing for what you've both been wanting that evening. He laces his hands on yours, the position you now had more vulnerable for him and he wanted nothing more than to take you and make you feel protected and pleased.

"Tell me if it hurts, okay?"

Lips pressing on your forehead as you relaxed on the sweet sensation, but as seconds went by, your body tensed when he entered the head of his cock in, inching slowly his hard length.

Akaashi's hands gripped yours harder when he feels your cunt fluttering and hugging his member tighter than he expected. His breating becoming ragged so he started leaving trail marks of love bites on your neck to calm the both of you down from the foreign feeling.

Each mark he gave came with a soft praise, telling you how good you were doing taking his cock perfectly and how beautiful you were breathless underneath him. He told you, you were doing a good job holding in and with that you let out a shaky breath before telling him he can move.

Thrusting out slowly, letting your juice slide freely on his cock before thrusting back in with force, enough for you to choke a moan. His hips taking their pace into what he knows is bearable for a first timer like you, but the way he was clenching his jaw tight indicates how much he wants to have his way and fuck you like he was on a rut. You were so tight and small compared to his impressive length that it was getting painful for him to be in a vice like grip down there.

It was a struggle to take him, but at the back of your head as you feel his cock move in and out of you felt so right, you wondered if it could be more pleasurable as it is. His face was alarming to you so you rubbed your thumb on his hand letting him pause and exhale harshly. He didn't know he was holding back so much to the point he forgot how to breathe.

"Are you okay?"

He panted above you as you stared in daze and in euphoria from being stuffed. Trying to stay grounded, you attempted to grind your hips to rile him up, only for him to growl and thrust in, forcing your hips down with a squeal from your lips.

"Don't do that."

"But you're struggling."

He breathes through his nose, he hates to admit it but he had to hold himself together not to take you like a freak in bed. He reminds himself that tonight was about you and only you. How wrong the words were of the people he's beaten for you.

"It's fine, I don't want to hurt you."

Nuzzling his nose on your cheek, he hums happily on your skin when you press your cheek in reply. As your eyes stared at each other, you knew how gentle your Keiji was with you. You knew he would never hurt you even if he could. He wasn't going to.

"Please Keiji."

Moaning wantonly when your shifted your hips in a good angle for his cock to thrust on, you looked at him with pleading eyes and drooling mouth.

"Please go harder."

Groaning on your skin, he thrusts in suddenly, lettinf your back arch once more as he placed his chin on your chest and licks his lips in hunger.

"You asked for it, baby girl."

The thrusts he was making was now audible inside your room; his balls slapping below your bum, your cunts lewd juices being messed up on both your bodies and your moans slowly becoming screams.

"KEIJI!!"

His mouth found their way back on your nipple, biting roughly and licking away the pain followed by a good sucking. Hips never faltering or holding back anymore and engulfs your shaking body.

"Fuckers were so wrong about you, love. Look at you,"

Your mouth was drooling from the side, hair messed up in display on the pillow that made them look soft and angelic on you, eyes, your hands holding onto him tight with your body jiggling up everytime he thrusts in.

"You look absolutely ravaging."

He lets go of your other hand and places his on the back of your leg, hoisting it up and placing it on his shoulder, letting his cock piston deeper into you and making a mess out of you.

"I can't even move a lot from how small and tight your cunt is."

He laughs breathlessly as he aims to find your sweet spot again. You were trying to pull away from his hold but with your thigh up on his shoudler, you were stuck taking this all in like a good girl.

"I think I may be too lucky to have you in my life."

The tip of his cock was now kissing that spot that made you scream out in the blue, Akaashi cursed when your cunt clenched his raging member as he kept aiming at your precious spot.

"Fuck, do you like that, baby?"

"AHN— YES! PLEASE, PLEASE, I WANT TO CUM!"

Sobbing for the much needed orgasm, your body gives up and lets the male above you use it to please you both.

"Fuck, my hips can't stop."

He buries himself at the crook of your neck, moaning near your ear, edging you close to your release to the sound of him. He lets out small whimpers and groans, his cock twitching violently inside you with his thrusts losing their rhythm.

"Baby girl."

"KEIJI, SLOW DOWN! AHH— I'M GOING TO CUM!"

The heat in your stomach felt different from your previous orgasms. This felt hotter, tighter, and a whole lot messier. But Akaashi showed no mercy and carried on,

"Cum for me, baby."

The freed hand he had a minute ago now being a teasing bastard and rubbed your swollen clit. Pinching and rolling all four of his fingers on, making you scream and thrash. Panting with the thought of dying frkm the immense sex he was giving until the last line made you scream without a sound,

"I'm going to cum inside."

Your eyes rolled sinfully at the last line, your bodh ascending above not hearing Akaashi gasp from the way you came and groan as both his cock and abdomen get soaked from your cum and your stomach filled with his thick load and kept thrusting in a slower pace. Your cunt spasming on his member, milking him dry until you were taking all of his load in.

Exhausted, his body stills and lays a bit above you, not wanting to squish you with his member remaining inside you. Sniffles can be heard coming from you as you calmed down from your high, Akaashi stroking your hand that was still clamped on his and peppered you with small kisses and sweet confessions.

"You did so good."

"That's my baby."

"Always so beautiful even like this."

You other arm came and wrapped themselves on his neck, pulling close to you as you inhaled his masculine scent, anchoring you down back to earth before coming to realization on how damp your bottom was.

"I—"

"Squirted?"

Blushing, you buried your head on his neck followed by a laugh from your boyfriend, listening to you blabber multiple apologies.

"I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, I liked it," He captured your lips with kiss, kissing you lovingly and a little longer before pulling away only to give you small pecks repeatedly, "It was sexy."

"You sound so different when you use that word, Keiji.."

"But it's true."

He didn't bother pulling out after you pleaded him not to. Even if it was your first time, it was addicting to have something fill you up to the brim. It made you feel snug and full, and it felt right. Akaashi wasn't complaining on the cock warming, in fact he held you closer to his chest and twirled your hair nonetheless.

"You're really not what they describe you, love," he admires how the dim light from your room manages to create a good lighting that made your skin glow. The hairs that sticked to you forehead after the intimacy you both caught up made you look like a soft baby with eyes looking at him full of love,

"I can't even describe you anymore."

Your eyes trailed down to his wounded torso from his face. Even though he was tainted, Akaashi was sculptured beautifully like no other. But inside you prayed that he wouldn't go home another day with freshly opened wounds just to defend you as you traced your fingertips on each bruise and scar.

He spots on and grabs one of your hands and pulls it in for a kiss on the knuckles, "I promise, I won't make you worry anymore."

Smiling, you snuggled on his chest pleased and full of bliss, feeling his lips kissing the top of your head repeatedly and his arms hugging you closer to his body.

"Keiji?"

"Hm?"

Pressing your cheek on his chest, you looked up to him and asked, with a small tint of blush on your face in embarrassment, "Um..W-why did you you know...In me?"

For a second he blushes as well, but in the end he seemed to be smiling excitedly as you missed the way his eyes glanced somewhere down your stomach.

"So I can have another pretty baby to love."

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la-fille-en-aiguilles · 4 years

Text

Señorita

Billy Russo x Female Reader

Warnings: S.M.U.T., language.

Synopsis: You finally get out of the city to spend a week in a beachside paradise - you’re entitled to a little getaway, you think, with your birthday coming up. When a handsome stranger hits on you at the bar, along with your birthday, some other things might come as well. A/N: This was random? Came out of nowhere. Enjoy & let me know what you think x

Gif not mine

Timid waves crushed softly against the shoreline, white sand turning concrete gray at their touch. The warm breeze carried around a song you thought you recognised, but couldn’t remember from where. The beach-side bar basked in a gentle blush glow, so typical for the evenings here at Mallorca… You’d only arrived a couple of days ago, but already you couldn’t picture yourself anywhere else - just sitting here, at the bar by the turquoise sea, sipping on your Pina Colada in the shadow of the palm-branched roof. The wind brushed through your salt-stained hair from the entire day spent rolling around on the beach; mindful sun caressing your thighs, peaking from behind the slit in your deep emerald dress.

Tonight was relatively calm, you thought, twirling the straw in your cocktail absentmindedly. Ever since the English rugby team packed up their balls and other attributes and set out to sea, the place became peaceful.

You were glad. The entire point of this trip was to get out of the busy city for a while, enjoy the calm. If you wanted a testosterone-filled party for your birthday, you would have stayed in New York - Karen would throw a rave that would make Coachella look like a kindergarten gathering.

But that is exactly what drove you out of America and into this seaside paradise. If there was one thing you had trouble doing, it was working a crowd of people you barely saw in your everyday life, who only came for booze and dancing. Karen said she understood, and that the party would have been a small yet tasteful affair… you still fled.

Here’s to hoping that Karen wasn’t pissed at you for bailing, you silently prayed, throwing the straw on the bar and taking a gulp directly from the glass. Judging from the text Karen sent you earlier today, saying something about getting together for a celebratory meal when you got back to the city, you figured she wasn’t mad. She did say something about introducing her to a friend of Frank’s again, and having thrown the Karen plan for the party out of the window, you had to budge.

It’d been so long it had become a running joke between you two - Karen wanting to introduce you to that “handsome hunk”, with whom Frank had served. She was especially lyrical about his manners, his big heart and his beautiful smile.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Karen was head over heels for the guy.

Every time Karen made plans for a Sunday brunch or Saturday night drinks at Castle’s place with the sole purpose of introducing you to the Hunk, you always found an excuse to ditch. Sometimes it was an urgency at work, sometimes it was about something funny you ate the night before… You must have been dodging these “introductory date” attempts for at least five months now - and it all looked like after this get-away vacation, you’d have to face the music.

Well, it was worth it. A week of doing nothing, reading sappy novels and drinking high-end cocktails, that was what you craved for, and if you had to pretend to be interested in some nonsense a guy was trying to charm you with for a couple of hours, it was a small price to pay. With that thought, you finished off your Pina Colada and motioned for the sunburnt brown bartender to get you another one.

“Hola señorita.”

The voice was unexpected. Low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of power.

“Disculpe, ¿este asiento está ocupado?”

Slightly frowning, you turned your head to the right.

Ever since the English rugby team settled in one of the villas, the women in the hotel found themselves outnumbered. It just so happened - what a coincidence - that you turned out to be their neighbour, your villa closest to theirs. Everytime you’d walk out of your temporary home to hit the bar or the beach, you’d spot at least three young men hanging outside of their quarters, their faces illuminating the minute they saw you. You’d give them a cursory smile back - you weren’t that cruel - but everytime one of them tried to approach you, you shot him down - often with a look, rarely with a verbal warning. Ever since they left, you was relishing the feeling of tranquillity - until he decided to burst your happy little bubble.

The first thing you noticed about him is that he wasn’t Spanish, despite the lack of accent. He had beautiful dark, almost black eyes, the colour of a freshly brewed espresso, that myriad of black and chocolate tones swirling in a whirlpool of tender curiosity. They held your depreciating stare well. The sun obviously loved him - those razor-sharp cheekbones glowed bronze as he tilted his head to the side a little bit. The wind caressed his dark hair, playing with the longer strands at the top.

Something about him was so familiar. Maybe you’d seen him on the beach before? You did stay at the same hotel after all…

Not in a slightest bit confused at your lack of answer, the man smiled.

His smile held a sort of a gentle surprise in it, like a summer day in a middle of October.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

“Je suis désolée,” you finally uttered, forcing your eyes to focus on his eyes again instead of his lips. “Je ne parle pas espagnol”.

His smile grew wider, much to your surprise. Instead of getting red in the face, stammering out some random apology as you expected him to, he nodded and motioned to the chair next to you with one hand, sliding the other one across the surface of the bar.

Despite your better judgement and against your utter dislike of aimless flirting, you found herself shrugging as you accepted her second drink from the bartender.

“A whiskey on the rocks, please.”

Ah-ha. He’s from New York.

You sipped on your cocktail directly from the glass, ignoring the brand-new straw the bartender supplied you with in order to hide your smirk. As the man held two aristocratic, impossibly long fingers in the air, making his order, you took the time to study him.

He was tall, much taller than you. The plain white t-shirt that he wore betrayed the solid stomach muscles hidden under the cotton - the short sleeves strained as he gripped the back of the chair and slowly lowered himself onto it.

“Thank you,” he finally said to the bartender with a nod, gripping his glass with those downright pornographic fingers. Slightly pursuing his lips, the man turned his full attention back to you. When you arched an eyebrow at his antics, he flashed you a mischievous yet understanding look. “Ça tombe bien. Je me sens plus à l’aise en parlant français”.

That cheeky bastard.

Your first reaction was that of a sincere surprise. You were pretty sure that for a second there, your eyebrows almost reached your hairline. Upon catching the satisfied glint in these already all too familiar eyes, you wanted to feel irritated at the nerve of him, at the fact that he just happened to beat you at your own game. But you didn’t.

Biting hard on your bottom lip in order not to laugh, you took your glass and sipped, hard.

“While I’d love to know how many more languages the lady speaks, I would much rather learn her name”, he dropped nonchalantly, whirling his whiskey gently, the ice cubes cluttering against the glass.

The first comeback that crossed your mind was so filthy you couldn’t possibly go with it. The second one, however, was efficient and succinct.

“Diana, here’s a lady’s name.”

With a low chuckle, he let his head drop down for a moment. When he raised his eyes to face you again, your chest felt a little too tight and a little too fragile under his poignant stare - that of amusement, want and a clean cut awe.

His eyes had told you that this was more than a drifting attraction, that he was interested in so much more than your name…

You saw it, and for some nonsensical reason, chose to believe it.

“I don’t care about names,” there was such a determination to your voice that it surprised you. It didn’t startle him, though - he caught your every word as his eyes travelled from your fluttering eyelashes to the soft curve of your lips. “When there are so many more interesting things to talk about. Don’t you agree?”

As you turned away from him and took another sip of your drink, you heard him chuckle yet again, and saw him press a hesitant finger against his lips.

This was obviously new to him. This small treacherous gesture led you to believe that maybe he wasn’t one to pick women at bars, that, just like you, he felt that thrill of surrendering to the strange sort of attraction encircling you both.

“In fact, enough talking. Let’s focus on doing.”

What was it so special about him that made you decide? It’s not like there’s been no men before him, very much willing to break through your iron-clad facade, wanting you to take a leap of faith. Some of them had the potential to make you feel good, you were aware of that. Still, you didn’t want them.

What made him so different? A certain familiarity of his voice, his features, maybe? Or maybe you should just slow down, cut down on the alcohol, drink a glass of water and go back to your villa, alone.

The way his eyes skimmed your naked shoulders, a barely there sigh leaving his half-open lips sealed the deal.

You didn’t want to slow down.

Not with him.

“Here’s to doing then”, his Adam apple bobbed as he gulped down, his eyes darkening. He raised his glass towards you - a figurative shake of hands on the deal they just made.

“Here’s to doing”, you agreed, clinking your glass to his.

His villa was located at the outskirts of the hotel beach, backed by the rocks. It was a ten-minute walk from the bar, feet in the warm sand, the star-sprangled night sky over your heads.

Despite the silence surrounding you, save for the occasional gust of breeze carrying on the sound of music from the bar you just left, you didn’t feel awkward. A soft smile ghosted over your lips as you felt his careful touch at the small of your back - those fingers sliding down to the base of your spine, feather-like. He strode forward, adapting his pace so you could keep up - you weren’t even sure he was aware of that, the change in him so spontaneous, as if it were a force of habit. Like this wasn’t the first time you walked side by side.

You would blame it on the booze, but you drank a total of two cocktails.

He only had one whiskey before they took off.

The villa he chose to stay in was slightly more spacious than yours, and provided a lot more privacy - this told you a lot about the man you were about to sleep with. He was most certainly well off, for starters. He also came here to get his share of peace and quiet, much like yourself.

Guiding you through the doors, he turned the lights on behind you, his other hand never leaving your back.

The best way to describe the interior would be neat or crisp, with a large, perfectly made bed in the center of the space, surrounded by a bar, a hanging chair, a shuttered armoire, and a desk, that could be used both as a kitchen table and a bureau. It smelled faintly of vanilla and musk, with a sea-salt aftertaste.

“Make yourself at home”, he murmured into your ear, still standing behind you, his hand gripping your hip hard for a fleeting second. When the realization of his touch had settled in, and you were finally able to react, he was already at the bar, serving himself a whiskey.

“Would you like something to drink?”

He busied himself with the bottle for a moment; then he produced another glass from behind the bar, waiting on your answer. When you didn’t speak, he turned to face you again.

You did as you were told - kicking off your shoes, you stepped onto the soft wool rug. With your back to him, you slowly made your way to his bed. One you reached it, you couldn’t resist trailing your fingertips along its surface - the sheets were creamy and silk, smooth to the touch.

You stopped short of the head of the bed, throwing a look over your shoulder. He caught your gaze, frozen in place, wetting his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Why don’t you choose for me?” you offered, slowly lowering yourself on the bed, crossing your legs. “What do you usually serve them?”

The way his eyes narrowed at you ever so slightly almost made you smile. It looked like you’d struck a nerve.

Good.

“I wouldn’t know how to answer that question”, he said, his voice levelled, his stare unblinking. “I’ve never had an urge like that before”.

Well, fuck.

How many more times this man was going to run counter to your expectations?

And on top of everything, damn, he was good. A quick-thinker or a natural good-talker? Would you remain clear-headed for long enough to find out?

“What else would you like to know?” his voice grew huskier as he pushed the glass away from himself. He left it at the bar as he started your way, his pupils blown to hell.

“That all I’ve been thinking about ever since I saw you at the bar is how soft your breasts would feel pressed against my chest? That I’ve been hard ever since you opened that sassy mouth of yours? Or that I would have jerked off to the memory of you for weeks if you hadn’t come here with me?”

God.

The tightness that had long since made home in your chest moved lower, lower, lower, until it sank into the pit of your stomach. At his words, involuntary, your thighs clenched together, restless energy buzzing in between your legs, your toes curling.

“Stand up”.

When your eyes focused back on your surroundings, you saw him standing a couple of steps away, his strong jaw clenching as he gazed at you, his arms folded on his chest. Breath catching in your throat, you pushed off the bed. Feeling dizzy all of the sudden, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me, beautiful.”

Again, you did as you were told - you met his gaze head-on, and almost instantly regretted it. He was staring down at you with those black bottomless eyes, raw emotion flowing through him, filling the air around them, charging it to the brim. His hands fell down his sides now - so tense, the veins budged on his forearms.

It’s like he was pacing himself, keeping himself from touching you.

“Take off your dress,” he requested after a moment, watching you like a hawk.

Slowly, squeezing your thighs harder, harder still, you brought your hands to the spaghetti straps on your shoulders, before pushing them off completely.

The dress landed in a heap on the floor, leaving you in nothing but lacy panties - almost utterly naked under his stare.

You heard the softest groan escape his mouth as his hand snaked across his thighs and up to that bulge in his pants. When he squeezed his hand around it, his abdominal muscles flexing as he exhaled, you felt the moisture spread down your inner thighs.

With your heart pounding in your throat, you made a step towards him with your hand stretched out. Almost immediately you heard a low strangled noise, and saw the nah shining bright in his dark eyes.

“Not yet, beautiful,” he growled, taking his t-shirt off in one elegant motion. He then undid the belt on his pants, his eyes savouring every inch of your naked skin. “Play with your tits for me. With both hands.”

Your own touch burned as you carefully squeezed your nipples with your fingers. Throwing your head back, you moaned loud, unwillingly pushing your hips forward.

“That’s it, beautiful, just like that.”

His words seemed to lift some sort of barrier, as you started to tug and pull harder at the nipples, alternating the movements with firm grasps around the swell of your breasts.

You were going to come.

You were going to come and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

“Now slide one of those hands down those panties. Rub that pretty pussy. Tell me how wet you are”.

You made peace with the fact that he was a talker - but now he had surely sat out to break her. His voice washed all over your body, sending goosebumps down your spine as you slid one of your hands under the underwear.

“I’m so fucking wet”, you gasped, staring at him. “Fucking dripping”.

His moan made your thighs tremble, your fingers slowly circling around your clit. Before you let your eyes roll to the back of your head, you saw him with one of his hands hidden in his pants, slowly jerking himself off, with slow, aborted motions.

“That’s it, caress that pussy for me. But go slow - tease it”.

You nearly growled at that. You knew you were close - there was a bundle of sensation, like a ball of electricity, building inside of you - two quick flicks of your index finger, and you’d be done for.

“Jesus, please”, you stuttered out before you could realize you were actually begging. “I’m so fucking close, please…”

You rubbed slowly over the nerves, your fingers wet and slippery. Panting, you realized his name would have come in handy just now - if he had some sort of a praise kink, you could maybe easily get the release you yearned for.

“You are so beautiful, fucking yourself like that. Wish those were my hands. Or my mouth”.

Something flared at the very end of your clit, softly spreading all over her pussy. You moaned loud and unapologetic, your fingers moving faster as you tried to chase that sensation. You needed to grasp it, to ride it out, you fucking needed it!…

“Put a finger inside, beautiful”.

You didn’t need to be told twice. Pumping fast and hard, you could feel your knees bending, your flesh begging for release.

“Come for me. Now.”

As if by command, the orgasm finally hit you - everywhere at once. It made your entire body shake as you screamed out, pussy clenching around your fingers. You barely registered you were falling down on your knees, when strong hands caught you at your hipbones, pushing you upright.

He was on you before you could come down from your high. His mouth hot and bruising against yours, you moaned, instinctively jumping onto him and wrapping your legs around his feverish body.

His scent assaulted you - a clean, musky scent made your inside muscles clench, so you wiggled against him, wanting more.

He was so painfully hard against your core, you whimpered, pushing your hips against his, needing more friction, like an addict craving for a dose.

Sensing your need, feeling you, he grabbed your ass with his large hands and stepped onto the bed, setting you down on that same wooden headboard of the bed you’d almost stroke with your fingers.

Pushing your legs apart, he settled in between them. Before you knew it, his tongue lapped at your wetness, sliding up the length of your slit. Whimpering and moaning, you arched your back, burying your fingers in his hair, tugging hard. That made him growl, adding a slight vibration as he sucked on the bundle of nerves. He slammed his fingers - those fucking fingers - into you, and it took exactly two pumps for your second orgasm to roll over you. With your eyes squeezed shut, you moaned into the ceiling with everything you had.

Helping you slide down onto the bed with his hands guiding your hips, he gave you a piercing stare. The one that made you whimper, even though your eye-side was still fuzzy at the edges.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before he distanced himself from you - to take off his pants.

“I’m going to fuck you now - I’ll be gentle next time, right now… Right now I just need to bury myself in that pretty pussy of yours”.

“Fuck”, you moaned, propping yourself on the elbows, closing your eyes as you threw your head back. You didn’t know if you could handle more, but Jesus, did you want it. His cock stretching you wide.

You would not have been able to tell where he took a condom from - you didn’t even have time to contemplate on it. All you registered was a slight discomfort in between your legs before his huge cock pushed inside of you, inch by glorious inch. The stretch was almost too much, and you coughed out half a breath, half a moan as you tried to adjust to his size. Whatever sound you were about to let out next, as he slid out of you and pushed back in, to the hilt this time, it got lost in between your lips, as he captured your mouth in a bruising kiss.

Your nails scratched on his ripped back as he fucked into you shallowly, your teeth biting into the skin on his neck. As if not getting enough of you, he grabbed one of your thighs, flexing it, so he could thrust deeper.

The change of the angle had you swearing under your breath, and his mouth was there to silence you again, his teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

The third orgasm snuck up on you out of nowhere - there was no gradual built, no buzzing feeling in your lower stomach - it crashed on you like a bucket full of ice, having you arching your back, clenching around his cock so fiercely, it snatched an orgasm out of him, as well.

“Fuuuuuck”, he breathed out, his hips slamming sloppily into yours. “So fucking good, fucking…”

Before he could continue, you rolled forward and put your mouth on him, swallowing his words. With his palm cupping your cheek, he deepened the kiss as his cock drained itself into the latex.

The kiss grew soft, your noses touching ever so slightly as you both slowed down, a mess of tangled limbs. Smearing his wet mouth against your nipples, he pushed up from you, sliding his cock out.

“I’d take that drink now if you don’t mind”, you told him, a lazy smile illuminating your features.

A low chuckle he let out echoed in your lower stomach.

“Sure, beautiful. How does a whiskey sound?” he offered, standing up in all his naked glory.

You hummed in approval as you leaned higher against the headboard. Biting your lip, you checked out his ass unashamedly, as he made his way to the bar, throwing the used condom into the garbage bin.

“I know there are some things that we’ve agreed on, but I’d much appreciate calling you by your name instead of beautiful when going down on you next time. What do you say?”

You heard whiskey splash against the walls of your soon-to-be glass. Your inner muscles clenched at the sight of him, naked, serving you a drink.

“It’s Y/N”, you said with a small smile.

“Billy”, he responded, making his way to you. As you reached out to take your glass of whiskey from him, he pulled his hands backwards, using your position to land his lips on yours in a stinging kiss instead. You responded hungrily, grabbing his head with both of your hands.

The night was still young, after all.

“Okay, so would you rather spent your life partying with rich assholes you barely know, still seeing your family and friends, or get stuck on a desert island with no opportunity to see anyone at all?”

You turned your head ever so slightly, feeling his muscles clench as Billy huffed out a breath.

You both laid naked on his bed, him propped against the headboard, you - with your head settled comfortably on his stomach. A half empty bottle of whiskey was getting warm against your bare thigh, both of your glasses laying empty next to it.

You had lost count of the times you came with his name a word of ecstasy on your lips. You were surely going to sport some hickeys on your neck tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

You had never felt so at ease with a man before. Granted, no man had ever managed to make you come three times in a row, but that wasn’t the point. Billy made you question your “no dating” rule, and not just because he fucked like his life depended on it. He just got you - whether it was your discomfort in big crowds, fear of subway, weird addiction to macarons or love-hate relationship with Paris. You just clicked - it was hard to believe you met mere hours ago.

Or maybe the fact that you only just met was the reason why you clicked. It certainly wouldn’t be the same in the long run. The rose-goggles period only lasted so long. When routine kicked in, it tended to crash everything in its wake.

“That’s a tough one”, he said, biting on the inside of his cheeks. “If I could invite people on my desert island, I’d definitely go with the second option.”

“Well, you can’t”, you smirked at him, and then stared back into the ceiling. “It’s either being constantly surrounded, or seeing no one at all”.

He hummed, considering the options.

“I can’t imagine being alone 24/7, even though you might have guessed already, I love being alone sometimes”, his fingers slowly caressed the soft skin under your breasts, as he voiced his thoughts out loud. “It’s funny how your mind works though”, you could hear a smile in his tone now. “With you, it’s either all or nothing.”

You thought for a moment, interlacing your fingers with his. Then you shrugged:

“Sometimes, I just want to get away, you know? See no one, speak to no one… I sometimes push people away, thinking it would do me good. But it doesn’t always have that desirable effect.”

When you stole a glance at Billy again, you saw him nod.

“I know what you mean”, he spoke quietly. “And I’m glad you didn’t push me away tonight”.

“Oh, I tried,” you assured him with a smirk. “You’re hard to shake off”, you let go of his fingers and pushed yourself up on your hands, so that your eyes were on the same level.

Billy chuckled, his lips stretching in that warm and wonderful smile.

“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll be hard. Again. Point blank.”

You laughed quietly, dropping your gaze, your eyes traveling down his stomach and to that massive cock between his legs.

He was getting hard again alright.

“What time is it?” you suddenly remembered, snapping your gaze around, searching for a clock.

“Quarter to four, why would you ask?” he told you, after checking his wristwatch.

You closed her eyes.

“It’s my birthday”, you said before you blinked at him in surprise.

In between all that dirty sex and orgasms, you lost track of time and completely forgot. Were you coming when the clock struck midnight? The thought made you giggle.

“Really?” Billy stared at you in disbelief before his dark cocoa eyes softened, and his voice dropped an octave. “Come here”.

Warmth spread all over your body at his words, your core the center of the growing tingling sensation. Billy used his hot hands to pull you closer, help you settle in his lap, your legs on each side of his hips. With his left hand he reached for the bedside table, pulling out yet another condom out.

“Would you like to put it on?” He whispered against the skin behind your ear, making your pussy tense. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, taking the foil packet from his hand. Tearing it up with your teeth, you slid the latex onto his throbbing cock, pumping him a couple of times for a good mesure. The noises Billy made were downright pornographic. You licked your lips.

With both of your hands on his naked shoulders, you slowly lowered yourself all the way down onto him, the sensation making you both moan this time.

“Just like that, beautiful”, he whispered softly in your ear, thrusting up into you.

You rode him slowly, arching your back, leveraging yourself on his shoulders. The position was so damn intense, and not only because that way Billy could thrust deeper, up to his balls. There was a strange sort of intimacy as he gripped your hips, helping you bounce slowly on his rock-hard cock - his cocoa eyes held a sort of intensity as he fucked into you. It made your heart ache.

“I fucking can’t get enough of you”, he confessed hoarsely. “Of that tight, wet, perfect pussy. Of your beautiful, smart mouth. All of you. Every fucking inch of you.”

His revelation combined with his soft, yet methodic thrusts was what toppled you over the edge. You came hard, your body protesting against all those orgasms Billy’s cock had already wrestled out of it. Speaking of him, he wasn’t too far behind either, gripping your hips and holding you down as he came.

His lips seemed to hold some kind of a promise as he kissed you gently.

“Happy Birthday, beautiful”, he whispered against your lips, his hot and ragged breath fanning over your skin.

You managed a tired smile, surging up to kiss him again, relishing the feeling of him inside of you still….

Surprisingly, New York welcomed you back with cloudless sky. It was still as busy as you remembered it, but something had changed. People seemed friendlier, streets - sunnier, summer - hotter. You caught yourself enjoying the city again now that you had come back well-rested from your week-long vacation.

Well-rested might have been a wrong word for it. More like satisfied. And taken care of.

After that night, you spent the two remaining days of her getaway at Billy’s villa - no strings attached. You two barely left the place. Never had you enjoyed a man’s company this much. You cooked together, swam together, made love together… Until it was over and done, and you had to go back to the real life again, tiptoeing on your way out so he wouldn’t wake up.

You stopped cold for a moment, a plat of appetisers freezing in your hands.

Did you just think made love? Well that was a slip of epic proportions…

“Daydreaming about your boy-toy again?” Karen teased her with a smirk, walking into the kitchen. “He must have been quite something”.

Oh that, he was. You couldn’t help but sigh as you put the plate on the table.

How many people Karen was expecting for the dinner exactly? It looked like Frank and her had cooked enough for the entire goddamn naval infantry.

“It’s been a week,” you said, shaking your head as if trying to make the thoughts about him fall out. “I guess I need some time to turn that page”.

“Who said that page needs turning?” Karen reasoned, putting two bottles of champagne on the table. “Didn’t you say he was from New York? You could keep on seeing each other?”

You didn’t even take a moment to think it over.

“Nah,” you shook your head, tugging at your silk top. “We didn’t talk much about our respective jobs, but he made it obvious he travels a lot, so…”

Catching Karen’s sceptic stare, you threw both of your hands into the air, waving them.

“I’ll see him when I’ll see him, and if I don’t…” you shrugged. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be then”.

You turned to face Karen again only to find out that her expression hadn’t changed.

“Uh huh,�� the noise she made was her other way of saying bullshit. “Well, you do what you gotta do, but please play nice with Russo. I swear he is a perfect guy for you”.

You let out a chuckle.

“You know, I heard it so many times I’m actually starting to believe it”, you said.

As if on cue, you heard men’s voices in the corridor.

“So how was your getaway, then?” Frank asked casually, stepping first into the kitchen. “Wow, that looks amazing, ladies,” he commented on the table, winking at Karen.

Page blushed in response, making you roll your eyes.

You was about to make a side comment to your best friend, when your mind suddenly went blank upon hearing the stranger’s voice.

“It was great, perfect actually…”

A designer-shoes-clad foot appeared in the room.

“I just feel like I left a part of me there, I’m going to need some time to rea…”

…djust, your mind supplied as you stared at Billy, her Billy, standing across the room from you - fully dressed this time.

“Oh my God,” you barely whispered, your eyes big in your face, your chest feeling like it was going to collapse on itself.

Billy’s lips slowly parted in the widest smile you’d ever seen - he just stood there, like a man on whom the greatest happiness had been bestowed, and it rendered him speechless.

Karen looked at them both in confusion, until…

Until realisation dawned on her, and she chortled, squeezing her eyes shut and covering her mouth.

“What’s… What’s going on?” Frank frowned, looking back and forth between Billy and you. “You guys know each other?”

“Hell yeah,” Billy finally spoke, his eyes never quitting yours as he closed the distance between you in four decisive strides.

Before you could even speak, he gripped your cheeks and dropped his lips on yours, as hot and burning as the sun back in Mallorca.

You moaned like you didn’t have a care in the world, pushing onto your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

“I missed you, beautiful”, Billy uttered between the kisses, his forehead pressed to yours. “You ain’t getting away so easily this time”.

You let out a soft laugh, inhaling his scent, and moved to kiss his lips again.

#billy russo #billy russo x you #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo smut #the punisher imagine #ben barnes #ben barnes oneshot #billy russo oneshot #ben barnes smut #the punisher story

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purplesauris · 3 years

Text

When In Rinde

Geralt ruins all of his shirts, obviously, so he has to borrow one from Jaskier- if it’ll fit. Based off a prompt given to me by my lovely friend Ashley which was just “Geralt/Jaskier sharing clothes” It is explicit near the end, so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable!

read it on AO3 here!

"You smell like a kikimore den." Jaskier wrinkles his nose in distaste, eyeing the green-black goo covering every inch of the sodden witcher before him. Geralt merely grunts, slipping past him as Jaskier shrinks back to avoid the worst of the mess. There's a bath waiting for him, luckily, and Geralt strips out of his armor and clothes, leaving them in a heap to be dealt with later. He sinks into the water, ignoring the way his nerves protest the heat. He spends time scrubbing at his skin, watching as the water goes murky and the lavender in the water fades. He can smell everything- the way he still reeks of the cave, the sweat clinging to Jaskier's neck as he scrubs at the guts on his armor. If he looked he could see the individual strands of Jaskier's hair, each reflecting their own color of light from the fire blazing in the hearth. That's too much, though, so he stares instead at his ruined nails and the blood crusted underneath.

The bar of soap that's pressed into his hands is faintly fragranced, and he presses it to his nose, dragging in a breath. The absence of anything other than a hint of rosemary and orange is a welcome diversion, and he spends nearly as much time sniffing the soap as he does using it. He can still smell everything else over the soap, but with each pass over his body it lessens. The blood comes up from under his nails and soon the water is too filthy to use. Jaskier knows, though, and makes Geralt stand, naked and dripping wet while he switches out the water. He must've been paid well for his performance. He's led with gentle fingers back into the tub, eyes having closed to block out the shadows dancing dizzily in the room. This time Jaskier stays nearby, lavender and sweat and silk in his nose. Jaskier has Geralt hold his soaps, occasionally sniffing them, while he works the tangles from Geralt's hair and rinses out any guts. The smell is all but gone now, replaced by the smell of pine. It reminds him of home, makes his heart ache with the want to see his family, and he hums softly.

"That's better, love." A startlingly gentle kiss is placed on the crown of his head, and he listens as Jaskier's feet shuffle across the ground and away from him. He hears the rustle of fabric, more footsteps, and then the soft slide of their skin together as Jaskier uses a hand to guide Geralt from the tub. A towel is pressed into his hands and he dries himself quickly, Jaskier's heart a steady companion in his ears. "Do you want to eat anything?"

The thought of food has his stomach rolling, and he shakes his head in a sharp no . Jaskier doesn't fight him at all, just places a velvety soft kiss on his shoulder and guides him into bed. Geralt sinks into the bed without much protest, listening as Jaskier tidies up the room and gets rid of the tub. He hears the door crack and Jaskier's voice, sheepish and sorry as he asks that Geralt's clothes be laundered. The door shuts with a soft click and the smell of smoke tickles at his nose, making him sneeze and shake his head. He cracks open an eye experimentally, and upon not being blinded, opens both all the way.

The candles in the room have all been blown out save for the hearth, and Jaskier navigates easily in the dark, undressing before coming to bed. He's warm and soft and achingly familiar, and Geralt pulls him close without thinking. The bard doesn't object at all though, humming a soft song. Geralt flinches when a bird flaps noisily past the small window, and Jaskier shushes him softly. "C'mere."

Geralt turns onto his side, letting Jaskier bundle him close as he rests his head on the man's chest. The sound of Jaskier's heart is a touch deafening this close, but that's the point, and Geralt focuses on the lub-dub lub-dub until the other noises fade back into the background. Pressed this close, all Geralt can smell is lavender, and it very effectively clogs his nose, allowing him yet more time to adjust his senses. It also allows sleep to pull at his limbs, and he drifts off with Jaskier hugging him close.

-*-

“What do you- Oh, oh of course. No, no thank you for trying.” Jaskier’s voice tugs him from sleep, and he shifts onto his side to see Jaskier closing the door, clothes in his arms. There’s a frown on his face and Geralt reaches out a hand automatically. Jaskier’s eyes flick up at the movement, and he smiles as he pads over, sitting on the edge of the bed and letting Geralt pet up and down his back.

“What?” His voice is thick with sleep, and he clears his throat softly as Jaskier sighs.

“The laundress, she couldn’t save the shirt. Something about acid?”

“Kikimore venom.” Geralt frowns, remembering that he’d been sprayed in it and glancing toward his armor. It looks fine, no worse for wear, and he faintly remembers the sound of a brush scrubbing over the hard leather. A sharp bolt of fear goes through him at the realization, and he sits up, grabbing Jaskier’s hands. His clean clothes tumble into a heap on the bed, but he’s too busy looking over the skin of Jaskier’s hands to care.

“Geralt-” Geralt growls, peering closer at Jaskier’s skin and his nail beds. “Geralt, I’m fine .”

“The venom-”

“Washed right off.” The panic gripping his chest fades alongside his fear, and he glances up to find Jaskier smiling, expression fond. “I know how to handle monster sludge by now.”

“Hmm.” He can feel the heat creeping up his neck from embarrassment, but Jaskier presses a kiss to his cheek, still grinning. He doesn’t say a word, but Geralt can tell that Jaskier is tickled by his worry. He lets go of Jaskier’s hands to paw through his clothes instead, finding that whoever did the washing knew what they were doing. There aren’t any holes from the venom or lingering smells. Jaskier leaves his side as he inspects his clothes, and he’s too awake now to go back to sleep, so he slips into his freshly washed clothes and goes to find his other shirt. He’s digging through his pack, elbow deep in his things when he realizes with growing annoyance that his other shirt was used as bandages when he’d come stumbling back from a fight with a wyvern.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice is curious, and Geralt grumbles, setting his pack down and reaching to rub at his forehead. Jaskier turns to him fully now, concern on his face, and Geralt tries to ignore the waver in his scent.

“That was my last shirt.”

“Oh.” It doesn’t seem to surprise Jaskier much, and he dips into his pack before pulling out a shirt. It’s soft and frilly and white . Geralt doesn’t reach out to take it, frowning and shaking his head.

“I’ll ruin it.”

Jaskier pins Geralt with a shrewd look, and Geralt reaches to take the shirt from him. He’s going to rip it just trying to put it on, but Jaskier has made up his mind. He hesitates, not wanting to ruin something of Jaskier’s, but the bard looks two seconds away from dressing Geralt himself, so he gets it over with. The shirt goes over his head easily, and he feels the fabric catch for a moment- before it slides on smoothly, loose around his shoulders and just a tad tight around his biceps. He bends his arms, flexing gently, but the fabric doesn’t rip and he looks up at Jaskier, perplexed. Jaskier is staring at him with what Geralt can only describe as lust , and he drags in a deep breath, intoxicated by the hint of arousal already.

“Silk looks good on you, witcher.” Jaskier steps forward, nimble fingers tucking the shirt into his pants, and Geralt should be embarrassed to be treated like a child, but there’s nothing motherly in the action. No, Jaskier’s movements scream of a predator, and he watches with helpless fascination as Jaskier loosely does the laces over his chest, shuddering when a soft kiss is left on his collarbone. The scent of Jaskier’s arousal is stronger now, heady, but he hums and goes about getting Geralt to put his armor on. Geralt is one step away from grabbing him and spending the morning in bed with the way that Jaskier keeps eying him, but soon his armor is in place and Jaskier is handing him his swords.

“Jaskier.” He rasps, throat constricting and nostrils flaring wide. Jaskier looks up at him, eyes molten, and Geralt loses his breath. “Jask-”

“We’ve ground to cover and a tailor to find. Let’s go, Geralt.” Geralt can’t deny him anything, not with his head swimming the way it is and the feel of silk pressed to his skin under his armor. He follows Jaskier out of the inn and to where Roach is stabled, tacking her and getting onto the road in record time. Jaskier seems to have calmed down some, lavender shining through, but there’s an undercurrent that Geralt finds hard to ignore.

The shirt is near impossible to ignore- the texture is different than the simple cotton of his shirts, smoother, and he finds himself shivering whenever the shirt moves under his armor. The shirt smells like Jaskier too- and while Geralt is used to the smell, it’s close and covers his own and that does funny things to his head. He’s more distracted than he’s ever been on the road, all because of a shirt and he stubbornly tries to block out the feel of silk and the scent of lavender. Geralt has no clue where the nearest tailor would be, but Jaskier leads them with a purpose, a small smug smile on his face the entire time. Geralt catches himself staring a few times before wrenching his gaze away, staring pointedly at his feet or some far off point in front of him. The trip between towns doesn’t take long at all, and Geralt realizes with a jolt that they’re in Rinde.

He hasn’t been to the city in years, prefers to keep his distance if he can, but the crowd in the streets sweeps the two of them up and ushers them deeper into the city. The sights and smells quickly overtake him, and he can feel his hands shaking. Footsteps clatter and bounce off the buildings, trapping him in an endless loop of louder and louder noises. The smell of dirt and sewage and sweat makes him choke, and his brain's only instinct is to run . He doesn’t get the chance, a hand sliding into his and squeezing gently. Jaskier presses in close to him, lavender trickling in to overtake the other smells, and Geralt feels a swell of relief and gratitude in his chest. He keeps hold of Jaskier’s hand lightly, his own fingers tracing the callouses from Jaskier’s lute and slipping to swirl along the embroidered edge of Jaskier’s doublet. His mind quiets slowly, adjusting to the onslaught of senses, and by the time Jaskier finds the tailor Geralt can look around without his hands shaking.

The odor of fabric dyes is sharp as they step into the tailors shop, Geralt ducking through the doorframe. He isn’t going to hit it, but the movement is habit and he’s never been able to stop himself. Immediately Geralt is drawn in by all of the color; rich blues and greens, reds and oranges and yellow. The color reminds him of celandine, the soft buttery shade of a very useful flower, and he finds himself gravitating toward it. It’s something he would never wear, too flashy, but Jaskier has a doublet almost the exact same color and Geralt finds it comforting. Jaskier slips from his side while he silently admires the different colors, stopping by a burnished orange bolt of fabric and reaching to feel. The cloth is buttery soft under his fingers, and Jaskier finds him there, holding a corner of the cloth and marveling.

“Geralt? The tailor needs your measurements.” Geralt looks up, nostrils flaring before he relaxes and nods, following Jaskier to the back where a man waits, glasses perched on his nose and measuring cord draped over one arm. A small girl, no older than 8 stands in the corner, watching as Geralt removes his armor and shirt and stands patiently while he’s moved and measured. Jaskier stands close, watching their things while the man mutters numbers and the girl scribbles them down. Once he’s released from the tailor’s scrutiny he dresses quickly, uncomfortable at being exposed and tired of smelling the wary edge of fear the little girl has. His scars are terrible, he knows, and they crisscross every inch of him, proof of what he’s fought, and how inhuman he truly is. Any number of his wounds should have been fatal, but he was still here, years later. “So, done in a couple days?”

“You’re sure you want this cotton? It isn’t anything as lovely as the silk.”

“Cotton will do fine.” Jaskier insists politely, glancing at Geralt and nodding his head toward the door. Geralt ducks out while Jaskier barters, knowing his presence can sour even the friendliest of people. Jaskier insists it isn’t the case, but Geralt has read people for as long as he can remember and he isn’t so easily swayed. Jaskier comes out a few minutes later, whistling merrily and smiling at Geralt. “C’mon wolf, we’d best find somewhere to stay tonight.”

“In town?”

“You’d rather stay in the forest?” Jaskier’s tone is teasing, but his expression is earnest and Geralt swallows hard.

“Would that bother you?”

“Never.” Jaskier holds out his hand, and Geralt goes to take it before realizing he’s being handed something. Jaskier presses a small scrap of fabric into his hand, just a small square of silk, but it's the bright, smoky orange he was looking at and Geralt latches onto it immediately. He worries the fabric between his fingers, and though he wants nothing more than to go back and stay in the forest until the clothes are done, they’d been on the road a while and… Jaskier deserved to stay in a nice inn for at least a night or two. The inn in the other town had been sufficient, but every so often he liked to see Jaskier flourish, laying among nice sheets and hunkered at a table that didn’t wobble. Instead of heading out of the city like he wants he heads deeper, following the scent of ale and sweat until he comes across the inn.

Jaskier ducks inside to get a room and inquire about playing for their board while Geralt goes to stable Roach, petting down the length of her neck and grunting when she headbutts his chest. “Rude.”

He chides her softly, dodging another headbutt and shaking his head as he slips the saddle from her back. Once he’s gotten her brushed down and spoiled her sufficiently with a few sugar cubes he leaves her to relax and heads back for the inn. He must have taken longer than he expected, because by the time that he gets back Jaskier is launching into a spirited rendition of ‘Toss A Coin’ and Geralt ducks into the shadows to avoid people noticing him. He doesn’t know which room is theirs, so he settles himself in a corner and pinches at his silk scrap as he settles in to watch Jaskier perform. For as much as he grumbles, his voice is lovely and having heard many of his songs come to life's a treat in itself. Not the process, where Jaskier hums or croons the same words over and over again while trying to figure out his melody, but this. Jaskier’s eyes bright, smile tugging at his lips and threatening to ruin the vowel he’s drawn out. The crowd reacts to him much better than when they’d first met in Posada, swaying and clapping along to his songs and crowing lyrics when Jaskier pauses to let them interact.

He works the crowd as deftly as Geralt wields a sword, but everytime that Jaskier’s eyes meet his, the look is only for him, a look of longing and love and contentment. If anyone notices the change in his demeanor they don’t say anything, just beg him for another song and cheer when he aquiesces. Sometime in Jaskier’s performance he’s brought an ale, and though he sips at it he can’t bring himself to drink much. Something in him makes him hold off, keeps his eyes firmly on the way the candlelight and sunlight mix to dance over the silk of Jaskier’s doublet.

He doesn’t want to leave, to risk missing anything else, but more and more people are crowding into the inn after hearing about Jaskier’s performance. The scrap of fabric in his hands helps, but it’s beginning to fray at the edges from his constant touching and Geralt slips up the stairs before he’s boxed in by too many bodies. He follows his nose as best he can, opening the last door on the left to find Jaskier’s things tucked neatly under the table. Geralt goes about setting the room up the way they’re used to, shedding his armor and draping the pieces over a chair before getting the fire going in the hearth. It’s warm in the room already, but the night brings a chill quickly and he doesn’t want Jaskier to be cold when he finally comes up. Geralt uses his time alone to prepare more potions, fingers stained yellow by the celandine petals.

It takes him less time than he was expecting to finish up, and the idleness of his hands… bothers him. He would sharpen his swords, but he’d just done it and didn’t feel inclined to sharpen an already razor sharp blade. Instead he moves closer to the fire and tucks himself into a kneeling position, closing his eyes and letting out a slow, even breath. He slips into his meditation as easily as one would breathe, letting his senses drift while his mind slows to honey around him. There’s something within the meditative calm that’s always called to him, drawn him deeper than needed and kept him. Nurtured some part of him that wanted nothing more than to disappear. He doesn’t know how long he drifts until the door creaks open behind him, quiet footsteps padding across the wood floor. He can tell it’s Jaskier instantly, so he chooses not to move, instead bowing his head a bit lower and drifting once again.

The sound of Jaskier behind him is a gentle distraction, one he can easily tune out as he goes about putting his lute away and slipping out of his doublet and boots. He hears Jaskier come closer, can feel breath on the back of his neck an instant before gentle fingers brush his hair out of the way and soft kisses are left on the exposed flesh. The feeling sends a warm flush through him, and he rumbles low in his chest as Jaskier trails kisses down his shoulder. A hand comes up around him, tugging at the ties of the chemise as he uses the extra wiggle room to leave more kisses across Geralt’s exposed skin. Jaskier is warm against his back, pressed up close as his heat bleeds through the silk of his shirt, and Geralt shivers when teeth scrape lightly across his skin. Hands roam over his front, petting at his stomach and tugging so that silk slides over his skin. He shakes involuntarily with the sensation, and Jaskier sidles a bit closer.

“Jask…”

He follows the path of Jaskier’s lips, skin tingling as Jaskier lazily moves back up until he can kiss behind Geralt’s ear. His breath is hot, sending shivers across his skin, and Jaskier noses at the soft spot where his jaw meets his neck. “Yes, darling?”

“I…” Geralt, for the thousandth time in his life, is lost for words, but Jaskier laughs softly in his ear, voice husky.

“I’ve got you.” Heat rushes up his spine and pools in his stomach, and even the barest shift of Jaskier behind him has his fingers twitching with the urge to touch. Jaskier’s lips slide over his skin and Geralt’s head arches to the side, baring more of his neck for Jaskier to peruse. His lips are soft and warm, and Gaskier gasps when Jaskier bites, tongue sweeping over the skin to soothe any pain. Jaskier’s hands wander, one pressing against Geralt’s chest to keep him in place while the other slides down, fingers dancing along the inside of Geralt’s thighs. He jerks in Jaskier’s arms at the first teasing touch, and Jaskier croons against his skin, smoothing a hand over Geralt’s thigh and tugging until his legs are spread wider and he’s leaning heavily back against Jaskier. The touches along his thigh and the obscene spread of his legs has heat pouring through him, and he’s hard in his pants and the feeling is rapidly growing uncomfortable. He faintly hears himself whining Jaskier’s name, but Jaskier takes pity on him and tugs his pants open, hand dipping inside. Jaskier takes Geralt firmly in hand, moving with the witcher as he moans, arching up into the touch. Jaskier frees him from the confines of his pants and he sighs at the relief and feeling of Jaskier’s fingers firmly wrapped around his cock. Jaskier’s other arm is an iron band around him, keeping the two of them pressed together wherever they can. He should feel trapped, should fight out of Jaskier’s grip, but Jaskier strokes him slowly, wrist twisting, and Geralt shudders in his arms.

“Beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, love. Let me hear you?” Geralt’s cheeks flame, but there’s nowhere for him to hide, trapped between Jaskier’s hand and his very nice chest. Jaskier rubs a thumb over the head of Geralt’s cock, spreading a bead of precome, and Geralt whimpers , hips jerking as Jaskier’s hand speeds up. “You like wearing it, don’t you?”

“What?” His mind is still slow, half out of his meditation and addled by lust, and he isn’t quite sure what Jaskier means. Jaskier’s hand on his chest grabs a fistful of silk, and Geralt understands. His hips jerk, cock twitching in Jaskier’s hand as Jaskier pays close attention to the head. “Yes-yes-”

“Tell me why.” Jaskier’s voice is saccharine in his ears, and Geralt can feel the vibrations against his back. It’s near impossible for Geralt to think about what he wants to say, pleasure rapidly building in his gut, but Jaskier’s hand slows down, giving him a chance and making him growl at the same time. The bard's voice is dangerous this time, ragged and broken with lust. “I’m waiting, Geralt.”

“It’s- it smells like you, makes me smell like you-”

“Territorial beast.” Jaskier’s voice is fond, lovingly so, and that makes Geralt’s stomach flop. He seems pleased enough by the answer though, because his hand speeds up and Geralt sees stars behind his eyelids. He’s much closer than he’d like to admit, but Jaskier is so close to him and he knows exactly how to push him toward the edge. Geralt turns his head, straining a bit to try and catch Jaskier’s lips in a kiss. Jaskier shifts behind him, going up higher on his knees, and Geralt gasps into Jaskiers mouth when he feels Jaskier’s cock brush against the swell of his ass. He pushes his hips back, grinding against Jaskier and moaning when Jaskier’s fingers tighten around him and jerk him faster. Jaskier laps into his mouth, tasting the sweet moans that Geralt lets out now that he’s somewhat muffled.

Geralt can feel his stomach tightening, release so close, and Jaskier swipes a thumb over the head, over and over until Geralt is sobbing against his mouth and trembling in his arms. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

The simple command is what finally undoes Geralt, and he moans Jaskier’s name as he tips over the edge, hips jerking as he comes messily onto the floor in front of him. He should care more about the mess- really he should, but Jaskier strokes him through his release and doesn’t let up until Geralt is whining and shifting his hips back to get away from the sensation. He sags back into Jaskier’s arms as the bard kisses his hair, and he can feel Jaskier, hard against his backside. Geralt shifts his hips, slowly at first, and when Jaskier puffs out a soft moan he grinds down harder. Geralt feels fingers dig into his hip, and he shifts so that he can look at Jaskier better. The bard’s eyes are dark with lust, pupils blown wide, and he sees Jaskier’s eyes flick down to his lips more than once.

“Stand up.” Geralt’s voice is soft, but Jaskier jerks up to his feet as if burned. Geralt turns fully, back to the hearth, and uses a hand on Jaskier’s hip to steady him. His other hand works at the ties of Jaskier’s pants, and he pulls Jaskier’s cock free, glancing up. “I love being yours, Jaskier. More than you could know.”

He can tell that Jaskier wants to say something, some flowery words to tell him much the same, but his words catch in his throat when Geralt tips forward and takes the head of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth. One of Jaskier’s hands flies into his hair immediately, gripping the strands tight, and Geralt bobs his head pointedly. He enjoys the taste of Jaskier on his tongue, taking the man deeper as he listens to Jaskier moan. Geralt closes his eyes, hands coming up to gently rest against Jaskier’s thighs. He can feel Jaskier’s thighs twitching under his palms, and he presses forward, relaxing as Jaskier’s cock slides into his throat and his nose presses against the soft skin of Jaskier’s abdomen. The noise that Jaskier lets out is a broken whine, and his hips twitch of their own accord. One of Geralt’s hands quickly slides to grip Jaskier’s ass, urging him forward, and Jaskier swears above him.

“Geralt- you’re sure?” Geralt’s eyes fly open and he glares up at Jaskier, swallowing pointedly around him. Jaskier’s cock twitches in his mouth as their eyes meet, and Jaskier lets out a shuddering breath before he pulls back. He thrusts back in quickly and watches eagerly, as if afraid to miss a thing. Geralt sinks into the feeling of Jaskier using his mouth, closing his eyes and moaning as he does his best to keep up with Jaskier’s sharp, jerky thrusts. Normally he’d have more time to enjoy, to let Jaskier use his mouth to tease himself, but Jaskier is painfully hard on his tongue and Geralt knows he’s close. The next time that Jaskier pulls back Geralt flicks his tongue against the slit, drawing a sweet noise from Jaskier’s mouth and stealing his breath when Jaskier shoves in, hips stuttering. Geralt pulls back, intent, and he swirls his tongue around the head until Jaskier’s grip tightens painfully in his hair and he’s held in place as Jaskier’s hips shove forward. The roughness makes his own cock twitch and he drops a hand to palm himself lazily. Jaskier pulls back halfway, murmuring Geralt’s name to get his attention. Geralt looks up to show he's listening, and Jaskier's look sends heat searing through his nerves. “Breathe, love.”

Geralt knows that warning better than any other, and he pulls in a deep breath on command, head tilting back a bit as Jaskier thrusts in hard, grinding against his face as he comes down Geralt’s throat. Geralt swallows around him reflexively, blinking rapidly as tears gather in his eyes as Jaskier stays pressed firmly into his throat. Geralt relaxes his jaw a bit more, ignoring the way his lungs are beginning to pinch with the need to breathe as Jaskier grinds into his mouth, moaning and fingers curling in Geralt’s hair. Eventually Geralt taps twice against Jaskier’s thigh and Jaskier pulls out, panting and jerkily petting at Geralt's hair. Geralt leans into the touch, a raspy purr kicking up in his throat. He hears Jaskier drop to his knees, still breathing hard, and then Jaskier is kissing him regardless of how messy he currently is. Geralt melts into the soft, reverent touches as Jaskier pets over his chest and cups the back of his neck with a hand. Jaskier uses a gentle press to tilt Geralt's head a bit, and Geralt can't help the small moan at the way it feels. Geralt feels drunk off of the attention Jaskier lavishes on him in the afterglow of his orgasm, and he gasps, grinding into his own hand when Jaskier's nails scratch at the base of his skull.

"Wanna come?" Geralt considers it briefly, ready to say no, but Jaskier's hand is warm as he guides Geralf into taking himself in hand. Jaskier's fingers overlap his, helping, and Geralt whines as he works himself rapidly into a second orgasm. This one isn't as intense as the first, but warmth rushes through Geralt and makes his toes curl as he groans softly against Jaskier's lips. "That's it, so good for me love. Take me so well, so pretty for me."

The compliments make his cheeks flush and he ducks his head automatically. Jaskier catches his chin with his free hand, not letting Geralt hide as he kisses him softly before pulling back to smile. Geralt squints at him then, voice cracking when he speaks. "What?"

"Mmm nothing, just wondering what else I could do with you wearing this shirt."

"Anything." The reply is so simple, but Geralt's pupils are blown and Jaskier can tell he's tapped into some other part of Geralt, some side aimed to please.

"Mmm, it's a good thing we've this room for the next couple days, then. Wonder how good you'd look in my lap."

It's meant more as a rhetorical, but the whine that shakes from Geralt's throat is needy and Jaskier knows these next couple of days are going to be very, very busy indeed.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #major sluttiness

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unholyhelbig · 3 years

Note

Werewolf Prompt: Chloe and Beca are cleaning up the house after werewolf!Chloe escaped and recked the house.

Read the Whole Series here | Request prompts here

It never mattered how long Chloe brushed her teeth, she couldn’t get the coppery taste out of her mouth. Her tongue was caked in cotton and the minty taste of toothpaste didn’t’ do anything to quell it at first. She would scrub and then spit and then drag the brush against her teeth again.

Eventually, she had enough and threw the toothbrush back into the cup where it rested comfortably next to Beca’s. She dragged her thumb against the corner of her lip and shut the light off. Her whole body ached after nights like this- it didn’t matter how many years she’s had to do it, how long she’s been tasting blood.

She padded into the hallway, happy to feel the spongy carpet under her feet instead of wet dirt. It didn’t’ take long before she had made her way down the stairs and into the family room. There was an unsettling breeze that swept through the lower level of the house. She stopped on the bottom stair and lifted an eyebrow.

“You’ve managed to break another window,” Beca said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Chloe couldn’t’ stifle the smile on her lips, though it was thin. She flexed her fingers, and they stung. She had done a bad patch job with whatever bandages they had laying around. She would be healed by the time they got eggs on the stove but it made her feel more human to try.

Beca wore whatever she had scooped up from the floor, a cotton button-down that had a few droplets of blood, or maybe it was pen ink, on the collar. She had secured it against her skin and was rooting around the pantry for the broom. Chloe took it innocently, wrapping her fingers around Beca’s.

“I didn’t cause too much damage, did I?”

“No,” She fretted, “but I’m afraid you did wake the neighbors.”

Chloe let out a loud groan and palmed the dustpan before lowering herself to the ground to scoop the shards of glass into a neat little pile. Beca rooted around in the drawer and produced masking tape and unfurled the paper that she had brought in this morning.

They worked in silence, Chloe getting as much of the sliding glass door. They had replaced it twice since they relocated to the small townhome. It was an upgrade from the apartment with the creaky radiator, but they hadn’t yet figured out a safe way for her to transition. A good patch of land was more than an hour away.

Beca had begun taping the corners of the paper to ward off the chilled morning breeze. She flicked the first section of the news and squinted to see the tiny letters. She wouldn’t admit it, but she needed glasses to read, and drive at night. She tucked them away at the back of the medicine cabinet and strained herself instead.

“Chloe?”

“Darling?”

She heard the detrimental tone in the woman’s voice. Her legs ached as she stood from her position on the floor, dumping the pile of glass into the nearby bin. Beca moved the paper closer to her face, so close she could smell the ink and freshly printed paper.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

“Not much, why?”

She grasped the news, not having to keep it as close as her wife did. There was a photo of a small intersection, each one with nearly the same housing as they had. They were cookie-cutter, the HOA making sure that the hedges were cut and the grass was mowed.

“A whole chicken coop, Chloe?” Beca asked, snatching it back before ripping a large strand of tape from the roll. “I mean, you ate the half-rack of lamb that we left in the freezer. I didn’t think you would be hungry after that but I underestimated your stomach yet again.”

“Miss Jensen will get more chickens,” Chloe reasoned. She snaked her arms around Beca. She pushed herself flush against her, placing her chin on her shoulder. Beca smelled like clove cigarettes and vanilla. Chloe kissed her neck gently.

“Mm, this is not helping your case.” Beca turned in her arms, having secured the paper. She draped her arms over Chloe’s shoulders “I know we’re only stuck here for a year but I don’t need the neighbors beating down our door with pitchforks and torches.”

Chloe chuckled “That’s impossible, Sweetheart. I’m much too charming.”

As if on cue there was a swift knock at the door. Both of them stiffened and Chloe turned her chin towards the front of the townhome. She nodded apprehensively at Beca and rolled her shoulders back before padding across the room. She took a deep, steadying breath before opening the door with a smile.

A couple, their neighbors, she recognized, beamed with a casserole dish. Chloe could smell the flour and the gravy already and it made her stomach turned. With her luck, she would burp up a wet feather and incriminate herself more. Beca didn’t’ waste any time joining her, fitting into Chloe’s side.

“Hi,” They said in unison, but cocking their heads to the side. They were too pristine. The woman’s jet black eyes flicked towards the half-covered window, void of glass. “We’re the Sief’s, we live across the street.”

“Ah,” Beca turned on her charm “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Beca, this is my wife Chloe. What can we help you with today?”

Mr. Sief’s smile never faltered “Well, we’ve never had the pleasure of welcoming you to the neighborhood. We also wanted to check to see if the two of you were okay. With all those recent animal attacks.”

“It’s just awful isn’t it?” Mrs. Sief shuddered, gripping the Pyrex pan tight enough to shatter it. “What happened to your window?”

They were being eyed, and Chloe stuck her bandaged fingers into the pockets of her pajama pants as smoothly as she could without irritating the lacerations. Beca gripped on tighter, the fabric of Chloe’s shirt shifting under her touch.

“Oh, just some neighborhood kids with a ball, it sure startled us. Right honey?”

“Right, it’s not something you want to wake up to in the morning.”

Mrs. Seif narrowed her eyes and thrust the pan of casserole forward. She considered it customary for a funeral and not for a welcome committee. Beca took it with a smile and thanked them in a tone that was sweet enough to make her teeth fall out.

“Thank you so much for the casserole,” Chloe beamed “It’s very nice of you.”

The woman nodded with exaggeration “You all should consider pressing charges. Teenagers shouldn’t be out that late anyway.”

“We’ll think about it. Nice to meet you!” Beca closed the door entirely before they could say anything else. They waited for a few long moments, making sure that the couple had at least made it to the curb before Chloe couldn’t hold her laugh in any longer.

Beca shoved her shoulder, mocking a frown “It’s not funny! I’m pretty sure they poisoned that. Who puts tater tots in a casserole?”

“Oh, I’m not eating this. But our accountant neighbors are a far cry from angry townsfolk, wouldn’t you say?”

Beca rolled her eyes and shoved the glass pan into Chloe’s entirely healed hands before walking over to the window to finish taping it up. Chloe would pull the business card from the magnet on the fridge and call the handyman again. At this point, they could earn a punch card.

#beca mitchell #chloe beale #bechloe #bechloe oneshot #werechloe #requests

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floatingpetals · 4 years

Text

Out of Water || Part 1

Pairings: Mer!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Mer!Steve Rogers (Mermaid AU)

Warnings: maybe a little language, fluffy fluff, hint of smut,

Word Count: 1600+

Summary: Neither Steve nor Bucky could have known the horrors they had to face in order to make sure their mate was safe in their arms. Now that they were here, the two swore they were never going to lose it. They had their mate, their love and home, but in a world not their own. The climb was over but their shared journey was far from it.

A/N: First things first, you HAVE to read Edge of the Water to get anything that’s going to happen. This isn’t a stand-alone and needs to be read in order.

Now that's done, I just wanna thank @empyreanwritings for her wonderful donations on my ko-fi!! As a thank you, I’m starting her request for more of mer!stucky. No way was I going to deny her such a wonderful request! I hope you all like this series too. It’s not going to be nearly as long as the original either. I just have plans for a few cute little stories revolving around the three. Let me know what you all think!! Enjoy! ❤

*I will NOT be doing a tag list with this series. I think I’m going to be doing away with that considering the tags don’t actually work correctly half the time. You can follow my writing page that can be found in my header and set up notifications there.

Gif isn’t mine, credit to the creators. (@chickabiddy)

Part One | Part Two | Series Masterlist

Early morning sunlight filtered through the open sliding glass doors, warming the cool, quiet room and it’s occupants. The trio couple lay tangled together, the thin sheet covered them. Y/N was snuggled safely between her two mates, Steve and Bucky who were both bare as the day they stepped out of the machine holding her tight. The soft, silky sheets rubbed against the men’s lightly tanned skin, a change contrast to what they were accustomed too. It was still strange, waking to the feeling of cotton against skin instead of the cool water against their scales, but not unwelcome. The feeling meant something more to the two mer-turned-men that lay underneath them than for anyone else. It meant they did the impossible.

Steve inhaled deeply as he began to wake, the corner of his lips turning up into a sleepy grin. Even in his sleepy state, Steve knew how monumental this. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would ever get this, waking up with his arms tightly around his two mates. He could finally hold Y/N in her bed and not worry about his life draining from his body. Keeping his eye shut in content, he nuzzled his nose into Y/N’s neck. A happy sigh passed through his lips and he scooted his body tighter against Y/N’s body, desperate to press as much of his skin against her as he could.

The shuffle pulled Y/N from her sleep, warmth bubbling in her stomach when she felt Steve’s fingers begin to trace delicately against her skin. She hummed quietly and reached up to bury her fingers in his hair, gently tugging at the short freshly new cut. She too knew how special this was, and every morning since she’s sent a silent thank you to whoever was up there watching over her.

It had been over two months since their first change. Tony and Maria had been incredibly accommodating, knowing that it would take the two mers a while to get used to their legs fully. They gave them a room on Tony’s hidden island, with a deck that led out to the water so they could change back to their mer bodies anytime they wanted. Maria was there to help their transition and even introduced them to a few others that had gone through the serum. Having them there made this easier, both Steve and Bucky needing that extra support. Even though they’d never admit aloud, Y/N knew this was hard for them.

There were growing pains that came along with it, even muscle pain they’ve never had before and some days the two were just sapped of energy. The transition always hurt, but Maria promised it would grow less over time. Tony swore he’d find a way to make so that the pain was no longer part of the shift. There was always a pang of distraught that would shoot through Y’N’s heart when she’d see the two of them in such pain, but they never hesitate to soothe her fears. This was what they wanted. Home was wherever she was and no about of discomfort would hold them back from being by her side.

“I can hear you thinking.” Steve murmured softly against her neck. Y/N giggled.

“It’s not like I’m trying to keep it to myself.” She mused. Steve snorted and pressed a tender kiss against her neck. He slid his left arm out from under her and used it to prop his head up, letting him stare down at Y/N while keeping his right tightly around her and Bucky. She scrunched her nose as he shuffled, the bed shifting slightly under his weight. She didn’t have to worry though. Bucky, who was always the heaviest sleeper of the three, snored on with a tiny smile on his lips.

“What’s got your mind goin’ so early?” Steve asked. Y/N shrugged and blinked up at Steve. He still managed to take her breath away every day, and this morning was no different with the soft drowsy look in his eyes. The light hit his eyes just right they shone the same blue as the ocean he was born from, his face relaxed and content.

“Just thinking about you two and how everything’s so different now.”

“Good different, I hope?” Steve tilted his head. Y/N cracked a grin and nodded.

“Very good.” She soothed. Steve fell quiet, letting the sound of the waves filter through the doors. Y/N didn’t find his sudden drop in the conversation odd, he was always the quiet thinker of the two mers. Instead, she nestled further into the sheets and turned to press her cheek against Bucky’s chest. The other’s chest rumbled at the contact and his arm instinctually tightened around her waist.

It had become routine. Steve would wake first to watch over Y/N and Bucky for a few peaceful moments before Y/N slowly woke too. The two would lay awake, whether in a blissful silence to just enjoy each other’s company or talk softly about their plans for the day before Bucky would gradually wake. But every morning all ended the same. Both mers would hold Y/N tight and smile widely to each other, their hearts happy and full. This morning would be no different.

“Tony needs us to get your passports and ID’s done sometime this morning.” Y/N spoke after a few minutes. Steve hummed and let his head fall back to the pillow.

“I know. Still don’t want to know how he’s going to make us legal humans,” Steve grumbled under his breath. Y/N snorted. She’d have to agree with him on that.

Tony had been nothing but a godsend, but some of his practices were interesting, to say the least. He had his finger in practically every seat of power, and Y/N was nervous to ask him exactly what it was that his father had done to create such a legacy. Yet so far, the man had done nothing to give her suspicion that he might be less than as clean that he makes himself out to be. All the ones he’s saved have done nothing but speak highly of him. They were safe and happy, truly the end goal Tony had for them all. Even the few scientists that work with him sang praises of the man. Y/N has just decided to come to terms with the fact there are aspects to Tony’s life she didn’t need to know.

One of the things he had been working on, another reason why they were still there on the little hidden island, was that he wanted to make sure they were comfortable in their bodies before producing IDs for Bucky and Steve. He wasn’t going to just throw them out there into the world, they’d never make it ten feet without an ID to get them around. Flying would be completely out of the picture if they wanted to go from country to country. Tony wanted to make sure they would be comfortable with their new lives and was doing every step down to the letter to make sure it would be so.

They had just gotten the all-clear for the physical therapist four days ago, and now Tony had all their information written up and ready to print. All he needed was them to get their pictures taken.

“If Tony can make a deliberate explosion pass as a fake accident and a real cause of death, I’m not going to argue with his methods of making you legal.” Y/N muttered. There was an answering grunt, but not from Steve.

“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, but it’s too early for the speaking.” Bucky groused. Y/N felt Steve lift his head up before hearing him snort.

“It’s nine o’clock in the morning.”

“Still too early.” Was the quick retort.

Y/N didn’t need to see Steve’s face to know he was rolling his eyes at Bucky.

“I’m not the one who insisted on that third-round last night,” Steve said, his tone light.

“You also didn’t argue about it either,” Bucky shot back and rubbed his eyes. Admitting defeat, he grumbled more under his breath while he rolled on to his back to stretch with a groan. He let his left arm flopped back on the bed and sighed overdramatically as he stared at the ceiling.

Y/N laughed fondly at his pout and cupped his cheek. She turned his face to hers and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Bucky perked up, and before she could pull away, he swooped in to press his lips against hers in a slow tender ‘good morning kiss.’ He didn’t let her go until he was sure she was a breathless puddle in his hands.

“Now kiss Steve so I can too.” He urged gently. Y/N didn’t bat an eyelash at his command and quickly turned to do just as he said.

One corner of Steve’s mouth was turned up in a crooked grin, a dash of smug content written across his features. Her easy acceptance didn’t go over his head and both Steve and Bucky made a mental note to test that theory out later. With a feather-light touch, he moved his lips against Y/N’s before claiming her mouth as his. She melted under his touch, her hand blindly reaching out to hold on to him. Her fingers curled around his shoulder, her thumb brushing against the thin lines that would be his gills.

In his human form, Steve had no need for them. They were just two thin black lines on either side of his neck. ‘Almost like a tattoo’ Maria had said once or twice before. His lungs worked like humans so they sealed shut during the shift. However, just because he didn’t need them, didn’t mean he could feel them. Y/N’s accidental touch sent delicious sparks down his spine, igniting that fire inside his stomach. He hissed at the contact and yanked his head back.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N gasped, her eyes flying open wide in horror, assuming the sound was one of pain. She knew they were still sensitive, even if he didn’t use them. “I didn’t mean to hurt-.”

Her voice was caught in her throat at the look on Steve’s face. He wasn’t the least bit upset, quite the opposite in fact. His pupils were blown open wide, and a feral grin had spread across his face. She felt Bucky’s muscles tighten behind her, the excitement rolling off him in waves. He knew that look too and was eager to follow through with the wicked plans Steve was already making.

A low purr came from Steve’s chest and the smirk grew.

“There’s been a slight change of plans.” He rasped before leaning forward to nip at the skin on her neck. His voice dropped an octave, the grin growing wider. “Tony’s going to have to wait.”

A shudder went down her spine when Steve latched on to her skin. A second mouth took up spot on the other side and Y/N’s eyes began to roll back in her head. The brief thought that they actually had things to do today was gone as quickly as it entered. Yeah, she thought to herself, this was a much better plan for their morning.

#stucky x reader #steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers imagine #bucky barnes imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #bucky barnes fanfic #steve rogers fic #bucky barnes fic #steve rogers #bucky barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagine #marvel fic #reader insert

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roguerogerss · 4 years

Text

A Hard Day’s Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You’re just about to go to bed, when you get an unsuspected visit from a certain supersoldier.

W/C: 2.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood/injury, language, fluff.

(A/N: Hello again! Here’s another Bucky fic bbys! This has been unfinished in my drafts for the LONGEST time, and I finally got around to finishing it! Thank you so much for the support on ‘Safe Haven’! It really means the world to a small blog like me that people r enjoying my shtuffff. If you enjoy, pls remember to like and reblog! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated!)

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It was three in the morning, and the sky had gone a shade of dark blue when I finally decided that maybe it would be a good time to sleep. I was notorious for not turning the TV off before going to bed, and that night was no different. It was a comfort thing, even though I was fully aware that it was racking up electricity bills, and that I’d be sorry for it at the end of the month.

When I rounded the corner, from the hallway to my bedroom, the only source of light was coming from the still-open curtains, which I didn’t bother to close before getting changed. No one was awake, and I figured that, if anyone was, they might as well have looked. I set an alarm for ten, even though I knew that I would blank it and wake up closer to two in the afternoon anyway, and then I lay on my bed and looked at the ceiling.

It was quiet, peaceful, tranquil. I enjoyed being awake at ungodly hours because it meant that, while I was awake, the world was asleep. I felt superior, like I’d beaten the system and was on an entirely different wavelength from the rest of New York City. Like the birds that I could hear in the distance were my only concerns, and that they were the only ones who truly understood me in of myself. I could’ve laughed at myself for sounding so philosophical in my own head, but I didn’t.

The silence was soothing and unbroken until, was that? No, it couldn’t be. Grunts? Groaning? My face contorted as I listened to whatever the noise was getting closer to my window. It didn’t so much as scare me, it was more worrying. I sat up just in time for my window to be slid open from the outside, not noticing the blur of silver metal and flesh in my state of panic. I was on the verge of picking up the lamp that sat next to my bed to whack the creature with, before the all too familiar figure hopped onto my windowsill and the fear that I was feeling was alleviated.

Bucky motherfucking Barnes.

He held his hands out to me, like he was surrendering, but he still had this grin on his face that he knew could make me melt. I hated him for not knocking, even though I knew that he didn’t knock, that he never had and probably never would. He simply let himself in, and, most nights - all nights - I was okay with that.

“Hey.” Bucky said. He said it so passively, like he hadn't just climbed twelve floors so that he could crawl through my window. Like he hadn't just done it without breaking a sweat. Like this wasn't the first time I'd seen him in almost a month, and it wasn't nearly four AM.

"What are you doing?" I sighed. I sat back down and admired him in his place, with his back against the window frame. He was attractive at all times, from all angles, but I liked him best in the low light of the early hours of the morning. The hollows of his cheekbones and jaw seemed more visible, chiseled, and his skin seemed perfect and unflawed. It was almost like the scars and blemishes that he'd acquired from past missions and suchlike simply ceased to exist. His eyes seemed brighter, more blue, with the way that the dim light reflected in them.

"I know you're probably mad." He pulled one knee up to his chest, circling his arms around it, and stretched his other leg out so that his foot was touching the other side of the window frame. "I don't expect you to be fine with me. Was on a mission, three weeks long, that's why I haven't been around. I know it's late, but I needed to see you as soon as I could."

I stayed quiet as I tilted my head back to look up at the ceiling. There were little patterns on it that I hadn't noticed before. They were faint, because the building was old, and I tried to decipher what they might be. I made a mental note to myself to try to figure out what they were at some other point.

"I would've called, but I was pretty badly hurt and tired most nights. Thought seeing me like that might've upset you." Bucky continued, but I still didn't speak. I didn't want to. I thought maybe I wanted to be mad, wanted some reason to be, but now that he'd given me nothing, I decided to do the same.

"Can you say something? Anything, please?"

I took a shaky breath. It was supposed to be deep, long, but my lungs felt shallow and like they had shrunk in capacity. "I would've liked it if you'd called. Would've been nice to see you."

I was being cold with him and I knew that I was, it was no coincidence and certainly no accident. My eyes were still fixated on the ceiling, trying to concentrate on the unknown patterns instead of Bucky. "Would've been nice to see me?"

I nodded, feeling stupid and like I could've cried, and Bucky scoffed in response. "Tell me, you think it would've been nice to see this?"

Bucky's flesh hand went to the side of his burgundy shirt, which I had seen before, and pulled it up just enough for me to see a large, swollen, red gash on his side. I knew that he'd been slashed by a knife, just from the look of it, but I looked away because I didn't want to see it.

I blinked down at my lap, and shook my head, at a loss for words and really just wanting to go to sleep. It was getting light outside, the intensity of the bird's screeching and bickering becoming increasingly more as the conversation went on.

"Of course you don't. Why would you?" Bucky sounded angry, like I'd personally offended him by not wanting to see the obscene laceration to his side.

"You could've still called. It's not obligatory for you to show me your wounds, in all of their glory."

"I heal overnight, sweetheart. If you get in a fight with someone, and they pull a knife on you, you're always left with more than one cut. And let's not forget that we never had any time to shower, so I was all dust and dirt and dried blood, plus a few stab wounds. Couldn't speak for a week, either, stabbed in the base of the neck and severed my vocal chords. Dr Cho managed to fix 'em up." Bucky had been staring out of the window, at the sky, which was orange and blue due to the rising sun, for the entire time that we'd been speaking. He hadn't looked at me at all, like he was trying to keep his composure and, if he saw my face, he'd lose it.

"Tell me, honestly, would you have wanted to see me like that?" I loved his voice. It was raspy and deep, but still managed to relax me, even when his words were harsh. Hearing him speak took me back to countless nights in my bed, when I'd be woken up by nightmares and Bucky would lull me back to sleep by simply telling me one of his stories from the 1940s. I was like a baby, latching onto his every word until they blurred together, became one, and I fell asleep in his arms.

"You could've texted." I said, lamely.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." I was done with the argument, and I made that clear in my voice and in my words. I wasn't unbothered by the situation at hand, that he hadn't visited, or called, that he'd seemingly forgotten about my existence and fallen off the face of the earth for three weeks, but I was so tired. All I could think about was going to sleep, but I wanted Bucky to be there beside me when I did.

"Are we okay now?" There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and a smirk adorned his face as he took his first look of the night in my direction. It wasn't a big gesture, but the look that he had about him made my heart flutter and beat erratically within the confines of my chest.

I smiled and lay back on my bed, with my hands clasped over my abdomen, ankles crossed, and head lulled back into the white pillows that were placed at the headboard. "Get changed and come here." I pointed to the white dresser that sat at the foot of my bed, and Bucky knew that I was asking him to stay the night, but he didn't seem to want to leave.

He got up, and I heard the heavy thumps of his combat boots against the floor. His footsteps were so loud and it was so late that I was sure that the couple who lived in the apartment directly below mine would complain about the noise the next morning. I heard Bucky opening the drawer, the one that was inexplicably his drawer, and I propped my head up on my hand to watch him.

He peeled his shirt off, inspected the gash on his side — which was already beginning to knit itself shut — and then discarded of his cargo pants and black boots somewhere on the floor of my bedroom. I didn't mind, instead, I watched the muscles in his back flex deliciously as he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts that I kept for when he stayed over.

I had one of his shirts, but he didn't bother putting it on for whatever reason, tiredness or just a general lack of desire to wear one. "It's rude to stare." He turned around, and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he crawled towards me from the end of my bed.

Bucky placed a hand on my stomach, hiking up the big shirt that I was wearing so that he could press a kiss to the space above my belly button, the space below it, my hipbones over the pink and white cotton panties that I had on, the insides and outsides of my thighs, the backs of my knees. And then he pushed my legs open and lay between them, sighing as he buried his face in my chest.

One of my hands found his long, dark hair, which was freshly washed and smelled like apples, and the other found his jaw, clean shaven, soft.

"It's four in the morning." My fingers massaged Bucky's scalp while I stated the nonsensical words. I was unaware of what they were supposed to mean, what I wanted him to take from them, but I allowed him to interpret them in whatever way he wanted.

"Mm." Bucky hummed, like he was content or half-asleep, and then he propped his chin lightly on my stomach and looked up at me through his thick, dark lashes. His eyes were so striking that I couldn't help the way that my breath hitched, the way my tongue came out to wet my bottom lip, the way that I felt like butterflies were going berserk in my stomach. "What, you wanna sleep?"

“If that's not too much to ask." I giggled, watching intently as Bucky's eyes flicked over my face and his lips twitched in a tiny smile. He shook his head and kissed my collarbone, before rolling off of me and onto his side. I turned over to face him, and he held my face in his hands and smiled.

"'Course not. I haven't slept properly in weeks." He tugged my face towards his, looked at me with that lopsided grin that set butterflies loose in my stomach, and then captured my lips with his own. It was a sloppy kiss, one that indicated how tired we both were, but it felt nice. Nice to have him back, nice to have finally stopped arguing, nice to be laying in his arms. It just felt nice.

Bucky pulled back, as if to admire me in all of my half-asleep-messy-haired glory, and grinned lazily. “Goodnight, beautiful.” He dragged the comforter up to both of our chins and pulled me close, kissing me on the forehead then. “Sweet dreams.”

I sighed happily, the relief of Bucky being there making my heart swell. It was the same relief that came with Bucky’s return from any mission, whether it was long or short, or whether he had contacted me during it or not. I’d missed him - I always missed him - as much as I liked to pretend that I didn’t.

But he was home, he was here, and he made it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #sebastian stan #captain america #fanfic #sebastian stan x reader #steve rogers #mcu fic #rogue writes #rogue does marvel

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gisachi · 4 years

Note

Please make number 22 with ShinRan, and maybe the one who interrupts them can be Sonoko/Heiji...oh! And please make it canon and not AU. Sorry if this is too much request 😁😁

Hello, thanks for sending in a number! I gotchu with your request~ Wrote this on a whim so please excuse grammatical and/or spelling errors. Hope you like this one! 💖

22. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party. (1,231 words)

“Ow!”

“I told you, stay still!”

“I am trying!”

“Stop flinching, Jesus!”

Carefully holding his elbow in place, Ran dabs Shinichi’s freshly acquired bruise with cotton and alcohol, and the injured detective does nothing but wince in pain as if Ran’s rubbing salt on it.

“Can you at least be more gentle?!” Shinichi half shouts, and Ran rolls her eyes and huffs, working this time on the scraped skin on the side of his right hand, which has him clenching his fist tight and sinking his teeth to his lower lip.

“I am gentle, you just have poor pain tolerance.”

Shinichi sags against the couch, trying to keep a straight face while he watches Ran tender some more scratches on his right arm and lower leg. “This sucks.”

The disgruntled woman eyes him from head to toe.

“Just as I pray we won’t stumble upon some random case in our weekend trip to Osaka, we suddenly have this,” she remarks, tone stern and steely as they sit on the living room couch of the Hattori residence, the Osakan couple locked up in Heiji’s room where Kazuha tenders the hot-blooded detective’s identical bruises.

Unlike the boys, the girls are smart enough to conclude that they must not cure these two in the same space, lest they prefer graver wounds. Not from each other, but from their girlfriends restraining them with martial arts if they keep up with such incredibly childish behavior.

“At least they’re just minor injuries?”

“Which you could’ve avoided if only you and Hattori-kun acted more like your age,” she sighs as she plasters a bandaid over his bruised elbow. “Seriously, you’d be in bigger trouble if not for me and Kazuha-chan acting immediately.”

“It’s unavoidable, I swear.”

“Shinichi, you and Hattori-kun slid along the riverbank and almost fell straight into the water, you could have missed that,” the bite in the last phrase makes Shinichi cringe in shame.

“But you didn’t because you weren’t looking at where you’re walking,” Ran presses the alcohol soaked cotton a little too hard on his leg that he whines, “Because why? You’re busy fighting over who’s the better detective, minutes after the fangirls left us. Give yourselves a break, will you?”

Still wincing, Shinichi speaks behind gritted teeth, “but I can’t just let Hattori—”

Ran throws him The Glare, and he grumbles in defeat.

“Fine, I lost my cool there. Right.”

“Apologize to Hattori-kun after this, please? He’s even hosting us this trip, we should be grateful!”

“Right.”

Shinichi exhales inwardly, secretly mocking himself because he realizes where the Hattori Influence brought him. Damn, a quarter of the West Detective’s competitive spirit seems to have jumped to him. He isn't the type to really care about being the best in Japan, but curse Hattori and his contagious, feisty, over-the-top attitude. He makes a mental note to hang out with him less. That is, if he can even reject this annoying dude who also happens to be his best bud.

Ran closes the first aid kit, places it on the end table. “You’re hopeless,” with scrunched eyebrows, she pulls a cannot-be-helped smile, tracing the small abrasion on his cheek, the last one to clean, “such a hopeless, stubborn detective.”

In that moment, he deadpans to her lips, then turns away just before she catches the blush sprouting from his cheek.

“You know, there’s one way you can cure me instantly.”

“How?”

He doesn’t reply, but a few seconds in and Ran utters a silent ‘oh,’ seeming to get the hint. From the corner of his eyes, he sees her fidgeting on her seat.

Feeling the awkwardness setting in, he coughs.

“I mean, not really a cure, heh, but, you see—”

Before he can finish, she grabs his collar and plants a quick kiss over the bruise on his cheek, and he almost dies on the spot.

Ran lets go, scoots a few inches back the couch, looks at him coyly.

“There,” she says, shy but resolute, tinge of pink shading her ears and cheeks, “Feeling better?”

Shinichi flushes hard, stares at her like a lovestruck idiot.

Then, he sighs deep, sinks into the couch.

“Why do you always aim for the cheek…” he mumbles, moping like a child as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m sorry?” Ran sidles to hear him better, blush not disappearing from her face.

“I’m saying…” he turns his head, gulps at the realization that she’s closer than when she’s tending his wounds, lashes flapping enticingly as she blinks, cherry lips pouting cutely, the v-neck of her shirt revealing a modest amount of cleavage and it’s making all the blood in his veins gush to his head.

“Damn it! What I’m saying is!” He grabs both her shoulders, and there is this ridiculous thumping noise in his chest like he’s about to have a heart attack.

It grows even louder as Ran’s wide eyes lock his indulgently, before they flutter shut, nice and slow, and Shinichi can only do so much as tighten his grip on her shoulders and inch his lips closer, and closer.

“Aim for this next time, Ran,” he sighs his last words before his lips meet, not the air, not her cheeks, but her lips.

After how many attempts. Finally!

‘Yes yes yes yes yes’, Shinichi’s brain repeats, blood boiling at a thousand Celsius as her soft, silky lips caress him, replacing the stinging pain in his sanitized injuries with butterflies and flowers creeping and growing at exponential speed in random places in his body and everything feels sooo nice. Right, he’s feeling much better now. But only for the first few seconds. Because now a particular heat radiates down to his abdomen, to his pelvis, and it grows even stronger everytime Ran makes a delighted whimper as he moves his lips and changes his angle to fit hers better, and, and... why are their bodies slowly pressing flat into the couch?

“Oi, Kudo. The ahou’s right, I might’ve gotten a little over— HAAAAAAH?!”

Ran falls to the floor with a resounding thud, Shinichi scrambles to his feet trying to shield her from Heiji’s view but there isn’t any need because Heiji already saw their secret escapade though he prays he didn’t at all.

“Th-The hell are you doing not knocking, Hattori?!” Shinichi stammers as he sits clumsily on the floor, Ran behind him, both their ears, cheeks, neck as red as fresh molten lava.

“Why should I knock in my own house, Kudo??!” Heiji shouts back, tone furious despite the evident flush of red growing from his neck up.

In the background, the whistle of wind and cooing of birds intensify.

“...”

“Listen. I-We...it was in the spur of the moment, we didn’t plan to—”

“Ya bastard, even in MY house!”

An ominous, raging black aura spawning from Heiji’s back accompanies his roar and Shinichi stops explaining, wanting to apologize and laugh and run away instead at the absurdity of it all. Too late though, because Heiji’s already trapped him with his deadly I-get-it-but-you-fucking-owe-me-again-Kudo and I’m-going-to-upstage-you-just-wait-and-see glare before he drags an oblivious Kazuha - who appears from behind the archway completely missing everything Heiji saw - on the wrist and Kazuha stumbles on her feet.

“Kaz’ha, come with me! Kudo’s challenging me again!”

“Eh?? But did ya already apolo— wait what challenge? Whaddya mean Heiji?”

They hear Kazuha last before the door to Heiji’s room slams shut.

#shinran #slight heizuha #fanfic #kiss prompts #had a good laugh while i was typing this #presenting our idiot detectives #lmao #hope you like it!! ^^

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kileyrose-2003 · 4 years

Text

Rebecca character headcanons: How they react to seeing without a towel infront of them by accident after a shower

A/N: Hello lovelies! This is for my dear friend @merci-bitch I'm still working on all of your request. Most of them are being started from square one. So bare with me as I make it through them. Coming back fully is a work in progress for me. I'm going through a bit of a rough patch right now. It's all going to be okay in the end though. Just got to take everything one step at a time. I love you all and I hope you all have a wonderful day.

Warning: Implied/slight sexual content, slightly NSFW

Rose

This a common occurence with Rose

She hates shoes and I do headcanon she also dislikes clothes

She's very airy and bohemian in her style

Wears a lot of silk and cotton

She doesn't like feeling weighed down by fabric and material

It's very rare she actually wears a pair of form fitting pants when she's home

And even then, they're very stretchy

There are a couple of scene in Doctor Sleep where Stephen King explicitly writes she has no top on

Or no clothes in general

Especially around Crow.

She's a beautiful woman and she knows it

She even walks around The Bluebell Campground when she gets out the shower with only a bath sheet on

There is nothing sacred in The True Knot

They've heard and seen it all by now

So a person covered by only a bath sheet, doesn't bother them

You personally would never do it intentionally

And if you do accidentally expose yourself or run around improperly dressed, it's an accident or in the most dire of situations

At this point you're still freshly turned and holding onto rube morals still

Well

At least as much as you can being in The True Knot

On this particular occasion where you dropped the towel, it was Rose's turn to go grocery shopping

She gave you the option to come but you chose to stay behind

You slept in til about noon and you were in desperate need of a shower

And a cup of tea

She made you scream the night before

So after a little relaxation you took your shower

You're the fun one in the relationship

So if you like to sing, you sing in there. If you like to dance, you danced.

Point being you lost track of time

The cold water beading down on your skin was a harsh reminder of that

You stepped out, dried yourself

Dropped the bath towel

Went to pick out some clothes

The curtains were shut so it wasn't like anyone could see inside the trailer

Or at least you thought so

Until you heard the clicking of the door knob

You froze, panic running through your body

There was Rose, paperbags filled with groceries in her arms

At first the two of you stood there looking at each other with blank faces

Somewhere in the midst of your shock, you can hear Crow standing outside the trailer politely leaving the other bags on the steps

And you become even more mortified

But eventually Rose began to smile

"Well, that's a greeting in half isn't it."

You're immediately embarrassed by the remark which makes Rose grin even more

"No, no, no. No shame. It's not like it's the first time I've seen you in this setting, right?"

You stumble on your words even more

And you can tell Rose is genuinely enjoying it

You don't know what to do

What to say

Part of you is humiliated

But before you can conjure any words, her lips crash down upon yours, fingers running through your hair.

She is loving every single moment of this.

Especially your flustered expression afterwards

Needless to say you're not going to be needing clothes for quite a while now

Riza

Like Rose this is probably a more common occurence on Riza's part

Except with Riza, its not a matter of she hates clothes

She just likes to tease

In this scenario, Riza was out on business

She had to negotiate a new contract with an arms dealer and she wasn't supposed to be back for a few days so you had the house to yourself

As I mentioned before Riza hates anything deemed "domestic"

So you took it upon yourself to tidy up while she was gone

After a day of cleaning, you desperately needed the shower

You took longer than you normally would of, humming to yourself as you washed up

You didn't hear the clicking of the bedroom door opening mid way through

You dried off and stepped out of the shower, still singing to yourself. Not bothering to cover up with the towel.

And as you step out of the bathroom there is Riza

Comfortably lounged out on your bed, clad in a bathrobe with her martini glass in hand

She has been waiting to see the day that she could pull this off and now she can

"Hello, darling."

Her tone is sweet but clearly hints at a seductive nature

You nearly fall onto the floor, next expecting her to be there.

She laughs at you clearly entertained by not only the expression on your face but also your attire

"You're too cute, Y/n."

As she begins to approach you, she stands as tall as she can. Trying to intimidate you with her height.

"You really are such a precious thing, aren't you? So petite and most importantly, all mine."

She presses gentle kisses up and down your neck that leave you in shock

Riza knows she's seducing you every step of the way and she is loving it

She leads your hands down to the tie on her silk robe and squeezes your hand in hers

"Do you want to see what things you do to me?"

I think everyone can fill in the rest of the picture here

Kathleen

Even though Kathleen is a bit of a flirt and sometimes a tease, there are clear boundaries between the two of you

In every relationship there is a need for privacy and respect

If you have neither of those, the relationship won't work

So between the two of you, you respect the other one's need for privacy

Kathleen would never do anything to make you uncomfortable intentionally, and you are the same way towards her

Even though you share a room, you have a knock before you enter policy

Sure you've seen each other naked before, but it's what makes the two of you most comfortable

So her seeing you naked in this situation, was honestly a complete accident

You and Kathleen work different shifts

She teaches theatre during the day and you teach music at nights

You normally do your hair, makeup, etc. while Kathleen is out the house that way you can see her for a few minutes before heading your own way

You showered about an hour after she left

After you dried off, you had no hesitation to just rip the towel off

After all, it shouldn't be a big deal

You have curtains in your apartment , the front door is locked, etc.

You walk into your bedroom softly humming to yourself and much to your surprise there's Kathleen

Rummaging through your shared bedroom trying to find her wallet

The two of you immediately let out a yell and yiy try to make an attempt to cover yourself with anything in sight

"What the hell are you doing?"

"What the hell am I doing?! I thought you were at work."

"I was at work but I had Augustus cover for me so I can run home. I can't find my damn wallet!"

You both were so embarrassed and your faces were evidence of that

It's something you both laugh about now but at the moment, it was not so funny.

After throwing on a bath robe and twenty minutes of searching, you eventually found the wallet and Kathleen was ready to go

She wrapped her arms around you at the front door

"Well that was quite the experience. Wouldn't you say so, darling?"

The smirk on her face is evidence she's well over the incident

But you can't help but tease

"Don't act like you didn't like it." You loop your arms around her neck. "I seen the way that you looked at me without that towel on before we had a moment to process."

The way she purses her lips makes your heart pound from the residual anxiety

But she eventually kisses you on the lips

The kiss last a while and leaves you out of breath

But it's a nice farewell that leaves a smile on your face

She might show you how much she loves you later on a day off after a drink or two

It's the little moments like this that make your relationship special

Jenny

Like I've mentioned before, Jenny is very clingy to who she deems as "hers"

So when it comes to your relationship, she has no sense of privacy or space at times

You could be in the middle of taking a shower and all the sudden

"You know, this is my favorite outfit."

And there's Jenny with her head either peaking in the shower or standing in the shower with you

It's a bit annoying and it's caused a few arguments between the two of you but you won't let it ruin your relationship

So this her seeing you naked thing, is somewhat common

On the occasion you accidentally dropped the towel, you thought she was downstairs rehearsing for her next show

She had a tour planned for the following week around Europe so you figured mine as well you do something nice to her before she goes on the road

You purposely picked out nice clothes

Spread them out all nice on the bed

You stepped out of the shower

Dried yourself off

Dropped the towel and as you're midway through walking to the bedroom

"Darling, I'm-"

You freeze up

And Jenny just stared at you

You can see her cheeks turn red and muttered a small "I'm sorry."

But she isn't

And her face shows it

Her lips are hinting at a slight smile

Smugness gleaming in those piercing eyes

"Could you stop staring at me like that?"

"Like what?"

And she knows damn well how she's staring at you

Her eyes wandering all over the place

"Like you're hypnotized."

"Well if I'm hypnotized by you tell me, how do I fix it?"

I think we all know how this ends

Rebecca

Rebecca is a very non judgmental person and has a good sense of humor

She's not the type that would make a huge deal about accidentally seeing you naked after a shower

Especially if it was within a time frame you didn't expect her to be home

Because she does travel alot for work

She'd be a little embarrassed at first

"Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry!"

Her cheeks would be cherry red and immediately reaching out to hand you your towel

And she'd step out to give you a moment to get dressed

Trying to make small talk to get both your minds off the incident

But afterwards it doesn't cross either of your minds

She's back to her normal self, hanging all over you every second she can and snogging

Dinah

If I already didn't want to hug Dinah, her reaction to this makes me want to hug her even more

Dinah is big on privacy

Even in your relationship, she likes to keep some things to herself

She will cuddle with you

She will kiss you

She will hug you

But she will not get undressed infront of you

And she absolutely would not want to see you naked

Under any circumstance

Her seeing you nude is something she is just not ready for

It's nothing against you

But she still needs time to heal and she doesn't know if she's ready for that next level in your relationship

And you respect that completely

The day she seen you naked was a complete accident

Dinah was busy doing errands and such while you were soaking in the bath after a long day of cleaning, so you figured she wouldn't be home anytime soon

Your body was fiercely sore. It hurt to even wrap a towel around it.

So what was the harm in not putting on a towel

As you were half way to your room, you heard the door the padding of feet softly across the floor and you froze

"Y/n, I'm back. My apologies, I-"

Yours and Dinah's eyes interlock and she nearly lets out a scream

She was petrified and looked near the verge of tears

Whether it was out of shock or embarrassment you can't tell

But it hurt so much inside to see her like that

You open your mouth to say something but before you even have the chance to say anything she's running outside

You debate on going after her right away but what good would it do?

She was already scared as it is and it's not like you can take the chances of walking outside nude

So you throw on a dress and shawl as quickly as you could and go to find her

When you do, she has her face buried in her hands but she's not crying which brings some relief

It was an accident obviously so she immediately forgives you but it's an incident that still sticks in your head for the next couple of days

Ilsa

Ilsa is similar to Rebecca in this situation except the shock factor hits her harder

She was off on a mission for the past couple of weeks and you were missing her terribly

Ilsa was supposed to be home earlier during the day but something came up

So you figured you'd take the time to make her a nice dinner and make yourself up

You didn't even hear her walk through the front door when she got home

You had the stereo on as you were making dinner and never bothered to shut it off

You dried off quickly in the bathroom and left the towel on the counter as you stepped out

You walked into your room expecting to be alone but there was Ilsa, clad in her favorite sweats and t shirt

Her eyes lock with yours and for a second it's intense, almost as if she's mad at you

If you weren't so locked up, you would of been running to find the nearest item of clothing and Ilsa must of seen it

Her expression quickly faded into an almost hinted smile and she blushed

"Hell-I am so sorry."

"No, no. It's fine. I made dinner if you want it. Do you mind to-"

"No, not at all."

You notice her eyes lingering as she leaves you alone to get dressed and you can't help but feel slightly humiliated

But by the time you're out of the room and dressed, she's over it and is all over you

Kissing your face all over and holding you close

The time you get alone is rare, but you both cherish it

#ilsa faust #rose the hat #jenny lind #headcanons #kathleen weatherly #rebecca ferguson #riza stavros #the red tent #dinah

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litwitlady · 4 years

Text

Cosmic Clowns, Part Seven

Read the first six parts on AO3.

Liz picks Alex up the next morning so that he can leave his car at home. She keeps looking over and grinning at him the whole way to work. Once even reaching over to squeeze his knee in excitement.

‘I’m so happy for you and Maria. Even if you are both dating my ex’s siblings.’ Alex laughs. ‘What kind of friends let me date a cop? Anyway, keep Max Evans far away from me, Alex. Do you understand?’ She pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine. ‘I never want to see that vanilla frat boy face again.’

Inside Maria is already clacking away at her keyboard. ‘I’m here early so I can leave early. Getting my nails done for tonight.’ She wiggles her fingers at them, then frowns. ‘Why the crutches, Alex? Feeling okay?’

‘Oh, yeah. The prosthetic is down in Liz’s car. I don’t want to wear out my leg before tonight. So, crutches it is.’ Alex leaves the two of them to their happy laughter and shuts his office door for a little peace and quiet. He’s nervous – more nervous than he’s willing to admit.

But he doesn’t have much time to wallow in his anxiety before a client calls him and occupies his mind for the next two hours. And then another client and another until four o’clock rolls around and Liz is bringing him his prosthetic. She wishes him luck and leaves – Maria already long gone.

Alex changes in his office, walking into his small bathroom to give himself a once over in the mirror. The outfit is simple – his favorite pair of jeans with the knees worn out and a thin, black sweater in case the night grows chilly. He tries to swoosh his hands through his hair enough to make it look fluffy and freshly tousled. To complete the look, he does something he hasn’t done in a very long time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a tiny gold hoop and pushes it through his still pierced ear.

Michael texts that he’s downstairs. Alex takes several deep breaths and stuffs his wallet into his back pocket. He quickly puts on extra deodorant and heads out of his office.

He swings the building doors open and finds Michael leaning against the passenger side of his truck, one leg kicked back onto the fender and grinning at the sight of him. Alex grins too. And they stand like that for an excessive amount of time – beaming at each other like clowns. Clowns who are beyond a shadow of a doubt falling head over heels, ass backwards in love.

‘Well, you look good enough to eat.’ Michael stalks towards him, eyes focusing on the earring in his left ear. And then over to his mouth. Alex blushes but does his own once over. At Michael’s tight jeans, the copper belt buckle – his white tank top covered by an unbuttoned black shirt with roses stitched into the chest pockets. And the way he smells so, so good.

Michael asks for a hug by raising his arms and crooking all his fingers at Alex. He complies, nearly tripping over himself to wrap his arms around Michael. ‘I’m really excited about tonight.’ He pulls back and smiles softly. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

‘Trust me, Alex. The pleasure is all mine.’ He opens the truck’s door for Alex to slide inside. And then, they are off into the night.

Dinner goes really well. They share all the details of their troubled childhoods, the dreams they dreamed as kids, and Michael tells several obscene stories about his first terrible sexual experiences. Mostly, they laugh. Laugh and eat and enjoy each other’s company. Even their silences, comfortable and relaxed.

When they pull into the fairgrounds, Maria and Isobel are already waiting for them. They exchange hellos and Isobel grabs her girlfriend’s hand – winks at Michael and Alex – and starts walking backwards. ‘We’ll leave you boys alone. Give you two some personal time. Meet you at the Ferris wheel in an hour.’

‘So, what do you want to do first?’ They pay the entrance free and get their hands stamped. ‘I think the funhouse has great potential. But the Gravitron is always a hit – or I could win you a giant purple teddy bear.’

Alex laughs and shakes his head. ‘No teddy bears. But the funhouse sounds like a plan.’ He gathers his courage and holds his hand out to Michael. He likes the way making the first move feels. And when Michael threads their fingers together, he decides that whatever risks await him within this relationship – the rewards are bound to be so, so good. And that’s a chance he’s finally ready to take.

They get quite a workout – walking up and down the fairway stopping at each and every attraction. Forty-five minutes pass in a blur as they head towards the cotton candy stand. Michael declaring that no carnival experience is ever complete without the proper carnival diet.

Michael gets in line behind a couple of other people. But Alex hangs back, wanting to spend a moment taking in his surroundings. He’s felt like such a recluse these past several months, and he’s not sure why. But being outside in the crisp spring air has him feeling energized and full of life.

The fairway stretches before him for what feels like miles, disappearing into the dark horizon. Flashing lights blink all around, the heat from the bulbs creating a smokey, surreal atmosphere that transports him to some other time and place. The laughter of small children and the soothing voices of their parents fill his ears alongside the eerie funhouse music echoing behind him. The whoosh of mechanical rides splitting the air and the whirl of the crowd crushing in close disorients him in a delightful way. He smells roasting turkey legs drenched in tangy barbecue sauce and buttery popcorn. Salt-crusted pretzels and the sickly-sweet scent of lollipops and caramel coated apples. A gentle breeze rustles the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck, sending little shivers dancing up and down his spine.

All his senses are lit on fire. Exploding with the carnival’s chaos – the overwhelming cacophony of teenagers gossiping, flags whipping in the air, hot dogs roasting on rotating oven racks, and the syrupy hint of strawberry slushies on the tip of his tongue. The world tilts, slanting into a spin. Alex closes his eyes and lets himself go. Allowing the thrill of the fair to sweep him away.

And when he reopens his eyes, Michael is directly in front of him. Close enough that his body heat creeps slowly into Alex’s skin. The evening’s sights and sounds still so oppressive and pulsating, pushing him forward with no hesitation because all his fear and worry and anxiety is buried beneath the too much of it all. And before he can even breathe, his arms are hugging tight around Michael’s neck – their bodies touching at every point from chest to hips to thighs and tangled feet.

And their lips – their mouths – their teeth – their tongues.

Pressing together as Alex licks Michael’s pink candy-dusted lips asking – no begging – for entry. And Michael complies – going pliant beneath Alex’s insistent tongue. Abandoning his cotton candy to the fairway detritus of those who came before. Michael’s hands don’t know where to begin, starting on the slight curve of Alex’s hips and sliding upwards across his firm chest and taut nipples – landing eventually in his thick, soft hair. And the first time the tip of Alex’s tongue glances against his own, Michael involuntarily bucks his hips and moans into Alex’s mouth.

They are still standing in front of the vendor stall and patrons are beginning to complain. Someone pushes at Michael’s shoulder roughly, yelling at them to get a room. Too love-drunk to break away, Michael tightens his arms around Alex’s waist and lifts him – blindly walking them backwards to the side of the makeshift shed housing the food stall. When his shoulders slap against the fake paneled wood, he spins them around and presses Alex against the wall. Never once disconnecting their mouths. He shoves his knee aggressively between Alex’s thighs, loving the vulgar way Alex starts to pump his already hard cock against his own denim-clad thigh.

But Alex – Alex is lost in a dream. Utterly undone and trembling with pleasure. He wants nothing more than to strip them down here and now. Let Michael fuck into him while everyone watches them rut against this shaky unstable shack. It’s been so long – too long since someone has touched him like this. Maybe no one has ever touched him like this. And he never wants him to stop. Michael’s hands reach down, palming his ass and Alex sucks at his pulse point hard enough to leave a mark. The carnival slowly begins to fade away. The noises hushed by the beating of his own heart, the sights dimmed under his heavy-lidded eyes, the smells drowned out by the clean scent of Michael’s shampoo. And the tastes – my god, the tastes – melted away on Michael’s bruising lips and filthy, wet tongue.

Take all that carnival nonsense away and what’s left is them – just Michael and Alex. And the best kiss of both their lives.

#malex #malex fic #cosmic clowns cpa

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kai-n-ali · 4 years

Text

In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter One

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 5K

Chapter Two ❀ Chapter Three

Chapter 1: Citron (Ill-natured Beauty)

The bell let out a series of chimes as the door creaked on its hinges, and in a small florist shop tucked between a gelateria and an abandoned butchery, Eleanor Blum officially met the devil of Small Heath.

She wasn’t impressed.

Flora’s, the little florist and botanical shop, had become a haven for the twenty-three-year-old in the time that she’d lived above Cora Evans’ storefront: only a few short weeks. Flora’s, partially named after Cora’s granddaughter, Florence, was a bright spot of color among the grit and grimness of Birmingham, with flower boxes brimming with asters and foxgloves, strawflowers and marigolds. Along the south-facing wall, honeysuckle crawled up the scratched brick, and the thick, sweet scent of the flowers almost washed out the stench of shit wafting up from the nearby horse stables or the sour-milk scent from gone-off gelato dumped in the dumpster, left to fester in the summer heat.

Inside, the shop was cluttered, bouquets dotting the window display and trailing back in colorful bunches all throughout the front of the store, some put in ornate vases, others in ribbon-adorned mason jars, and a few placed into half-rusted buckets. Petals and leaves dotted the floor, and the room reeked of lavender and fresh-cut stems, grassy and clean. In the back of the store where the rare plants were, packets of seeds labelled in Cora’s handwriting, and now in Eleanor’s own scrawl, lined their worktable in rows.

When he first came in, she didn’t bother looking up from her spot bent over one of the tables, hands streaked in dirt from potting snapdragon cuttings—they were very fashionable right now for front gardens, apparently—and the charcoal from her pencils. She’d plucked a honeysuckle bloom off its stem earlier in the morning and was practicing the loose lines of it on paper with strokes of a pencil.

The bell chimed, and Eleanor heard none of it, not until a voice cleared its throat a few paces in front of her. Eleanor jolted up, pushed a few curls out of her eyes.

The man in front of her was beautiful in the way most wild things were when trapped behind glass. The way vines were beautiful when they were confined to the cracks of cobblestone, peeking out in glimpses of brilliant green. With cheekbones that looked like they’d split the pads of her fingers if she reached out to touch, that looked like they were meant for dinner parties as much as they were for being flecked in blood, Eleanor felt herself stiffen. She knew this man. Sort of.

That newsboy cap was just ridiculous.

Thomas Shelby, the husband of Grace Shelby, stood in her new place of employment. The last time she’d seen him, Eleanor had been at a gala in a new dress, gems dripping from her throat and beading trickling off her hem while she grilled his wife on her new orphanage and its living conditions for the second time.

He was a ghost. Some half-wilted thing.

Eleanor tilted her head, taking in the stiff lines of him, the strained civility held in the pale blue of eyes, and thought: how disappointing.

She hadn’t taken Shelby for the kind of man to wilt.

Meanwhile, it seemed Mr. Shelby was studying her as well. The startling blue of his eyes trained on her, cut across by the thicket of his lashes. He swept up and down her form, and she avoided fidgeting just barely. It seemed he recognized her, perhaps from the charity gala for the Shelby Foundation that went so wrong. Eleanor herself had only seen glimpses of him at said event, dressed in a black tux, the cut of his jaw severe and the stretch of his coat across his shoulders making her mouth go dry. She’d seen him as a dark shadow lingering behind his wife, his hand curling around her pale shoulder or tucking a loose, golden curl behind her ear before he was up and off again.

Though, she realized she’d lied before. The last time she’d seen Thomas Shelby, it’d been a black-and-white photo shot from quite a distance, his back ramrod straight as he stood over the coffin of his dead wife. Surrounded by chrysanthemums and hydrangeas. His family stone-faced beside hordes of men in full military garb.

The thought of Mrs. Shelby made her wince, and if anything, that made him stare harder. Something in his eyes questioned, how do I know you? Eleanor wasn’t obliged to answer.

She locked her jaw and crossed her arms over the dirt-streaked cotton of her blouse. “Can I help you?” she asked, “or did you come just to ogle?”

Somewhere from close behind, Eleanor heard a small squeak. She turned to face the noise. Florence, or Flora, sat on one of their many wooden benches, nearly toppling over a vase of petunias with every swing of her feet. Her eyes were very wide. “Ella,” she said, high-pitched, in a more-than-loud whisper. “Ella, that’s Mr. Shelby.”

Flora was a girl of thirteen, with straight, dark hair cut right below her ears, and a smile that grew more lopsided the harder she grinned. When the chores were through and if the shop wasn’t busy, Eleanor would sit down and entertain her with little doodles, half-formed sketches.

Right now, however, she was white as a freshly bleached sheet, her gangly legs jiggling with nerves. She hadn’t grown into them yet, but Eleanor found them endearing—almost coltish. Her eyes darted for her grandmother, but Cora was long gone on an errand.

Mr. Shelby seemed unaffected, clearing his throat again with a cough. One hand rested on his pocket-watch, as though already eager to check the time. “Ella, eh?” She’d never heard him speak before, and the coarseness of his voice made her stomach flip-flop alongside the annoyance burning away at her. “Well, Ella—”

“Eleanor.”

There was a slight furrow to his brow now. It really was painfully fucking charming. He just sort of looked at her, head cocked, considering. Eleanor let out a gust of a sigh.

“It’s Eleanor. My name. Not Ella.” Not to you, she thought. There was a pause, and she heard more than saw Flora place her head into the palms of her hands.

“Tommy Shelby,” he said, as if she didn’t know that, and offered her his hand. Eleanor looked at that hand, the deceptive slimness of his fingers and the narrow taper of his wrist. His callouses were faded, softened with time.

There was dirt under her nails and specks of dried mud up to her wrists, but she shook Mr. Thomas Shelby’s hand like she was wearing silk gloves. All lowered lashes and a coquettish flick of her wrist bone. The high-society ladies back home would surely applaud her if they saw.

Then she ruined it.

“What kind of grown-ass man still goes by the name Tommy?” she blurted before she could stop herself, her hand still in his. His hand had looked almost delicate before, but it engulfed her own. The shocked jerk of it against hers sent a vibration up her arm, and she suppressed a smirk. His eyes narrowed in on her face, a sudden intensity there he hadn’t possessed before. Like he wanted to peel back her skin and look beneath. Off-to-the-side, Flora let out a distressed little sound, akin to a mourner at a funeral. Viewing the body one last time before it lowered into the earth with the worms.

The next sound past his lips was a huff that could’ve been taken for a laugh. If he were any other man. “One without a stick up the ass, I bet.” He tossed a glance Flora’s way, quirked up his mouth. He really had a lovely mouth. “Miss Eleanor.”

And Eleanor couldn’t hold back a grin. “Hm. Agree to disagree, Mr. Shelby.” She crossed her arms over her chest, leaned over the countertop until her curls swung into her face. They were close enough now she could almost feel his breath ghosting the top of her head. “So, what’re you here for, then? Haven’t got all day.” Now, she sweetened her smile so the next bit wouldn’t bite, only sting. “Not even for the likes of you.”

“Y’ know,” and his voice was a slow drawl that made her spine tingle and her hair stand on end, the way his lips formed around the words with the barest hint of threat, of teeth, “people rarely speak to me this way, Miss Eleanor.”

“Not to your face, I’m sure.” She paused. “Mr. Shelby.”

Was it just her, or was he almost smiling? “Fair enough. Just a bouquet for me.” His eyes hadn’t left her face. “Of your choosing.”

“Right away,” she said, but something nagged at her. Taking a glance at his clothing—well-pressed and well-tailored, with a dark coat that had to be far too hot for the late July humidity and slacks with a crease down each leg—and thought he looked like a man heading to a funeral. Or a gravestone. Eleanor swallowed. Thought back to that black-and-white photo from near a year ago. Chrysanthemums and hydrangeas.

Despite herself, she wondered if those had been Mrs. Shelby’s favorite flowers. They weren’t the flowers of funerals. Of mourning.

Eleanor cast her gaze around the shop, but there was no arrangement that caught her interest, that fit the bill. She worried at her bottom lip. “Gimme a moment,” she muttered, almost to herself, and stepped out from behind the table. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck.

Off-to-the side, pressed against the wall, were paint buckets filled with loose flowers, rows upon rows of color and texture, bunched together and stems kept in nutrient-enriched water. Among them, she found what she was looking for: chrysanthemums, white and ruffled with their pale green centers; hydrangeas, their purple petals in clusters. She also went for baby’s breath, as sparse and dainty as it was. A good filler for a bouquet, with the bonus of a powerful meaning. Everlasting love. Not that Thomas would know that.

From a pail on one of the many counter spaces, she hunted for a ribbon. All knotted up in a ball, it took her a moment before she found the perfect one and managed to untangle it from the rest. Silky, sage green embroidered with indistinguishable little white buds. Perhaps a touch too long. Plucking and tweaking until it formed into a proper flower arrangement, if not a bit of a rustic one, she made a simple bow around the bundle before turning back to her customer. Taking quick steps to get back behind the main counter. “All done,” Eleanor said. She couldn’t look at him. With the heft of one shoulder, an almost-shrug, she offered the bouquet forward, level with his chest. She traced the pattern of his vest with her eyes, the stitching.

The bouquet was smaller than a lot of the ones on display, less elaborate.

But it felt right.

Reaching into the pocket of her skirts, she rifled for the few spare coins she kept there for emergencies with her spare hand. He’d yet to take the bouquet. She slapped them onto the space in front of him with a clink. Just enough. Flora was strangely silent. “And already paid for.”

Thomas’ eyes felt hot on her face. Almost a brand.

He didn’t say a thank you, just gave a hum under his breath, and when he reached out to grab the flowers, his fingers grazed her own. She wondered what he thought of the scar tissue stretched across her knuckles, her fingers, if he could feel it against his skin, bumpy and rigid. This touch felt different than when he’d shook her hand, and it sent pinpricks of sensation up her forearm. When he let go, she shook out her hand away from view, trying to force the odd tingling away. It lingered.

“Good day, Mr. Shelby.”

“Eleanor.” And when he left, it was with a chime of the shop’s bell.

For a moment, the whole shop was suspended in a hush, as if the world itself had paused, reverberating with that single chime. But then Florence was up in a flurry of movement, flinging herself into Eleanor’s space with a string of expletives that didn’t belong in the mouth of a grown man, not to mention a fourteen-year-old girl. Eleanor laughed despite herself. Threw back her head with the force of it.

“Language,” she chided.

“D’ you ‘ave a death wish?”

Florence’s round eyes were roving over Eleanor’s face, her hands on her hips. She looked very serious—or would’ve, if not for the spot of dirt on the side of her nose.

Eleanor smiled. “Not recently, no.”

The younger girl didn’t seem to find that very funny, and a scowl twisted her features. “That’s Tommy Shelby you just ran your mouth off to, Ella,” she stated, jabbed a finger at her chest. Adorable, Eleanor thought. “Tommy. Shelby.” The stress on these two words was punctuated with another two jabs.

“I know his name.” I’ve met his wife.

“You don’t get it,” she said, and there was a franticness to her voice, her posture. Her hands twitched and fidgeted. “’E’s the leader of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders. People say ‘e’s worse than the devil ‘imself."

“Language.” But Eleanor’s head was already tilted in curiosity. Worse than the devil? “Peaky Blinders, huh?" She snorted. “Cute.”

“Not cute, Ella, not cute. Dangerous. Deadly. They’re the biggest gang in Birmingham. Turned businessmen. They own us.” She puffed a stray hair out of her eyes. “You get a glance at his cap?” At Eleanor’s nod, she continued. “They sew razors into the brim. You fuck with ‘em, they cut out your eyes.”

Huh. “Is that very effective?” she asked, eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “I mean, that’s a bit of an awkward angle, isn’t it?” Flora groaned, flopping onto a stool besides her, propping her elbows on the counter and resting her forehead in her hands. Eleanor rubbed her back. She seemed to do this quite a lot when Eleanor was around.

Her next words came out muffled by her palms. “The Blinders ain’t no joke, Ella. They set fire to The Marquis for messin’ with one of theirs. Their enemies get found in The Cut without their faces.” Her voice became very quiet, near trembling. Almost tearful. “You shoulda never spoken to Mr. Shelby like that.”

Despite her best efforts, Eleanor felt a shiver run through her. Only she could be stupid enough to meet a devil and reach out to shake his hand. With a smile, no less. Well, it was too late now. She leaned until her shoulder pressed into Flora’s own. “Hey,” she soothed. “Look at me, huh?” Eleanor tapped at the girl’s cheek with a nail until she peered up at her, eyes a bit puffy. “Relax, sweetheart. I doubt he’ll be back anytime soon. Not with the warm welcome I gave him.” And she smiled until Florence couldn’t help but smile back.

The second time Eleanor saw the devil of Small Heath, it was a week later. At Flora’s. And it would be the same as the first.

That damn bell chimed.

It was with relief that Eleanor noted Florence was out of the shop when a Mr. Thomas Shelby arrived for the second time, having been sent off by Cora to the gelateria with just enough money for scoop of her favorite, strawberry swirl. This time around, it was just her and Cora in the near silence of the shop, the record player in the back a mere whisper of jazz. Instead of being up to her elbows in damp soil, she had a paintbrush in her mouth and another clutched between her fingers and thumb, making a new display sign with some thick paper and her tin of watercolors. A sketch of Flora, blowing petals out of the palm of her hand. It was as she was halfway through mixing a color for the shadows of her face that the front door opened. At her side, using twine to bind their loose flowers for the paint buckets, Cora gave a sharp intake of breath.

“Mr. Shelby,” the older woman greeted, hurrying to stand. A strong-featured woman of near fifty, Cora Evans wasn’t one to show fear, or much emotion at all beyond a muted amusement at her surroundings. This sort of “why the hell not?” air of being that she'd clearly perfected over her years. Yet, while her own blue eyes were unwavering on Thomas’ own, Eleanor detected the tense line of her broad shoulders, hiked nearly up to her ears and tickling the grey-brown of her hair. Thomas inclined his head at her boss, and if he looked her way, Eleanor didn’t see it, because she had already turned back to her work, watering down a vermilion for the high spots of color on Flora’s youthful cheeks.

If she didn’t look at him, maybe she wouldn’t be compelled by whatever urge had struck her before—a sudden desire to pick at and tease, to wrestle up a smile on that pretty mouth.

Eleanor shook her head, a minuscule gesture, and huffed a curl out of her eyes. Get it together.

“’Ow may I ‘elp you, sir?” And Cora’s voice was polite, restrained, the normal warmth in her Brummie accent stripped into something foreign to Eleanor. “On the ‘ouse, of course.” At that, she felt her lips pinch despite herself.

While Cora hadn’t been upset when her granddaughter had finally told her the story of Eleanor back-talking to a Peaky Blinder, she had gone a bit pale, setting down the pot in her hands with a heavy clunk on their scraped-up work table. Staring at Eleanor with new eyes. “Pretty fuckin’ stupid of you, love,” she’d said. “They’ve set fire to businesses for less.” And she’d shaken her head. “Messin’ with that Blinder Devil—thought you had some wits about you.” In the end, though, Cora shooed her off when she hastened to spill out apologies, holding out a hand to pat her on her shoulder.

“That Thomas Shelby is more sensible than most of ‘em put together. Not like his mad dog brother. It’ll work out for the best, I bet.”

But now he was back yet again, in a suit lighter than the one before, a pale grey waistcoat with no jacket in sight. His tie was missing, she could tell even from where she hunched over her work, the top button of his dress-shirt undone at the throat. Still looking unbearably hot for the weather. Even the thin material of her house dress clung to her skin with the sweat of being trapped in the shop all day. She didn’t know how he bore it.

“No need,” he said in that already familiar rasp, and she ducked her head further down instead of looking up and catching a glimpse of his face like she wanted. “Found myself in need of another bouquet.” And she could hear the amusement in his voice. “Eleanor. If you would.”

The empty space to the upper right of her drawing distracted her. Should she fill it with roses? Lilies? There was a pause that could be felt hanging in the shop, like a physical touch against her skin, but she kept her gaze to that expanse of untouched white.

“Eleanor,” Cora said, touching gentle fingers to the bared skin of her upper arm. She very rarely wore short sleeves, but with the heat, it felt unavoidable. The circular burns that peppered her arms like kisses—they weren’t even that noticeable, not anymore. Still.

(On another August day, one from over a decade ago, she recalled the press and hiss of the cigarette when it hit her skin, and the way the mud never dried in that miserable backyard back in New York. Before her uncle came and packed her off to London. The backs of her knees were slippery with it as she squirmed and kicked. But the older girl kept a firm grip on her, and Eleanor stayed in place, sinking into the mud and dead, yellow grass. The cigarette was pulled back, still fizzling, and with the click of a lighter, was relit again. And again.)

Eleanor blinked. Blinked again and rubbed a hand over her eyes, eyes that felt much more tired than before. She pulled the paintbrush from her mouth, set it on the countertop. “Of course, I can make you another bouquet, Mr. Shelby. Anything in mind?”

She couldn’t see him, no, but she knew his eyes were smirking at her. Her fingers twitched on her remaining paintbrush. Smug bastard. “Oh, just something to brighten up me office, I think.” And Eleanor clenched her jaw, because that sounded like such shit to her. Why’re you here again, Thomas? She nodded nonetheless, kept her eyes down. You make it very hard to behave. She set down the brush with a clatter.

“I can do that.”

She searched for the most spiteful fucking flowers she could think of. Valerian, an herb frequently used for insomnia, green stems bloomed with clusters of white flowers. Readiness. I could take you, Mr. Shelby. Borage, or starflower, brilliant blue with hints of blush from the blooms with their white spines. Rudeness. Bluntness. And buttercups, their delicate yellow blossoms. A personal favorite and a good splash of color against all the blues and whites. Childishness. And, finally, Love-in-a-mist, or Nigella damascena, with their needle-point leaves and rich indigo petals ending in jagged points. A confession more than anything else, not that he’d know it. You puzzle me.

In her youth, she’d gobbled up all the books on plants and herbs that she could find in her botanically obsessed uncle’s extensive library, and that included tomes on the language of flowers. The knowledge had stuck. And now more than ever, she found herself grateful.

Eleanor plucked all the respective flowers out of their different buckets, organized by color, and set to work gathering the right amounts of each. She took a canary yellow ribbon from the ribbon pail with a flourish, flicking it in the air to get the kinks out. Grabbing a random empty vase that had once housed a beautiful but boring bouquet of a dozen roses—bought by a very frantic man in worker’s clothes and sturdy boots an hour prior, who looked like he was running quite late—she set the mass of flowers inside and set to arranging them.

Flora, who hid a chuckle with a cough at the sight of her flowers of choice, left with a quick word to the backroom and a warning glance that burned into the back of Eleanor’s head. She tried not to fidget.

She was wrapping the ribbon around the hunk of stems when a throat cleared from right by her side. Fuck. Eleanor started, spasming fingers losing the ability to form a bow. Fuck.

“What’s a rich socialite like yourself doing in a flower shop in Birmingham, eh?”

But, God, she couldn’t help but spin to face the man now. Thomas stood with his hip propped up against the table she was using, head tilted and pieces of the unshaved part of his hair near falling into his eyes. Seemed he recognized her now. He looked curious. Hungry. Up close as he was, their shoulders near brushing, she saw the hint of freckles beneath his eyes, on the bridge of his nose. It seemed even devils tanned in the sun.

Everything about him was all graceful command, words spoken in a way that showed he expected to be answered, obeyed.

It reminded her of his wife.

The first time she’d ever seen Mrs. Grace Shelby, it had been at a luncheon held at The Midland Hotel, for the sake of convincing the richest of London society to donate to her cause—the Shelby Foundation, whose first action was building an orphanage in Birmingham. When her uncle, Samuel Connolly, had told her the news, alongside the fact that he’d been invited to attend a luncheon on the subject, she’d begged to be brought along.

“If anyone would have a stake in this,” she’d said at their breakfast table, pointing at his chest with a grapefruit spoon, “it’s me, don’t you think? Let me see how genuine this is.” Sam had set his hazel eyes on hers, lips pursed, but he hadn’t disagreed.

“You’ll have to dress up,” he’d warned, and she’d stuck out her tongue at him, taking a stab at a section of fruit.

Eleanor remembered the way the beading of her dress weighted her down that afternoon, and how all she wanted was to be back home in a pair of trousers, lounging with a book in her lap and Fennel, Sam’s Spinone Italiano, laying on the tops of her bare feet. Keeping her warm. But the rich had an ability to do any good works as half-assed as possible, and with all of her blunt Brooklynite manners from childhood, she had sworn to dig out the truth from this Mrs. Grace Shelby even if it meant pulling out the plyers and using some old-fashioned elbow grease.

That hadn’t been necessary.

The waitress that escorted them both to the hotel’s largest dining room was a near-silent woman, who meekly commented on the pale jade color of Eleanor’s dress before showing them to a room with a table longer than she’d ever seen. A rich, dark-colored wood leaning near black. The napkins were a fashionable rose, the plates rimmed in gold and dotted in florals along the edges. All the candles smelled of faint vanilla and sandalwood.

Even for Eleanor, who had spent her teen years and beyond in Sam’s by-no-means-minuscule manor and had attended many a party due to his notoriety, it was extravagant beyond measure.

At the head of the table, not yet seated and chatting with a plastic but pretty smile on her painted lips, was a woman with honeyed hair and aristocratic, well-bred features. She radiated old wealth in a way Eleanor never could, brought into the fold far-too-late.

(“Oh my, it’s the little orphan bastard.” One of the wives of some business mogul whispered to her friends behind a glove. They all tittered away at her remark, and Eleanor, all awkward limbs and pale pink scars at fifteen years old, sunk back into the shadows of the sitting room. Uncomfortable in her new dress. Uncomfortable in her new life. “How quaint. It seems he really did pick up a new stray, after all.”)

Most of the night was a blur, filled with soft, exaggerated laughter and mutual back-patting. In the dining room, the lighting was dim, almost sensual despite it being only two in the afternoon. Flattering everything into a near dream-like state. At the front of the table, Mrs. Shelby had glowed. Almost an hour prior, her hand had been soft and unblemished in Eleanor’s own. Even her handshakes felt soft as silk. But when Eleanor had cornered her later in the evening over a round of drinks, her own whiskey-sour in a fine crystal glass that felt like a paperweight in her hand, she had revealed pure steel beneath the refined veneer. Eleanor could barely recall her barrage of questions now, from over a year ago.

“What of the orphans with surviving family? Will they be entitled to visitation? And the staff—what of them? Would they be receiving proper background checks prior to their employment?” It had gone on-and-on, and Grace Shelby had answered with assurance blanketing her tone, and a blade tucked beneath her tongue, ready to wield. Her eyes steady. Demanding trust. Eleanor had, though begrudgingly, given it. And promised to have more questions the next time they met. Mrs. Shelby had seemed, almost, like she was looking forward to it.

But, well, the second and last time she’d seen Grace Shelby. Well.

In the present, Eleanor zeroed back in on Thomas. He was studying her.

She knew the red of her lipstick must be smudged. That there was surely charcoal streaked on her face from using her pencils earlier in the day. That the nape of her neck was sticky with sweat, soaking the curls there.

Still, Eleanor arched her brow at who, apparently, was the most fearsome man in Birmingham. “I used the wrong fork,” she drawled. “Perilous mistake.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They locked eyes, and Eleanor wasn’t going to be the one to blink first. Without looking, she knotted the bow and pulled tight. “All done,” she said. She rambled off a price, perhaps one a little higher than necessary. She couldn’t help herself.

He blinked at her before reaching into his pocket for the money, and Eleanor let out a gust of air when his eyes left her. How were they so blue? Reaching under the table for some tissue paper to wrap the bouquet in, she offered it forward, gripping it by the bottom of the stems. His own fingers grasped it above her own and tugged it out of her hand. He was oddly gentle about it. “Have a nice day, Thomas,” she told him, a clear dismissal, and he quirked a brow at her in a barely-there question. Whether it was because of the curt tone or the usage of his first name—it had just slipped out, she didn’t know why—she wasn’t sure.

Either way, he left. And Eleanor slumped, boneless, against the countertop. What the honest fuck.

Now, she knew better than to believe this would be the last time they saw each other.

And true enough, they met yet again. This time at no fault of their own.

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loreparable-writes · 3 years

Text

The Thieves’ Aerie

How were you supposed to know that by helping this poor fool who got himself cut up in a bar fight was going to open the door to the city's underbelly? You are only trying to survive in this rat hole but somehow you have managed to become a nurse for worst the city has to offer. Hopefully the two men who have inserted themselves into your life can keep you from getting killed or worse... A Reader/Hawks, Reader/ Thief Takami What if? fic.

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Chapter 1

One Good Deed

It’s two in the morning and life finds you nursing a lukewarm coffee while sitting at your desk in the clinic. When you started school to become a nurse, sitting alone in a twenty four hour medical center was not what you pictured your life to be. Go get a medical degree y/n, you’ll be able to work with heroes she said. Maybe find a nice doctor to settle down with she said, hate to break it to you Mom but you are full of shit.

Though in hindsight, the only reason you are currently here is because you picked up the on call shift from a coworker with a sick kid. Let’s see I can’t just sit here and stare into the abyss until seven am so what can I do instead?… records have been organized and patient charts for tomorrow have been pulled, exam rooms have been cleaned, has anyone gone over inventory recently? You pause for a moment trying to go through dates in your head before ultimately deciding that's what you are going to do to pass the time.

The room where the medical supplies are kept sits towards the back of the clinic and out of sight from the main desk. Just to be on the safe side you bring the clinic phone along so that you don’t miss anyone in need of help. The next half hour is spent hauling supplies from the back room into the exam rooms. You are forced to stop for a bit when a concerned man calls in with questions about their nephew possibly manifesting his quirk but you were able to provide him with the correct phone number for quirk services. There are enough cotton squares and bandages to get us through the week but I should have it added to the order… we also need more- The subtle click of a door opening sounded so loud in the empty quiet of the clinic and the pained groan that followed instantly had you on alert. Peeking around the edge of the door frame reveals nothing in the hallway for now. You nearly jump out of your skin when a crash shatters the quiet again.

“Where the fuck do they keep it? I don't need much…” From what little information you have gleaned from the current situation, someone in pain has snuck into a twenty four hour clinic… which probably means they are either a druggie looking for a fix or someone from underground.

“Oh I am soo going to regret doing this…” you whispered into the empty air but you are hoping that because there is none of the noise that is usually associated with addicts attempting to rob the place, the person currently in the exam room is someone who can be reasoned with. As you make your way out of the supply room and into the hall, making sure that your steps are loud, you can hear more of the pained noises.

“Hello? My name is Keele, I’m a nurse for this clinic. Do you need help?” Everything went dead quiet the moment you called out. Ok this is no different than dealing with a difficult patient, just be prepared to dodge if needed… The door to exam room two sat half closed and with a deep breath to steady your nerves, you knocked twice on the doorframe before pushing the door open. You are immediately greeted with several crimson knives floating a half inch over all of your vital areas. Though by looking a little more closely at the one pointed towards your face, you realize the knives are actually feathers. Slowly raising your hands up in a show of surrender you tried to explain yourself once more.

“My name is Keele and I am a licensed nurse for this clinic. We are open for service twenty four hours a day which is why I’m here at this time.” You could hear the person behind you snort in disbelief.

“Are you the only one here right now?” he growled

“Yes, Doc is on call during the night shifts.” you allowed your eyes to roam what little you could see of the room taking note of the splatters of blood along the floor and cabinet. “We don't need to call him in depending on what you have going on over there…” Your attempt at turning your head to look at him is met with the feathers pressing closer to you, the sharp edges barely a breath away from your skin.

“Ok! Ok! I’ll stop trying to move. Tell me what you need and I’ll help you find it... unless its the hard stuff… I don't have access to the safe.”

“I need supplies for stitches and bandages…” His breathing is growing more ragged and you can now see even the feathers are starting to tremble with the strain of him trying to play tough. Whoever this is can barely hold it together, he isn't going to be able to take care of himself properly once I give him those items. Time to be the no nonsense nurse and hope it doesn't get me killed.

“Suture kit is in the second drawer and bandaging materials are in the cabinet above. Though frankly I don’t think it's going to be much help to you. Judging from the blood splashed around my exam room and your heavy breathing, you are about to collapse aren't you?” The snarl behind you is borderline animalistic.

“Are you brave or just stupid? Either way it's not going to stop me from killing you once I have what I need.”

“You won’t kill me” despite the situation, your voice is calm and firm. “Killing me serves no purpose other than satisfying whatever primal urge you are feeling right now. Here’s my offer, let me patch you up and get you on your way with antibiotics and pain relievers. In return I don't tell my boss that you attempted to rob us, threatened my life, and made a mess of the clinic. Then as a bonus for your wonderful personality, you may call on me anytime to patch you up when you find yourself on the wrong end of a smashed bottle again.” Mystery man snorts once, twice, before dissolving into full on laughter that ends abruptly with a rather pained ow .

“You know what Kid? I like you~ It’s a deal, just don’t try to fuck me over, it won’t end well for either of us.” When the feathers threatening your life flick away you heave a huge sigh of relief.

“How bad is the wound and where is it located?” Despite the stressful introduction you are all business at this point. Expertly pulling the needed supplies from their resting places and setting them up on the nearby rolling tray for use. You are pulling lidocaine into a separate syringe for use as you turn around from the counter to get a look at him. Oh Shit! Well thank god for learning how to control your facial responses. Nursing school was good for that at least.

Hawks Takami is bleeding in your exam room, sure the news has been on and on about the father-son pair hitting homes and businesses and robbing them blind. But you never expected to see the son in this dirty forgotten corner of the city. Though this close you can see how he gained the moniker of “Hawks”. Besides the bright gold of his eyes and the unique black markings surrounding them, there are hints of blonde feather down framing his face along the hairline and temples. His hair is short in length but despite the fact that it is clear this man has not had a shower recently has a distinct “fluffy” appearance. Pair that with the full crimson wing plumage, thick black talons, and scars across the bridge of his nose and along his cheekbone, he looks like something out of a nature documentary.

“You’re staring”

“I’m trying to figure out where you are bleeding from since you haven't been so kind as to show me. Despite me putting on my best nurse persona for you.” It's a half truth, but he doesn't need to know that. Groaning in pain he manages to maneuver the edge of the bloody, worn Endeavour hoodie up towards his chin to expose the wound that has been slashed across the edge of his stomach and up his ribs.

“How the fuck are you still standing?! Get that thing off now!” As he fights with the piece of clothing you are adjusting the exam table into a position where he can lie down completely in order to give you full access to the wound. Despite stiffening at your touch, he allows you to support him as he lays down on his uninjured side and adjusts his wings to drape behind him. As you roll the latex gloves over your freshly washed hands, you kick a rolling stool in the general direction of the table and drag your tray along to follow.

“You are extremely lucky, this could be so much worse than it is.” The wound itself doesn't go too deep, the part that clipped the edge of his abdomen did not break through into the body cavity. Nor did it make it down to the bone where it trails over his ribs.

“What can I say? I’ve always.. gnk.. been a fortunate bastard. Shit! What the hell are .. gah.. you doing?!”

“Cleaning off all the grime. Give me a minute I’ll numb you with the lidocaine before I start stabbing you.”

“Ha what ever happened to your gentle hands nurse? I thought you were supposed to take my pain away.”

“Gentle went out the window the moment you threatened me and when I recognized who exactly is now laying on my exam table. Now I’m just a little irritated that it's going to take me forever to nail all my belongings down to the floorboards in my apartment because I invited a known thief to bother me whenever he pleases.” He stays mostly silent throughout the procedure aside from a couple of hisses as you inject the numbing agent. You have already placed a handful of stitches into his skin before the silence becomes too oppressive.

“Mind telling me how this happened?”

“How were you able to tell I was slashed by a broken bottle?” You level him with a flat look that has him shifting on the table in discomfort.

“When you have worked in this area for as long as I have you pick up on patterns. Try not to move too much, you’ll tear the stitches before I’m done.” You place a steadying hand across the curve of his hip to get him to settle before continuing to sew the wound up. “I can tell who has been in a bar fight, warning shots, and stupid quirk rivalry battles. Then there are those who I refer to as being Underground. You're not the first to cross my table with those connections but I do need to warn you there are undercover heroes and vigilantes that come here often. They have helped the clinic in the past so we look the other way. That offer is being extended to you as well so long as you keep your troubles far away from the clinic while you are in it, that is the only rule.” You are finishing up the last few stitches when he speaks up again.

“Some guy at the bar I was relaxing at didn't like the fact I was talking to his woman and that she was enjoying it. Came charging over mad as hell, I was willing to take the blame for it and enjoy a bit of a fist fight, but instead he started hitting her right in front of me. I just reacted, threw the guy halfway across the bar, it was his friend that came in from the side and cut me up like this. The bouncer got involved at that point and kicked everyone out, pointed me towards this place to get help.” You’ve finished stitching him up and have already taped the bandages over the sutures to protect them.

“The bouncer who helped you was probably Hiro, he is a good guy. Try to keep your head down for a little bit or at least until the stitches can come out. Those drunks tend to keep grudges and will not hesitate to take you out for good.” Hawks gingerly maneuvers himself up into a sitting position as you take one final look at your work. Eyeing the dirty hoodie thrown onto the floor with contempt, that is not going anywhere near my sutures.

“Follow me, I need to get you some antibiotics and a clean shirt.”

“What's wrong with my hoodie?” he whines

“It's filthy and those sutures need to stay clean and dry. We keep spare clothes on hand so we should have something I can modify for you.” He follows you carefully back into the supply room completely soundless despite the massive wings on display.

“What is your shirt size usually?” you ask as you rummage through the selection of grey cotton shirts the clinic keeps on hand for these situations.

“Whatever I find that fits honestly.” He shrugs as you regard him in disbelief, taking a critical review of his body type and shape you pull out the size you think will work best.

“Give me a moment to find some scissors and I can cu-” RIP

“No need~” he chirps as one of his feathers makes two neat cuts in the back of the shirt with practiced ease.

“The bandages need to stay on for at least two days, you can wash around the wound with mild soap and CLEAN water but do not get the sutures wet.” You pause to hand him the medications and a wound care pamphlet “as for the antibiotics, take two tablets tonight and then one once a day until gone. The stitches can be removed after ten days.” As he pulls on the new shirt you quickly step back into the exam room to pick up the sad hoodie from the floor and offer it back to Hawks in the hallway.

“I hear cold water and hydrogen peroxide are helpful in getting bloodstains out of fabric.”

“It's not the first time this old thing has been soaked in it, I’ll figure something out.” The two of you pause by the back door, you are waiting to see if there is anything else he needs before diving back into the wilds of the city, he on the other hand seems reluctant to leave.

“I did say you could come bother me whenever you needed help…” He turns to you with an odd look in his eyes before seemingly coming to a decision on something. You watch as the hardened persona he projects slides back into place, he gives you a curt nod as thanks before disappearing into the night once more. You think you hear the rustle of wings but turn back into the heart of the clinic and lock the door behind you.

Seven am and Kanna finds you at the front desk getting things set up for the day. The scent of fresh brewed coffee floats from the break room but it fails to hide the scent of the heavy duty cleaner that they use to clean up body fluids.

“Have an interesting shift last night?” she asked as she placed the small paper bag with your favorite muffin inside next to you.

“Hiro sent over another victim of the bar scene, they needed stitches but nothing too crazy. Oh my god this is still warm~”

“Go enjoy your breakfast in the break room. I can get things started up here on my own. I’m pretty sure Dr. Maeda will send you home once they get here in the next fifteen minutes or so. Get a cat nap in so you can make it home safely.” With a mock salute in her direction you scurry off to enjoy the morning peace with a warm breakfast and fresh coffee.

Eight thirty am has you walking up the street to your apartment saying hello to the neighbors who are heading off to work as you are coming home. The hush that falls after the morning commuters have gone is a unique one that often has you standing just outside your door to enjoy it for a moment. You close your eyes to enjoy the warmth of the sun and violently startle when you are shoved into your front door and a loud bang resonates from beside your head. As your eyes snap open you all you can see is a wide, fanged grin and brilliant gold eyes.

“Hey Kid, we forgot to exchange our phone numbers…”

#tw: drugs #tw: alcohol #tw: injury #bnha spoilers #tw: assault #reader x hawks #reader x thief Takami #reader insert #bnha mha #independent reader #tw: medical #bird instincts #born from a discord chat #not canon #grey morality #reader is not helpless #hawks bnha

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chaossmagic · 4 years

Text

take me into your loving arms (1/2)

Over the years, throughout the many ups and downs, one thing has always remained true; they feel safest and most at home in each other’s arms. They wouldn’t have it any other way.

A study in snuggles, physical closeness, and the non-sexual side of intimacy that Robert and Aaron both crave from each other.

read on ao3

Aaron thrashed in his sleep again, whimpering loud enough to wake Robert as suddenly and instantly as if someone had yelled in his ear; his heart started, lurched, eyes fixed in the semi-darkness on Aaron’s quaking figure under the covers, forehead shining with sweat and his face contorted into an expression that Robert swore caused his stomach to twist with the actual, physical pain of being punched.

Because that’s what it felt like, now, it had felt like for months. Aaron’s pain had become his own, and what he felt, Robert felt just as viscerally; or so it seemed to him, each time he felt a phantom stab of pain in his left forearm where the deep pink scar on Aaron’s was, or a ghostly voice that sounded like Gordon Livesy echoed inside his head when he knew it was ever-present in Aaron’s.

Aaron suddenly turned onto his side, his whole body snapping up into a ball as if he’d been burned; knees shoved under his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible even in sleep, protecting himself from an invisible foe that Robert couldn’t see.

Then he cried out, a horrible strangled half-scream that set every hair on Robert’s body on end, and he reacted without thinking; he sprang, shoving Aaron hard onto his back with one hand, the sudden force of movement waking him instantly with huge, gasping breaths and round, fearful eyes shining wet and glimmering with pain.

“Robert,” Aaron whimpered, arms flailing against the pillows as he came fully out of sleep - and then he started to sob, tears cascading down his cheeks and soaking the collar of his pyjama shirt, a ratty old grey thing with a large hole in one of the armpits that Robert remembered he’d snorted at when Aaron had put it on earlier that night. “Robert, Robert-”

“Sssh, sssh sssh,” Robert soothed, reaching up to bury his fingers in Aaron’s hair and stroke through the sleep-mussed curls, rough with frizz but silky soft against his skin at the same time. He kept his voice low as he spoke. “It’s okay. It’s alright, it was just a dream. Just a nightmare. S’okay.”

What Gordon did to him is real, though, his mind supplied bitterly, and a flare of anger rose up within him, hot as a live flame. He hated the man. Perhaps there had never been anyone he’d hated more, except for maybe his own father.

“M’scared of him, Robert,” Aaron sobbed, crying into the pillow, which kept his voice muffled but still audible. “He’s gone but I’m still so scared.”

“I know you are,” he replied quietly, matter-of-factly, without judging or bias. “I think that’s understandable, no-one will judge you for that.” A beat of silence followed, Robert keeping up his carding of Aaron’s hair, the way one might comfort a crying child but - more. Always so much more.

He dropped his hand suddenly, opening up his arms wide. “Come here. Come here, right up next to me, as close as you can get.”

Aaron looked up through wet eyelashes, wary, then wriggled across the gap between their bodies, shifting so that they were toe-to-toe and he was so close he could feel the heat radiating off of Robert’s sleep-warmed body.

“Closer,” Robert whispered, “like this.” He reached for Aaron’s arms and wrapped them around waist, pressing his palms flat against the expanse of his back, bringing their hips and chests together. He wound his own arms around Aaron and pulled him towards him, then threw one of his long legs over his hip, drawing him so close that Aaron lay against him from crown to toe and their hearts beat in synchronisation between them.

Robert craned his neck and rested his chin on the top of Aaron’s head, dropping down momentarily to press a quick kiss there.

“There,” he said, “is that better?”

“Yeah,” Aaron snuffled gratefully, his hands clenched into fists on Robert’s chest. “Yeah, loads. You’re so warm, it’s - it’s nice.”

“Good. That’s good, Aaron,” he wriggled closer, pressing his cheek to the top of Aaron’s head, and tightened his arms around him. He let out a contented sigh. “I just want to keep you safe.”

“I know,” Aaron said, “And you do.”

“He won’t hurt you ever again,” Robert said quietly. “I promise.”

But the promise was unheard, because Aaron had already fallen back to sleep.

ii.

Waking up in a sun-warmed room as the first light of morning started to creep through the curtains, the duvet tangled around his shoulders and the heavy, deep breaths of the man he loved filling his ears, Aaron thought he’d never had a better start to any kind of day. Not in a long, long time at least.

One arm was slung around Robert’s waist, fingertips brushing the material of the pyjamas he’d borrowed from him the previous night, just under his ribs and he could feel the rise and fall of his breath, a soothing rhythm that reminded Aaron of where he was, who he was with, and how everything that had felt so lost and directionless for months and months had finally sharpened back into focus with one clear sight eclipsing everything; Robert.

Robert, his Robert, his husband, back home. With him, where he belonged.

He moved closer and wound his arm tighter around Robert’s waist, burying his nose in the crook of his neck. Call him weird or sentimental or soppy, but he’d always loved the way Robert smelled; clean, fresh shampoo, heady cologne, the fabric softener he always insisted on putting in the washing machine even though Aaron moaned that it made his clothes smell like a flowerbed. Warm skin and freshly-brewed strong coffee, real Italian leather and the citrusy spray he always cleaned the inside of his car with, reminding Aaron of oranges and lemons ripening under a hot sun somewhere tropical and far away from Emmerdale, somewhere they might go eventually, just the two of them...

“Stop sniffin’ me, it’s a bit creepy,” Robert mumbled sleepily, as always sensing Aaron’s presence in that particular way that he did, and always had. “If the guy I pulled last night turns out to be a cannibal, I might have to go back to Mike the chef.”

“Ha ha,” Aaron said sarcastically. “Don’t even joke about that, as if I’m ever lettin’ you go again - which is never, in case last night wasn’t enough proof for ya.”

“I remember,” Robert sighed fondly, and Aaron knew there was a hint of a smile around his lips. “You shouted at me in the street.”

“Yeah, bit embarrassing that, wasn’t it?” Aaron joked, fake-cringing, and Robert’s chuckle vibrated through his chest and into Aaron’s own. God, he’d missed that sound, deep and rich and mellow like honey.

“Not to me,” Robert said seriously, quietly. “I’ve - I’ve never felt more special than that moment when you opened your mouth and started saying all that- what you said about me. You make me feel - well, not an entire waste of space.”

“I love you, ya muppet,” Aaron said simply, kissing the back of Robert’s neck softly. “What d’ya think I went to all that trouble for yesterday if I didn’t?”

“You’re Aaron Dingle and you like a bit of drama?” Robert suggested.

For that, Aaron kicked him lightly in the back of the shins. “Oi!” Then he kissed Robert’s neck again, harder, letting his beard scrape against the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck, where the ends of dark blond hair curled in close like wisps of cotton.

“Love you,” Robert murmured.

“I love you, too,” Aaron said back, resting his cheek on the jut of Robert’s shoulder, letting the beat of his heart in the line of his jaw lull him back to an easy doze as he thought of the silver rings stashed away beneath an old cushion in a drawer, and the question he was going to ask Robert when he woke up for real in just a few hours’ time.

iii.

The sounds of the woman they’d rented the cottage from receded slowly as she turned in for the night, the sound of the door closing between her house and the one in which they were currently staying letting a wash of relief flood over their tensed, highly-strung bodies. They lay side by side, cheeks pillowed on folded arms, just looking at one another, neither daring to be the first one to slip into a slumber lest they waste the precious minutes and hours they still had.

It was early evening still, warm orange light washing the room in a golden haze and the sound of twittering birds could be heard outside the window. The only other sound was the faint ticking of a clock, the burble of water pipes, and the sound of their breathing in unison as they drank each other in.

The bed was small, just large enough to fit them both if Robert drew his knees up like a cat curling up in the sun; their socked feet brushed together in a way that made Aaron giggle when the sensation made his toes tickle, and his nose wrinkled up with mirth whenever it did. It was a sight that drew an ever-wider smile from Robert, who stared and stared at his husband without so much as a blink or a flutter of an eyelash, wanting to commit every detail of his view to memory, just in case...

...In case it all went wrong.

The thought was painful, unbearable. Optimism and hope had to mask the fear that had settled in Robert’s stomach like a stone, threatening to bring him to his knees at any moment. He’d made Aaron stay in the living room under the pretence of getting him to relax while he made them brews, so he wouldn’t see his hands shaking as he poured out coffee and stirred spoons of sugar into the mugs. And he’d ran the taps in the sink at full blast and pretended he was washing his hands afterwards, when in reality he didn’t want Aaron to hear him being sick because of the anxiety that buzzed under every inch of his skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Aaron asked.

“You,” Robert said sincerely. “Us. How much I don’t want to lose any of this...time, when we’re on a clock.”

“We won’t. We’ll be together forever soon, you and me, and it’s - I’m got gonna lie, Robert, it’s going to be absolutely terrifying, at least at the start.” His lips quirked up into a slight smile. “But we’ll have each other. That’s what matters. That’s all that matters now, yeah?”

“You’re the very best part of me, Aaron Dingle,” Robert said hoarsely, reaching to take Aaron’s hand. He reciprocated, twining their fingers together so tightly that nothing could get through them, not even the evening half-light from the sun that was slowly setting behind the window blinds. Their matching rings shone, glinting like cut diamonds, throwing sparkles of light into their eyes.

They saw nothing but each other, the vast, unknown future ahead of them another day’s problem. For now, they both rested their gaze on their joined hands, keeping themselves connected and intertwined, until the very last minute when they’d have to break apart.

But they’d never be apart again, not for the rest of their lives.

#lorna's writing #robron #robron fic #aaron x robert #emmerdale fic #why yes the title is from thinking out loud by ed sheeran #and what about it??

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