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#you wanted gloves 😌
shellshocklove · 11 days
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wet nights | joel miller
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pairing/AU: bfd!joel miller x female!reader – no outbreak
summary: getting beer spilled down your dress at your best friend sarah’s birthday party might not have been so bad– not when her dad can help you clean up.
warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! reader is 25 and joel is 47, reader is described as wearing a dress, swearing, use of pet names, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, exhibitionism, praise with a dash of degradation kink, one small touch of your clit, soft dom!joel, use of sir, cum play, no use of y/n
a/n: mom said it was my turn to write bfd!joel lol. basically this is just me wanting to write joel getting his cock and balls sucked bc it's what he deserves 😌 as always thank you to @dustydaddyyy for reading through this for me! and happy reading <3
main masterlist / ao3
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Nodding your head to the beat of the music you gulped down a cooling sip of beer. The bar was stuffed to the brim tonight for Sarah’s birthday. Every chair and booth occupied, large groups huddled together against the walls, and a growing crowd of brave, seemingly deep enough down their drinks, dancers moved across the makeshift dance floor. Leaning against the bar right at the end, you were shielded from the continuous line of people looking for a drink to sate their thirst on this hot summer night.
You’d missed Sarah since graduation. She’d moved back to Austin to be closer to her father – a man you had still to meet even after all these years of knowing Sarah. You’d met in undergrad where you’d had a couple of overlapping classes the first year. She’d been one of those people where you’d just clicked, like a hand in a glove, you two just fit together.
Now you had moved to Austin. It wasn’t exactly planned, but you’d applied to a postgraduate program at the University of Texas, not necessarily thinking you’d get in– but then you had. Sarah had been ecstatic when you’d told her. You hadn’t seen her in person in over a year, but you couldn’t wait to live in the same city as your best friend again.
But first, her 25th birthday party.
Tonight would be your first night out as a new Austinite. Sarah had invited all her closest friends and family to her favorite bar to celebrate. You’d dreaded it a little, you weren’t gonna lie. That nagging anxiety had bubbled under your skin all week at the prospect of being the only one at the party who didn’t know anyone already. Sarah had told you not to worry though when you’d voiced your concern to her a few days ago – she’d introduce you to everyone – nothing to worry about, and she’d been right.
All Sarah’s friends had been extremely friendly and nice, and you’d been taken under their wing immediately. Quickly, your anxiety had melted away, condensing into nothing as you’d started to have a good time.
It was deep into the summer, and Austin had shown itself from its hotter side the last few days. Inside the bar everything ran hot, even with the AC on blast and with the amount of people who’d made their way inside in the last hour, looking for a good time on a Saturday night, it never stood a chance.
Trying to cool off you’d excused yourself from your new group of friends to order yourself a cold beer. One of the ACs blew cold air directly towards the bar, keeping the frantic bartenders cool as they pushed out order after order of drinks. You watched them from where you stood perfectly in the wind of the AC, glass raised to your lips when you felt a hard bump against your shoulder.
“Fuck,” you cursed as your full glass of beer spilled all down your front, staining your white summer dress.
“Shit– sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t have time to react as your beer was lifted out of your wet hand and placed on the rough wood of the bar.
Looking up from your ruined dress you took in your beer thief as he reached across the bar for some napkins. He was older, forties maybe, maybe older if you were to take the sprinkle of salt and pepper in his hair into consideration, but he was gorgeous. A strong jaw and sculptured nose. Clad in a t-shirt and a dark pair of jeans, you thought he looked casual– not like he belonged to the rest of the birthday party. The material of his t-shirt strained against his bicep as he leaned back from over the bar – a stack of napkins now in his hand. Standing to his full height before you, you noticed just how broad he was, and it made a drop of desire pool in your core. 
The man’s previous frantic movements came to a halt as he took you in for the first time; his dark brown eyes rolling down your body and leaving a trail of heat. His fist full of napkins stalled when his eyes landed on your dress, quickly diverting them with a loud clearing of his throat.
“Um– here,” he said, voice strained as he handed you the napkins.
Pulling your eyebrows together in a frown, you looked down at yourself again. The fabric was completely soaked through, and you felt a prickling heat tickle your cheeks as you realized you now looked like a walking ad for a wet t-shirt competition.
“Oh shit,” you muttered, taking the napkins from the man as you tried your best to cover yourself.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart– bumpin’ into ya like that.”
Pressing the napkins to your dress you shook your head at him, “It’s fine– eh,” you looked up from your body.
“Joel,” he introduced himself.
“It’s fine, Joel. It was an accident. I’ll just go to the restroom and try to get the stain out,” you said with a grimace, and reached for more napkins.
“Let me help ya,” he offered as he placed a friendly hand on your elbow.
As Joel guided you through the crowd towards the toilets, hand hovering at a polite distance behind your back, he continued to apologize.
“I feel terrible– let me at least pay for it if it ends up needin’ replacin’.”
Inside the bar’s toilets, you jumped up on the stone countertop lining the wall, turning the closest sink on.
“It’s okay,” you repeated as you busied yourself with trying to clean yourself up, “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten beer spilled all over me,” you said with a teasing laugh, trying to lighten the mood a little.
Standing beside you with his hip leaning against the stone and a knee popped, Joel huffed out a strained laugh, a laugh somewhere between embarrassment and relief.
“Yeah?” He questioned, eyes falling to your working hands.
“Tell you this much– I’ve had plenty of wet nights.”
A sound escaped Joel at your words, one he quickly tried to cover up with a cough, and you realize your innuendo a second too late. When you looked up from your hands, eyes wide, you noticed that Joel’s cheeks had flushed slightly, like he was embarrassed that he’d even caught onto the innuendo you hadn’t meant to make. 
“Oh! No, not like that–” you rushed, tone slightly mortified as your eyes met his, trying very hard not to stutter through the rest of your sentence, “I–uh... I only meant that I uh–... I‘ve had plenty of situations in which I’ve gotten wet–” 
At this sentence, Joel raised his eyebrows in a look that seemed half-surprised, half-amused, and your stomach dropped even further into your ass in embarrassment. 
“–with water!” you clarified quickly, before you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, closing your eyes as you huffed out a laughing sigh, “There’s no way I’m getting out of this gracefully, is there?” 
You heard Joel’s chuckle to your side, deep and syrupy, like the stuff you’d liked to pour over your pancakes in buckets when you were a kid.
“You’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started explainin’, I think,” Joel told you, his tone joking, and you chuckled bashfully, nodding before you looked up at him. 
There was a moment in which you exchanged a look, before you felt the smile break over your face and you dissolved into embarrassed laughter, shaking your head as Joel laughed, too. 
“Off to a great start,” you muttered in between chuckles, “First week in Austin and I’m already making passes at handsome strangers in bar bathrooms.” 
“I never said I was complainin’,” Joel said jokingly, and you let out a chuckle, “First week in Austin, hm?” 
“Yeah,” you said with a nod, “Here for a postgrad.” 
“Smart and beautiful,” he mused, “Reckon I should spill beers more often if this is what I get in return.” 
Delicate wings fluttered in your tummy at his words as a feeling of excitement filled your chest. Looking up at him with a raised teasing eyebrow you said, “Not sure spilling beer on someone is the tried and tested formula.”  
“Well, that depends, really,” Joel answered back in a teasingly contemplating voice, “‘s it workin’ on you?” 
Your stomach dropped slightly at his words, and when your eyes moved to meet his, he was looking at you with a look that made your insides burn. 
“Maybe,” you told him with a teasing smile pulling at the corners of your mouth. 
You were never usually this bold, but there was something in the way he was looking at you and the syrup-y tone of his voice. You could tell he knew what he was doing, knew exactly what to say, and you wanted more. Biting down on your bottom lip coquettishly, you leaned backwards on your arms, giving Joel a full view of the soaked front of your dress, and more specifically, everything he could see underneath. 
“And what works on you, Joel?” 
You watched with some satisfaction as Joel's eyes ran over the length of your chest, before he quickly redirected them to your eyes.
“You’re making it very hard to be a gentleman here, sweetheart,” he almost whispered, his eyes as dark as the Austin summer night sky. You gave a noncommitted shrug as a teasing smile tugged at your lips. Then, you leaned forward so that you were closer to him, feet dangling slightly.
“I never asked you to be,” you told him, your voice low but not quite a whisper as you looked up at him through your lashes. 
Behind your rib cage your heart quickened with excitement as Joel’s darkening gaze bored into yours, and you knew you him right where you wanted him. His eyes danced over your face for a moment, before they flickered down to your lips. It almost made you stop breathing for a second, the tension in the air between you so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was just something about this man, something about Joel – and in this moment you wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before. 
Maybe it should’ve scared you, the speed at which you’d fallen under his spell (or was it the other way around?), but right now, with Joel’s darkening eyes staring into yours, you couldn't bring yourself to feel any fear. You could only look at him, could only feel his breath fanning over your lips and the intensity of his gaze on your face.
“You’re trouble, aren’t ya?” Joel’s voice was low, not quite a whisper, but full of deep bass. 
You felt the expanse of his hand fall on your bare knee, rough and calloused over where your sundress had ridden up. 
“Nothing you can’t handle.” You batted your eyelashes semi-innocently, spreading your thighs slightly, which made Joel’s mouth twitch in amusement. 
“’s that so, darlin’?” He asked, taking his place between your legs, your face now only inches from his as he looked down at you with a raised eyebrow.
“Mhm,” you nodded slightly, your hand falling over his to guide it slowly up your thigh, “Don’t you wanna find out?”
As Joel’s index finger made contact with the side seam of your underwear, he closed the space between you and pressed his lips against yours. The hairs of his mustache tickled your cupid’s bow as he dove deeper, lips rolling over yours. You sat up slightly when his other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your core rubbing up against his growing bulge. You whimpered against his lips at the contact, and Joel inhaled it, consuming every breathy moan and whimper.
His hand slid slowly downwards to your ass where he gave it a nice squeeze, pulling you even closer when your legs came up to wrap around his waist. He licked at your lower lip hungrily, and you opened yourself up to him to allow him to deepen the kiss. It was hot, and suffocating, and all-consuming, all at the same time. He was a great kisser, probably the best you’d kissed. His lips moved expertly over yours, soft and firm at the same time as he guided you through it.
The grip on your ass tightened again and soon you were half-way to hanging off the counter as he rocked his front steadily against your core, where your arousal had started to pool. The kisses turned needier then, shorter and desperate between quiet whines. You could feel the shape of him against you, hard and thick, and big. A wave of tickling arousal washed over you as you imagined yourself on your knees before him, the weight and taste of him on your tongue. He was so fucking hot, and you wanted him so fucking badly.
“Can I suck your cock?” you panted through frantic kisses.
Joel pulled back slightly, head tipped back to find your eyes. 
“You wanna suck my cock?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice. You only nodded, head tipping slowly with the bite of your lip.
Joel tsk-ed, “Dirty girl,” he said and rocked his hard bulge against your core, which earned him a moan. It made a wicked grin spread across his face, like he’d just proved a point.
His hands left your body as he slowly stepped backwards – that same cocky grin adorning his features as he nodded towards one of the stalls. Jumping off the countertop, you almost tripped over your feet to follow him inside.
“Relax, baby– ain’t no need to get on your knees until after we’re inside,” he teased, holding the door open for you, bicep bulging against the fabric of his t-shirt. Fuck, he looked so hot.
“Ha-ha,” you fake-laughed at him with a teasing roll of your eyes as you stepped past him and into the bathroom stall. When the door clicked behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning, you felt a pair of strong hands land on your hips as he pressed his body against your back.
“I’m only teasin’,” he reassured you in your ear, his breath fanning over the shell and sending a tingle down your spine. Turning around in his hold, your own teasing smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
“Yeah?” you queried with the raise of an eyebrow, “Well two can play that game, sir” you teased as you slowly sunk to your knees, missing the way Joel reacted to the title you’d assigned him.
From above Joel watched you, body relaxed and composed like he wasn’t about to get his dick sucked, but the lust in his eyes gave him away. Your teeth caught on your bottom lip as you fumbled with his belt, the sound of metal clinking bouncing off the tiles as you focused on popping the button on his jeans and pulling the zipper down. You couldn’t take your eyes off the shape of him hidden behind the denim, and it made your mouth water, your thighs squeezing together. You were mesmerized as you let your pointer finger run over the covered length of him, the cotton fabric of his boxer briefs soft under your fingertips.
For a moment, you couldn’t believe what you were about to do – suck a man you’d just met less than an hour ago off in the bathroom stall of some dingy bar? But then again, something excited you about it. 
Maybe it was Joel? Or maybe it was the thrill of it all– of maybe getting caught?
“Go on, darlin’, it’s okay– be a good girl n’ take it out f’me,” Joel ordered from above, his voice dropping an octave. You looked up at him, caught the way he studied you, gauging your every move and reaction.
Then something shifted in his eyes, a flash of insecurity making its presence known, “Or don’t– we can stop f’you want– if you ain’t feelin’ it anymore.”
You shook your head before he’d even finished his sentence. God, no! You sure as hell didn’t want to stop.
“I wanna keep going, Joel,” you smiled, your fingers hooking into the elastic band of his boxer briefs.
A genuine smile bloomed across his face then, his rough hand coming down to cup your chin, “That’s good, baby,” he said, swiping his thumb slowly over your skin, before he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.
“Know you’ll be good f’me, won’t you?” he whispered against your lips, drawing a breathy whine from you at the praise.
“Yes,” you sighed, almost breathless as he kissed you again quickly before he murmured against your lips, “Yes, you will, darlin’– you’re gonna choke on my cock ‘n thank me for it, won’t ya?”
He was driving you mad with all these questions. In just a few minutes, this man had turned you inside out, pushed every button to turn you on– you were practically swimming in your panties, your mind clouded in hazy arousal. 
You didn’t know what to do, and not thinking clearly, you chased his lips.
“Nuh-uh,” Joel chuckled, pulling away slightly, “lemme hear you say it, sweetheart.”
“Yes,” you sighed again, “thank you for giving me your cock.”
“Thank you for giving me your cock, what?”
This manwas relentless.
“Thank you for giving me your cock, sir?” you tried, teeth nibbling on your bottom lip.
Pleased, a satisfied grin pulled at Joel’s lips. He rewarded you with a quick kiss before he pulled away, standing to his full height again.
You couldn’t wait any longer, you needed to touch him. Hooking your fingers into the elastic band of his boxer briefs again, you slowly pulled them down, revealing inch by inch of the base of his fat cock.
He was big, and the sight made your mouth water, but what excited you the most was the weight of his heavy balls.
“Fuck,” you whispered, eyes wide with fascination.
His hand found the back of your neck in a grounding hold as he guided you closer, your lips bumping against his tip. “Give it a kiss, baby
 just like that,” he praised as you did exactly what he wanted, placing a kiss to his cock the same way you’d kissed his lips.
Over you, you could hear Joel release a content breathy chuckle, “That’s so good, baby, such a good girl.”
Egged on by his praises, you shifted a little on your knees, steadying your hands on his thighs as you pooled a blob of spit in your mouth that you let drip down the head. Joel watched you intensely as you used your dominant hand to slowly work the spit over his length, earning yourself a strained grunt. He grew even harder in your hand as you familiarized yourself with the weight and size of him in your hand. 
“Wanna taste it, sir,” you said and placed another soft kiss to the head, swiping your tongue over the slit to taste the precum that had started to pearl.
“Yeah?” he taunted, almost degrading, “You wanna taste my cock that badly?”
“Y-yes,” you whined, looking up at him through your lashes.
Joel watched you for a beat before he tapped at the hand wrapped around him, shooing it away as he fisted himself. “Open wide then, honey, ‘f you want it that bad,” he said, slapping his cock against the side of your face.
Your mouth dropped open in an instance as Joel stuffed his cock inside your mouth slowly. You opened up as wide as you possibly could, relaxing your jaw to accommodate the size of him in your mouth. It was a wide stretch, and the tip touched the back of your throat far too soon, making you gag around the head.
He pulled back to let you breathe for a moment, before he sunk back down your throat again, a large and grounding hand resting at the back of your head. The second time you were more prepared to take him, holding him in your throat for a few moments longer before you started to gag. Over you, Joel let out a strained grunt; the noise sending a bolt of arousal straight to your core.
After that, Joel let you take the lead.
You started out slow, taking the head into your mouth as you let your spit-covered fingers glide over his shaft in an experimental tug. Under your fist, a slick sound echoed off the tiles with every jerk of his cock. You made sure his cock was thoroughly coated in your spit as you set a steady rhythm. You let your tongue glide over the underside of his tip, his hips bucking when you dipped your tongue into the slit.
It was sloppy, and wet, and the noises coming from your throat were entirely too obscene as you started bobbing your head, taking him down your throat.
“That’s a good girl,” Joel praised you, helping guide his cock down your throat with the hand resting at the back of your head. “You love suckin’ cock, don’t you? Love havin’ a big cock fill up that tight throat?”
Suddenly, you heard the muted music coming from the bar grow louder before dying again at the sound of the door slamming shut. You stilled your movements in panic as you heard someone slip into the stall to your right. Your eyes met Joel as you slipped his cock out your mouth, but to your surprise he looked far from concerned about the new audience. 
Stretching his neck he turned his head in the direction of the occupied stall, while he wrapped his fist around the base of his cock. Even in his hands it looked big, and you started to wonder how you’d ever managed to fit it down your throat. A beat passed before he turned his head to look at you again, a wicked grin coating his lips as he bobbed his cock in your face, rubbing the head over your closed lips before he slapped it lightly against your cheek.
“Open up,” he mouthed with another light slap to your cheek. His actions made a tingle of arousal spread throughout your body, and you realized in shock how much the thought of getting caught turned you on.
You did as Joel said and opened your mouth for him to feed you his cock again. He watched you very closely this time, letting you ease yourself down his cock at your own pace, trying your best to be quiet. When the very tip of your nose made contact with the thatch of coarse dark hair at the base and your lips were snug around his cock, Joel couldn’t help himself. The grounding hand at the back of your head held you down as he shoved himself as deep as he possibly could down your throat, his balls bouncing against your chin at the movement.
To your right you heard the unmistakable sound of a toilet being flushed and a lock being twisted. Your eyes welled up with tears, your vision fogging over as you tried your best to fight against your gag reflex. Over you, Joel watched you with a proud smirk on his lips. When the sound of the sink turning on echoed through the restroom, you allowed a whimpering gag to escape you as you squeezed your eyes shut.
It shouldn’t have turned you on as much as it did, but the thrill of getting caught choking on an older man’s cock, a man who was essentially a stranger, made you wonder if you could come untouched. You were so close already, just a flick of your clit would send you off the edge of bliss.
Your eyes were about to roll back into your head when Joel finally pulled back. You gasped violently for air at the exact moment the door opened, filling the toilets with loud music for a moment before you and Joel were locked away again in your own little world. Like you were on autopilot, your hand slipped between your thighs to find your clit, and soon you were withering with your orgasm.
“Oh, there you go, honey, come all over those fingers f’me, just like that,” you heard Joel say, though the force of your orgasm made it seem like he was far away, like your ears were filled with cotton.
When you finally calmed down, you steadied yourself with a tug at Joel’s jeans – the fabric rough under your fingertips. Over you Joel fisted his cock as he watched you with a wild look in his eyes.
“Goddamn, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot comin’ like that just from gettin’ your throat fucked.”
“Thank you, sir,” you managed to let out, your voice strained and hoarse.
Realizing he must’ve been close, you sat up straighter on your knees, ready to pull him off the edge too. Leaning forward, you stuck out your tongue, licking a fat strip up the seam of his balls to the underside of his shaft. His cock jumped in his hand as Joel let out a breathy laugh.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, “Look me in the eyes honey– look me in the eyes when you lick my balls.” Joel jerked his cock above your face as you continued to lick at his heavy balls – your eyes locked with his.
“Look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he choked out through groans, “Suck on ‘em, baby, suck on my balls.”
Blinking up at him you tried your best to fit one of them in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and sucking greedily and lapping at the skin, before you moved on to treat the other with the same amount of love.
Joel’s mouth dropped open in a gape, his breath coming out quicker and more staggered. He squeezed himself harder at the base with each jerk before skating his thumb over the swollen head, massaging it. 
“Fuck,” he panted, “I’m gonna come, baby, I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”
Popping his balls from your mouth you hurriedly sat up in front of him, the tip off his cock brushing over the plump of your bottom lip with every thug of his cock.
“Please, sir,” you begged, “Please, come in my mouth.”
Joel wasn’t one to deny your request, especially not when you were sat so pretty in front of him with your tongue sticking out.
A second later, Joel shoved his cock in your mouth and came – balls drawn tight as he shot his load down your throat. The force of it made you gag a little at first, the restriction around his sensitive cock only making him come harder. He groaned above you as you sucked him dry, before he pulled back when it was too much, and caught his breath.
“Say Ah,” he said, a gentle but firm hand cupping your jaw. The squeeze of his fingers made your mouth drop open to reveal the cum coated on your tongue and where it pooled at the back of your throat. “Don’t swallow– Let me see, darlin’.”
Your smile fought against his grip. Sticking your tongue out the best you could, you let him see the state he’d left you in; chin coated in saliva, tears starting to dry on your cheeks, mouth puffy and fucked, and marked in this stranger’s cum.
“Pretty as a picture,” he tutted before he let go of your jaw, and with a pat to your cheek finally gave you permission to swallow.
After that it was like the spell had broken between you. Joel helped you to your feet, both of you giggling when your legs wobbled like a foal unsteady on its feet. He held you upright with a strong hand to your waist, while the other one traveled up the length of your body to cup your face, and bring it closer to place a slow and sensual kiss to your lips.
“Would you believe me if I told you I’d never done anything like that before?” You asked him a moment later as he helped you clean your face by the sink.
Joel gave you a look in the mirror.
“You don’t?” you exclaimed.
Joel gave you an infuriatingly casual shrug, “It ain’t your first time suckin’ dick that’s for sure,” he teased with a pinch to your side which made you jump.
Giving him a playful shove, you said, “I’m not lying! I’ve never had a one-night stand.”
“Well, the night’s still young,” Joel joked, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and dipping his head to place a soft kiss to the column of your neck.
You leaned into his touch, feeling the soft grip of his hands on your body, and the soft presses of his kisses as you watched the two of you in the mirror. You found that you liked the reflection looking back at you, and if you were lucky, you hoped he liked it too; maybe enough to want to see you again.
“I can’t go back out there like this,” you said after a moment.
Your dress had finally dried, but so had the beer – staining it yellow.
Joel lifted his head from your neck to rest his chin on your shoulder as his eyes scanned your body in the mirror. 
“I have a flannel in my truck I can borrow you?”
“More layers in this heat?” you questioned, already sweating at the thought.
A wide grin spread across Joel’s face, full of mischief, “I guess I’ll just have to take ‘em off of you later, then.”
Turning around in his hold, you wrapped your hands around his neck, your fingers toying with the hair curling at his neck as you met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” you whispered, painfully aware of the wet stain of arousal soiling your panties and sticking to your cunt.
“No, it doesn’t,” Joel hummed, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. 
“Wanna get out of here?” you asked and brushed your lips over his.
A moment later Joel guided you out the restrooms with a protective hand resting at the small of your back. Weaving through the crowd, you’d made your way almost to the exit when you heard a shout of your name over the music.
“There you are!” Sarah shouted again as she moved through the crowd towards you and Joel, arms reached out to the sky.
“Oh! And you’ve finally met my dad!”
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i hope this was okay and that someone liked this? as always feedback as a comment, in the tags, as an ask or reply is very much appreciated, and they make me super happy! <3 i'm very curious to hear your thoughts about this! <3
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blacktie-whitenoise · 7 months
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LA Ritual Fast Facts
I attended the LA ritual on September 11th! Here are my notes on it all and the highlights
*spoilers below the cut*
After Watcher In The Sky, they moved to a second smaller stage to change my life play a hauntingly beautiful rendition of If You Have Ghost with two cellos, a grand piano, and amazing female vocals.
Ghoulettes we’re dressed in heavily ruffled, black mourning gowns with thick, black veils covering their faces (no masks)
Copia gave an incredible little speech about depression, and how sadness can weigh so heavily on you, and even in those moments of brevity when something really good happens, once it’s over, the sadness comes back in. He acknowledged the roller coaster of ups and downs that life can be, but here in this moment, we all have each other, and that’s everything.
After the vocalist finished, Copia got down on one knee in front of her and lovingly kissed her hand.
Almost immediately after, they started playing Dominion and a woman came out with a BLUE AND BLACK SATIN ROBE for Copia, who tied it up, put the hood up, and put on GOLD BOXING GLOVES
The audience cleared a space for him and he ran through like he was ready to fucking FIGHT. Great metaphor for finally taking on the difficulty of playing

..
TWENTIES. LIVE.
Skeleton. Dancers.
Dancing behind, with, and around Copia.
He was like a satanic pop(e) star, getting in formation and moving with them
Also he was back to just his regular black jacket and cravat for this. He didn’t stay in the robe
He did the little “Los Angeles! California! United States of Americaaaa!” That they did on Ceremony and Devotion
At the beginning of the encore, when Papa does his little “after show jacket” bit, where he sometimes slips in a location-specific place he was ready to go to, he said he “had booked a table at Jumbo’s,” as in Jumbo’s Clown Room — an infamous, wild, and weird as hell strip joint in LA. (Honestly, if Papa was ever going to hit up a strip joint though, this would be it)
During Dance Macabre the skeleton dancers came BACK. And they had black pants on with a silver stripe down the leg and little white collars. They were more in the background this time doing their own dance UNTIL
Papa was singing at one side of the stage and they surrounded him. He fell back with an insane amount of grace and they LIFTED HIM UP AND CARRIED HIM. His arms were outstretched and his head was tilted back and he looked like an ethereal prince, so at peace and being lifted up with such style and grace
During Square Hammer, Papa was getting everyone to sing the chorus as loud as they could. Before the last chorus, he quickly ran back stage as he usually does, and came running out yelling “One more time, up the poop chute!” at full volume
He hit a glorious power note to finish off the song.
The No phones rule honestly made everything so much better
Everything is right with the world and I never want to forget anything about last night for a single second.
EDIT: two more details I forgot to mention
LONGER HAIR MASK. Papa’s hair was so flowy and soft looking. Perfection
Before playing Spillways, Papa talked about the Impera tour circuit coming to a close soon and said we’re “coming to the end of an era.” But said it in a way that was acknowledging the close of a tour cycle and had an air of calm and confidence that really made us feel that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. 😌
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jymwahuwu · 24 days
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Um
how about Sunday with virginity reader? đŸ˜ŒđŸ«ŁđŸ’–
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cw: yandere, manipulation, gaslighting, orgasm control, non-con, corruption kink, some inappropriate views on virginity
Sunday has been carefully protecting you
 from the contamination of the mortal world. As an adult, you followed a friend's introduction and joined The Family. After several religious gatherings, including praising Aeon Xipe, singing songs, and confessing your hearts and past stories, Mr. Sunday noticed you. You are so
pure, innocent, and need to be protected.
He invites you to those parties and singing. No matter what your singing ability is, praise your sincere heart on Sunday. The Lord Xipe needs believers like you. He showed you how much he appreciated you
and you were so flattered. Sunday is the leader of Oak Family and attracts much attention. And you are just a little believer
how could he notice you?
He emphasized that the Family is such a selfless organization and there will be no difference in status. It's not hard to get your information. After spending some time together and drinking SoulGlad, you sheepishly admit that you have never had any sexual experience. Never
never. So you are still a virgin. His smile widened a little as he listened to your admission to him. He said that you need to keep your purity uncontaminated so that the notes you sing are free from noise. (Even though you've heard, The Family has no limits when it comes to sex
)
So, you cannot have any spouse. Nor can you surrender to filth just because of the pleasure of temporary joy. But of course, Sunday is the exception! He has the responsibility to supervise and protect you. That gloved touch on your private parts and. Your nipples and butt must be checked regularly. Lift up your clothes. Let his hands gently squeeze and rub your breasts. See, you're sensitive. If you reach orgasm so quickly, it means you are not resistant to sex and need more testing and training.
He ordered a chastity belt for you. do not worry. That was customized with technology. There is usually no pain or side effects unless you are so eager to be penetrated that it hurts. That will be your own problem. No insertion
at least not for the first few months. After you resist orgasm, Sunday will hug you and compliment you on how well you did. You maintain your virginity while training your ability to withstand adversity and temptation. Of course, if you convulse and moan during orgasm, there will be a round of punishment. This is the rule.
Also love drama - so think about how he would react if you lost your virginity and Sunday wasn't the one to take it. This message may be found in a broken virginity lock, or some sign. You start avoiding him and use the device to giggle and chat with others, or stay up all night. Once this happens, Sunday will stare at you for more than a few minutes. He's not going to be brutally violent or anything like that.
"Who is that?" Sunday asked calmly. And you answer a name in harmonious tones. He chewed the name calmly and repeatedly, like chewing up some bitter food. Sunday will express disappointment in your disobedience and resistance. Didn't he already emphasize that you can't look for any partner?
The Family has accepted you. Why would you want to find another place of hypocrisy? You will be locked up in a particularly luxurious room, and The Family will fulfill any reasonable request you want, but you will be forced to listen to music with Xipe's blessing for a long time in order to forget those unimportant people and things. If you behave yourself, you won't be on his knee that day receiving those daily slaps. And Sunday will keep penetrating you at least once a day. Since you totally don't care about his lead and are desperate for sex <3
517 notes · View notes
kingofbodyrolls · 3 months
Text
BTS fic recs: December 2023
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HAPPY NEW YEARS!! đŸ„ł May every single one of you lovely people out there have the best and brightest year to come ✹
I want to thank each and every writer on this list for creating such wonderful stories and art - you are truly amazing ✹ All the fics on this list hold a dear place in my heart đŸ„č
❗Most of these fics are smutty as hell, so minors dni.❗ 
If you read anything on this list and you like it, please leave a comment to the writer or reblog the original fic’s post 💜And if you want more fic recs you can follow me to stay updated 🙂
BTS fic rec index → May | Jun | Jul | Aug | Sep (jjk)(knj) | Oct (pjm) | Nov (*) | 💜 (ksj)(kth) |
Emoji meaning → angst = đŸŒ©ïž, smut = đŸ„”, fluff = đŸ„°, comedy = 😂, yandere = 😈, thriller/dark = đŸ‘», personal favorites = 💯.
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Namjoon
⭐Good Neighbor @sugaurora [0.7K] // knj x f.reader // neighbors!au, winter!au // đŸ„°đŸ„°đŸ„°
📝 Namjoon’s solitary tendencies versus the cookies. Spoiler: The cookies win.
đŸ—šïž God, this was so fucking sweet đŸ„č like sugary sweet fluffy fantastic! I loved it 💖 the way Namjoon just observes oc, and then helping her in the end đŸ‘đŸŸ even though this is short, it’s fucking brilliant. The writing is just 😘😘 like I wished there was so much more, but I’m also so pleased with just what is 😌
⭐A Word from our Sponsors 💯 @ugh-yoongi [17.5K] // knj x f.reader // podcast!au, f2l, idiots to lovers  // đŸ˜‚đŸ„”đŸ„°
📝 You’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny
 until you can’t stop thinking about it. 
đŸ—šïž Okay. This. Was. Exceptional ✹đŸ„č I am slightly speechless, so this review might be short or long or just a rambling of my dainty thoughts. Here goes: it was amazing, seriously one of the best fics I’ve ever read 😭 everything just had that perfect flow, the writing was incredible, like I can’t even speak? The characters, out of this world fantastic ✹ the whole thing, just, perfect. Perfection. I don’t know what else to call it, sorry. The world building and tension was so fucking delicious I just ate it up! 😭 And their banter and chemistry was just off the charts amazing. Perfection. And it was so fucking hilarious too!! Many times I was just laughing or chuckling, like the lovesick fool I am 😂 it was definitely worth it to stay up late tonight to finish this masterpiece ✹ And them reading the fanfiction 💀 😂 priceless âœšđŸ‘đŸŸ
Seokjin
⭐The IKEA Test by @yoon-bug [9.1K] // ksj x f.reader // established relationship // đŸ„”đŸ„°đŸ˜‚
📝 One review on IKEA’s website called the BRIMNES bed frame the leading cause of divorce due to its difficult assembly. You and Seokjin had laughed when you read it. Now, you weren’t so sure.
đŸ—šïž Their banter and all the sexual innuendos are damn hilarious! I thoroughly enjoyed this very much 💜 
⭐I Don’t Think I’m Okay by @ressjeon [4K] // ksj x f.reader // slice of life, idiots to lovers!au, childhood friends!au // đŸ„”đŸ„°đŸŒ©ïž
📝 With many chances wasted, you couldn’t even resist anymore.
đŸ—šïž A cute little Seokjin fic đŸ„°
⭐Turn Back Time 💯 by @raplinesmoon [13.3K] // ksj x f.reader // time travel!au // đŸ„”đŸ„°đŸŒ©ïžđŸ˜‚
📝 After total humiliation at his middle school baseball try outs, Kim Seokjin wants nothing more than for his awkward years to fade away until he’s thirty. Cue a magic baseball glove, and his wish is finally granted. Seokjin suddenly wakes up seventeen years later, now the star pitcher of the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. Confused and overwhelmed at the prospect of the new life waiting for him, he turns to the only person who seems to understand him — you. Will Seokjin learn what it truly means to be thirty, flirty, and thriving? Or will he find himself wishing he could turn back time?
đŸ—šïž Seokjin’s childhood/school was just, ugh, I really felt heartache for thirteen year old Seokjin đŸ„č So very common as a kid, to wish you’re older – and then it’s just not what he expected at all. I really loved it! There were a few times I was laughing so damn hard, times where I was shedding a few tears as well. Just, incredibly good; very well written, the story was captivating and motivating, just yeah, brilliant. (Sorry, I’m suddenly bad with words). I loved the ‘lessons’ he learned, and then having the luxury (I’m using that word because we don’t have that irl) of going back to his childhood (almost like starting over) and damn it was good 👏💯
Yoongi
⭐Sinful Lust [series; ongoing] 💯 by @oddinary4bts [wordcount loading
] // myg x jjk x f.reader // established relationship, bisexual boyfriend!Yoongi, slice of life // đŸ„”đŸŒ©ïž
📝In an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating

đŸ—šïž  Holy đŸ˜± đŸ˜± đŸ˜± this is just completely unadulterated sin đŸ„”đŸ«Ł I can not describe how much I love this fic! It has A LOT of angst and at times it’s just sad reading how each character falls apart 😭 it’s amazing! If you’re into stories that will have you question your own morals and who to root for, this is for you 💖
⭐In Between the Pages of You [series; ongoing] @unique-high [wordcount loading
] // myg x f.reader // s2l // đŸ„°đŸ˜‚đŸŒ©ïž
📝 Yoongi fell in love with you. A girl he had never even met before. Knew everything that you were made up of within 96 pages of a worn red journal with a nirvana sticker on front, with coffee and tea-stained pages that also smelled of lilacs and summer. 
đŸ—šïž I can already tell that this story will be amazing; it’s so sweet, cute and tender. The storyline/idea is really cute and fluffy, like who wouldn’t love that?? 😭 And as someone who wrote countless journals as a teen, this one just hits differently. It’s so cute and the concept is gold 💜 I really, really look forward to reading the next chapters and what Yoongi will uncover of OC through her journal. And if he can return it to her sometime and they meet! đŸ„č
⭐F*ck Christmas 💯 @sailoryooons [23.4K] // myg x f.reader // f2l // đŸ„°đŸ„”
📝 Making hating Christmas your entire personality was never the plan. Then again, it seems bad things only ever happen around Christmas - like discovering your fiancĂ© cheating on you, forcing you to move back to your sleepy hometown. But Min Yoongi happens to love Christmas, and if there is one thing your very stubborn childhood crush is going to do, it’s try to reignite your Christmas spirit. Even if he has to force-feed it to you with gingerbread cookies and too-sweet eggnog. 
đŸ—šïž Gosh, I remember reading this sometime last year and it was perfection - it still is! ✹ It’s so so so fucking good. If you haven’t read it, please do so đŸ„č it’s also one of the best Christmasy fics 💜
Hoseok
⭐Ho Ho Horrible 💯 @ugh-yoongi [5.6K] // jhs x f.reader // e2l, neighbor!au, holiday!au // đŸ„”đŸ„°đŸ˜‚
📝 (or, the one where your neighbor is a relentless christmas caroler and refuses to take a hint, but at least he's really hot.)
đŸ—šïž No– this was just so freaking cute! 😭 Like fluffy cute and also extremely funny, just what I love. I loved this so much 💜 OC’s friendship with Tae, their banter was 💯 and then with Hobi, just so so good! It was so cute and OC’s internal dialogue is just funny 😂A really cute holiday themed Hoseok fic that I can’t recommend enough!!!! Everything was just great. Had me smiling and giggling a few times – please go read it đŸ„č💜
⭐Started with a Sparkle, now we’re on Fire @the-boy-meets-evil [6.5K] // jhs x f.reader // f2l // đŸ„”
📝 You're feeling self conscious about your recent break-up and hoseok is more than happy to teach you a thing or two.
đŸ—šïž Really really good! I really liked it 💜 I really loved how both sweet and demanding Hoseok was, guiding oc through everything.
Jimin
⭐Couchsurfer 💯 @heartbeatan [6K] // pjm x f.reader // s2l // đŸ„”đŸ„°
📝 This was left intentionally blank đŸ«„
đŸ—šïž Omg this was so fucking good! 💯 First, really well written and the pacing was lovely, even though it’s short and one night they spend together đŸ„č the build up of their tension and their chemistry was off the charts! So impeccably done! Fuck. I loved it ✹ it’s insane how good this story is and Jimin is just so sweet, romantic and nasty đŸ„” I can’t tell you how turned on I got by the description of how Jimin handled OC, like damn đŸ„” this is so fucking good, please don’t sleep on the this beauty 💖 Normally, I’m not one for one night stands, because I catch feelings for the characters, but this has a lovely ending that I loved - so fucking good!
Lol. Can not stop screaming about this one. Please go read it, fuck. PLEASE 😌 ✹
⭐Paper Hearts @namfinessed [9K] // pjm x f.reader // f2l, college!au // đŸ„°
📝 hearts fragile like paper, tear it or don’t?
đŸ—šïž I think it is both cute and heartwarming, with their foolishness and stubbornness towards each other. I loved how the fic becomes full circle with the description of love by both Jimin and reader and then again at the end - really, really beautiful! 😍 I really loved this, it was well written, their friendship and love really shined through too! If you haven’t read this one yet, you really should 💜
Taehyung
⭐The Wannabe-Photographer Chronicles [series] by @gimmethatagustd [14K] // kth x f.reader // frenemies to lovers // đŸ„”
📝 You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s hipster, wannabe-photographer ass. You’re so tired of Kim Taehyung’s stupid smile and stupid jokes and stupid way of getting under your skin and sticking in your brain.
đŸ—šïž At first I did not realize that this was a series, therefore I’ve linked to the masterlist, lol. Anyway, this series is just so fucking hot, like WHAT đŸ„” There’s a lot of banter and their mutual ‘hatred’ for each other just makes this hit incredible hard. Really amazing ✹
⭐Loverboy 💯 by @kookslastbutton [7.1K] // kth x f.reader // established relationship // đŸ„”đŸ„°đŸŒ©ïž
📝 After a startling conversation with your coworkers, you start feeling insecure about your sexual prowess. You don't initiate as much, you haven't worn lingerie yet, and you're still timid about doing much seducing with your body–are you giving your boyfriend boring sex? Taehyung reassures you that you are perfect and have nothing to worry about.
đŸ—šïž These coworkers gotta go, okay?! đŸ˜ đŸ€Ł Planting seeds of doubt in OC’s head, no, no. Tae to the rescue!! He is so sweet in this too, yes a real ‘loverboy’ 😍 Gosh and then best friend Jimin - that was just pure gold, their relationship and how he helps OC đŸ„č That is friendship goals!! A sweet, loving and comforting Taehyung fic - I loved it ✹
⭐Hush, yeah? [series; ongoing/hiatus] by @kithtaehyung [wordcount loading
] // kth x f.reader // brother’s best friend!au, music festival!au // đŸ„”
📝 Who knew an innocent accident could turn things so dirty..
đŸ—šïž Pure gold ✹ — I don’t really have much to say, except GO READ IT.
⭐Under wraps by @jungkxook [15K] // kth x f.reader // e2l, fake dating // đŸ„”đŸ„°
📝 There’s nothing you and taehyung seem to hate more than each other - except for christmas. having recently been dumped by your (now ex) boyfriend only seems to make this holiday even worse. but when taehyung suggests that you should pretend to be dating each other to save you both the embarrassment, pity, and bothersome questions from family and friends alike for a fun carefree month of celebrations, you can’t possibly say no.
đŸ—šïž I just love me some good enemies to lovers AU đŸ„” the relationship between OC and tae is really good, I think the tension between them was well built đŸ‘đŸŸ I loved how their relationship unfolded and grew through their fake dating đŸ„č the way OC realized she had feelings for him, but he had showed her before in his subtle moves, how much more he relaxed in her presence. I loved the interaction between oc and tae’s parents too, the way that they could obviously tell that OC was head over heels 😂 ah just, It was really really good! It was funny, it was comforting, and such a lovely read around Christmas! And the smut was sweet and tender (also hot!) 😍 a really great fic that I’ll add to my Christmas re-reads for years to come ✹ I loved it! Please go read it if you haven’t already đŸ„č
⭐Somebody Else 💯 by @jamaisjoons [4.2K] // kth x f.reader ft. yoongi // established relationship + post break up!au // đŸ„”đŸŒ©ïž
📝 Yoongi doesn’t want you anymore. but he can’t stand watching you with someone else. 
đŸ—šïž Holy s– đŸ„” I don’t even know where to begin with this one! It’s really good and the that is mainly from Yoongi’s pov makes it truly special – he is observing them and damn is it hot đŸ„” Aish, really good 💯
Jungkook
Nothing this month 😞 — I AM SO SORRY that I haven’t read any with JK this month (though he is featuring in some with the other members). My JK ‘to read’ list is the LONGEST imao 😂 I’ll hopefully do better next month – but you can always check my Jungkook Library 💜
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I have spend most of December being on holiday/time off, which gave me a lot of time to write my own stuff, which in the end gave me less time to read 😣 But it’s all good! I loved getting some stories and thoughts out of my head and now there’s space to read and obsess over other’s stories again 😀
Borahae 💜
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anilovie · 3 months
Note
Could I request something with a shy! Reader who has a huge crush on Anakin. And every time they see him, they just—run away. Lol.
This drives Anakin up the fucking wall, because he just wants to talk to them and see their sweet face and hear their beautiful voice. He thought their little crush was cute/funny at first, but as time went on, he actually fell harder. 😌💕
Eventually, he corners them and seduces them into looking at him. Like—cups their jaw with his leather glove and presses his thumb against their throat to force their neck back to look at him. đŸ„” And then he just DEVOURS them.
I love your writing sm, by the way. 💕
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A.N: I loooooved this request. i could write about this for HOURS. lmk if you want more, sweet anon 💖
CW: fluff, lots of fluff, solely fluff, kissing and requited pining with a dash of fluff, gn reader
WC: 1.5k
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♡ Let’s be real. Anakin would certainly know you have a crush on him from the moment it forms.
♡ As the ‘Brotherhood’ book insists, Anakin is better at reading peoples emotions through the force than anyone else. So of course he’d be able to pick up on the way your nerves spike whenever he’s near, the rush of elation coming from you when he walks in the room, the stutter of your heart when you lock eyes and he offers a polite nod in greeting.
♡ He can feel how you stare at him from across the room when you think he’s not looking. Can see the goosebumps on your skin when he ‘accidentally’ brushes you. He can tell when you’re even thinking about him just from the way your heartbreak quickens and you begin to fidget with your hands.
♡ He knows everything about what you’re trying to hide from him.
♡ But you have no idea that he returns those feelings.
♡ It only makes your crush on him that much more frustrating. Because he wishes he could just sit you down someplace and talk to you for hours— stare into your eyes and study the way your face moves when you smile, and frown, and laugh, and cry. He wants to know every inch of you, to study all your flaws and perfections, to know everything about you.
♡ More than anything, he wants to just have you already, raw and real and unapologetically you.
♡ But you’re always making excuses to leave him early whenever you’re left alone. Always turn away when you catch him staring. You’re always crossing your arms or pulling your jacket tighter when he’s near, or hiding behind Obi-Wan, or cutting yourself short when you speak. And if he tries to flirt with you, you clam up and practically disappear in a puff of smoke.
♡ One time, he’s almost certain he made you cry. All he said was that you looked pretty, and tapped the bottom of your chin with his finger. That’s it. But your eyes got all wet and your lip started to wobble, and you quickly turned away, muttering some excuse about being late for an appointment.
♡ most infuriatingly, you’ve only been able to make eye contact with him a handful of times; much less hold it. Your pretty eyes turn wide with embarrassment, your nerves go haywire, and you rip your beautiful gaze away far too quickly for his liking.
♡ And force forbid you have to speak to him. Always staring over his shoulder when he talks to you, or at his chest, or his shoes, or your shoes.
♡ If you manage to get a few sentences out without stumbling over your words or cutting yourself short, he is so proud.
♡ If you’d only just look at him, you would see that.
♡ Though you can never seem to form a complete sentence around Anakin, to Ashoka you can’t seem to shut up.
♡ “Kriff, alright! I get it! Enough about my ‘hot master’!”
♡ In all honesty, you think Anakin merely tolerates you. You’re friends, and you work together, so you think he’s obligated to be nice to you.
♡ the only way you can come out of your shell around him at all is when he makes it glaringly, sickeningly obvious that he’s head over heels about you, too.
♡ Sweet smiles, soft touches, and gentle words of praise and adoration. Constant endearment and doting. It’s endless coming from him, earning constant eye-rolls from Ahsoka.
♡ he always lowers his voice so it’s in that soft, raspy register with you. He doesn’t even notice it, but you do. It’s like he’s reserved all of his gentleness just for you.
♡ most days, he has to call your attention to him, otherwise you won’t dare trouble him. For example, you’re hurrying past him in the starfighter bay, heart jumping into your throat as soon as you recognize that curly head of golden hair, when;
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“Hey— you just gonna walk right past me?”
You skid to a stop and turn back around, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry
 thought you were busy. Didn’t wanna bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me. You never bother me.”
“Oh
” you laugh nervously, clasping your hands in front of you. His attention pins you to the spot, forcing your gaze to your shoes as you awkwardly rock back on your heels. “So, did you
 did you need something?”
“Yes, actually,” he gestures with his head behind him, toward his ship. “Come with me?”
Your gut swirls in anticipation for what Anakin could possibly need to be alone with you for. You’re no genius when it comes to spaceships; you can only hope that whatever it is, you don’t make a fool of yourself in front of him.
Anakin leads you inside to the control room, and then abruptly stops. He turns to you with his arms crossed, intense stare piercing into your face, and comes right out with it:
“Why won’t you ever look at me?”
Immediately, your face grows warm. He gives you no time to even wrap your brain around the question before adding;
“You’re not scared of me, are you?”
As if to prove him wrong, you flick your eyes up to his face, and then quickly away. “I do look at you.”
“That hardly counts,” He scoffs.
It’s worse. He’s making it so much worse. The small space, the forced proximity, the confrontation— your heart is going haywire in your chest, skin breaking out in a nervous sweat. Your mind goes absolutely blank.
“Am I that hard to look at?” His tone is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of seriousness behind it.
“No— no, you’re not hard to look at, at all,” you quickly assure. And because your brain has melted, you add, quieter, “that’s sort of the problem.”
He’s silent for a long moment. And when you sneak another glance at him, you see a grin slowly crawling onto his face.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“You think I’m handsome, hm?”
“Just a little,” you mutter, arms crossed defensively. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
“No?”
“No.”
You search for the exit, thinking it’s about time you get out of this situation before you quite literally pass out. With every word, Anakin leans closer to you, and your pulse has quickened to the point of dizziness.
“I think you like me,” Anakin’s voice has dropped to a near-whisper, rasping as he leans down close to your face. You’ve shrunk back as far as you can go, almost hitting your head on the control panel above.
You turn your head away, trying to escape him, only to find his arm already braced against the wall by your head, trapping you in.
“Anakin—“
There are so many thoughts flying through your head. This can’t happen— he’s a Jedi— you want him— you can’t breathe— is he getting closer?
“Look at me,” he demands. And it’s like he’s the pied piper: His voice controls you.
Blue.
“There you go,” the corner of his lips tilt up. “Not so hard now, is it?”
“It is hard,” you whisper, eyes welling with overwhelmed tears. “You make me nervous.”
He can feel your fragile will shatter, bringing his other hand to cup your jaw, keeping your head tilted up with leather fingers. Even if you look away, you have no choice but to face him.
“Well, I’m proud of you.” His voice is incredibly soft. It’s not mocking or teasing or anything.
He’s proud of you. Anakin Skywalker is proud of you.
That knowledge coaxes you back to him, slowly, and you see true adoration shining in those glittery, softened eyes. Your shoulders finally relax, shaky breath filling your lungs.
“Please don’t make fun of me,” you beg, giving up on hiding what you truly feel for him. He’s forced it all to light now, anyways. “I know you can’t feel the same. And I’ll keep it to myself. I don’t want to trouble you—“
“Hey, hey,” he cuts you off, hushing softly. “What did I say? You’re never troubling me,” his gaze shifts between both of your eyes, as if unable to decide which to look at. “And who says I can’t feel the same? Who says I can’t feel more?”
Your attention accidentally shifts down to his mouth, and your mind goes absolutely blank again.
“W-what?”
Pretty, plump lips curl into a smile. Mischievous, this time. Knowing.
“What’re thinking about, hm? Tell me, please. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”
His face draws impossibly nearer, you almost go cross-eyed trying to keep looking at him. His breath tickles your lips, and you instinctively squeeze your eyes shut.
“Show me what you’re thinking,” he urges. And with a surge of confidence, fueled by the desire to just take what you’ve wanted for so long now, you lift your chin and close the last remaining centimeters between you.
“Mmm,” he immediately hums, appreciating your eagerness. He smiles against your lips, and it lights your body on fire.
You are kissing Anakin Skywalker.
His lips are just as soft as they look.
You finally know what Anakin tastes like.
These three thoughts are all you can grasp until you pull away too soon, stomach somersaulting from the soft sound your lips make as they break apart. Only he hasn’t had enough. Using the hand on your jaw to keep you still, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss, tilting his head to taste you deeper, harder— he lets his tongue swipe your bottom lip, coaxing you open, wanting to know if you taste this good everywhere— only the feeling of his hot tongue on your lip fills your face with unbearable heat, and you pull away from him with a gasp.
“Anakin—“ you whine, bringing your hands up over his to cover your face.
He’s laughing now, ducking his head so that his bangs cover his eyes. If the lighting wasn’t so dim, you could have sworn there was color blooming on his cheeks.
“What? Too much?”
Again, you’re left speechless.
But you’re not stupid. Of all the words he’d just spoken to you, all of the gentle touches and longing looks in the past, of how he’d just kissed you—
“There’s no need to be so shy around me, sweetheart,” he tries to amend. “I adore you. Everything about you,” he shakes his head. “I always have.”
He couldn’t make it more clear. A tiny, hopeful smile eases its way onto your face, but you bashfully push at his chest. “Okay,” you huff. “Just— just let me breathe for a minute, okay?”
He laughs again, but leans back and returns his arms to his sides so you can gulp in a deep breath. Your face is so hot, and your lips are tingling from his phantom touch. And he’s still just staring at you, unblinking.
“Stop looking at me,” you mumble, and he responds by affectionately squeezing your cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger, stealing a quick kiss on your pouted lips before you can complain.
“Never.”
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cafeacademia · 10 months
Text
𝐃𝐱𝐜𝐡𝐹𝐭𝐹𝐩đČ
𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐹𝐧 𝐓𝐹𝐝𝐝 đ± 𝐒𝐡đČ!đ‘đžđšđđžđ« || 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘
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đ’đźđŠđŠđšđ«đČ: Jason comes back from his patrol and finds you desperate for him, only he's just as desperate to find himself after a hard night of being Red Hood and the best way for him to do that is with his favourite girl.
𝐂𝐹𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: Smut, oral (fem rec), rope bondage, suit kink - Jay wears his domino mask under his helmet, overstimulation, about 3 billion terms of endearment, some?? size kink if you squint, some roughness, dom/sub dynamic - Jason is a soft dom in this, Reader uses a vibrator at the beginning, sex at the end. I think that's everything but lmk if I missed anything!
đ–đšđ«đ 𝐂𝐹𝐼𝐧𝐭: Approx 2.5k
ïżœïżœïżœđČ đ–đšđ«đ€đŹ | đ“đšđ đ„đąđŹđ­
đ€đźđ­đĄđšđ«'𝐬 𝐍𝐹𝐭𝐞: This is my first ever Jason fic!! I'm?? Very nervous? I hope this is good? Honestly I'm releasing this into the void and then running away. Please enjoy I had a lot of fun writing this 😌 thank you my lovely friend @that-sokovian-bastard for the encouragement and for reading all of the snippets I sent you.
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He touched you with fingertips that had gripped the edges of death. His skin, marred, tortured, tattooed; brushed against yours. He touched you with the hands that had delivered the veil of death, and yet he was so gentle. His gaze, while intense, difficult to read, was soft on your eyes. Jason was a dichotomy. He breathed vigilantism, he bathed in the shadow of his brother, he made himself the fear of the vile. A man of justice defined by sin.
He never pretended to be perfect. At night he was the Red Hood. Protector, ally to the good, with his edge of sarcasm and pit of anger against the depravity that festered in the alleys and underworlds of Gotham. And the rest of the time, he was just Jason.
Just Jason, who loved you, who helped you with everything, who made you feel loved. Just Jason, who fucked you deep into the mattress, barely out of his Red Hood suit, helmet discarded, gloved hand pressed around your throat as he grunted your name to you like a prayer, a promise, a devotion.
He’d found you that night up late waiting for him, spread out on the bed, heat clinging to you as you cried and tried, tried so hard to reach your euphoria. He’d watched you for a moment, tears in your eyes as you edged yourself with your vibrator, but the only thing your toy was doing was making you sensitive, bringing a burning ache to your clit. You needed more, and more was delivered, his low husky voice gracing your ears.
“You poor little thing,” His voice deep, warning, an edge of sweetness. “Jay-.” So breathy, so desperate as you clung to the sheets, the grip of your delicate fingers around your vibrator so hard he could see how tense you were. “How long have you been like this for, baby? An hour? Two?” He asked, voice almost sympathetic as he leaned against the doorframe, helmet in his hands as he eyed you, domino mask still framing his gaze. “Since- since you
 Left.” You could barely get the words out, gasping as your vibrator struggled to bring you even close to the edge. “My poor baby, you can’t let go without me, can you?” His voice was teasing, almost mean but the way he spoke down to you almost made you more desperate. He approached you, slowly stalking closer to the bed, placing his helmet on the nightstand. He saw the glistening tears in the corner of your eye, pout wobbling as you edged yourself torturously and all you wanted was to orgasm, but you couldn’t. “Are you crying, sweetheart? Let me take care of you.”
Jason, who forced you to stay still with the vibrator still on your clit as he tied you up. Jason, who had no patience and yet he was slow, meticulous with the knots that he decorated and adorned your skin with.
“You want this, baby? Want me to make you forget everything? You know what it means, don’t you?” He asked, voice deceptively soft. You nodded, but it wasn’t enough for him. Jason needed words, needed your spoken promise, breathy and soft on your lips. “Words, baby.” His words brushed against your sensitive clit, a whine escaping you as you ached, throbbed for his attention. “I know
 what it means.” You nodded, voice barely above a whisper, confirmation that you knew he wouldn’t stop once he started. Your pleasure was his pleasure and he basked in it.
“Good girl.” He spoke the words in a grunt as he indulged himself in you, tortured you with his tongue, sucking your poor abused clit between his lips. The overstimulation was almost unbearable, but in the best way. His gloves pressed against your hips, holding you down, your legs tied to perfectly expose your soaking, desperate pussy to him. Precious whines, whispers of his name passed your lips as he bathed your clit in unrivalled attention. Jason loved the way you pulsed against his tongue, so overworked, so desperate that you could barely take the rugged strokes and flicks he gave you.
“Let me have it, baby.” His voice was harsh as he spoke, desperate for more. He needed to feel your release on his tongue again, again, again. Jason needed to hear his name on your lips, needed to watch you squirm as you took the pleasure. He brought you closer and closer, tongue stroking you with need. He felt you tense beneath him, your breath hitching as you reached the edge, the way your fingers gripped at nothing as your orgasm tipped over the edge. You cried out, gasping, moaning as he worked you through your high, bringing you back down with the gentle caress of his tongue.
“There you go, little one.” He spoke deep and soft as he used his thumb to gently soothe over your pulsing clit, the bud aching with pleasure, thrumming with intense overstimulation and it felt so good. You think he’s done, his chin and lips covered in your glistening release. He keeps his gaze on yours, eyes dark and heavy lidded as he brings his gloved hand up to his lips, teeth biting into the leather and pulling his hand out. Throwing his glove to the side, his fingers gently tease at your entrance and you let a soft gasp out as he gently pushes his fingers into you, tongue meeting with your overworked clit and he hums with satisfaction when he hears you let out a strangled moan at the intense feeling.
“You can take it, can’t you, sweetheart?” He asked gently, breath teasing your poor, swollen clit. “I can, I can take it Jay.” You nod. You’re a good girl, you can take it like a good girl, you know you can and you whine as you’re consumed by the pleasurable haze. It’s too much, but not enough all at the same time. It’s so sensitive, but so addictive, you can’t let him stop. You don’t want him to stop as he takes you between his lips again, fingers fucking deep into your cunt, calloused fingertips brushing your spot, stroking you closer and closer with each pass.
You had spent hours fighting for a release, but now the tension built and receded with each orgasm, with each stroke of his tongue on your clit. Jason worked you relentlessly, stopping to gently capture your sensitive bud between his lips and suck, hard. It almost hurt, it almost felt unbearable, but the beautiful noises it roused from deep within your chest only encouraged him as you fought against your bonds for purchase more than release. “That’s a good girl, taking everything I give you.” He groaned, pausing the torture only to continue, his eyes meeting yours, domino mask framing his eyes beautifully, hair messy from being freed from his helmet.
He traps you there, the rope biting deliciously into your skin as you jolt with every pass of his tongue, fingers fucking you relentlessly. Your senses are overwhelmed with Jason. His scent, his touch, his voice, he’s everywhere, he clouds your mind, the haze overtaking you, sending you into a blissful myriad of stars, only half aware, your attention only on the way he pulls you closer to another orgasm, coaxing you gently until you reach it, so so desperate.
Jason swipes over your soft bud, fingers pumping so hard you’re barely seeing straight and with a moan-turned-scream, you find another release. Your breath is hot, it’s ragged as he laps at you gently, letting out a satisfied hum, but it’s not enough. “One more.” Jason gently thumbs your poor abused clit, body trembling as the overstimulation washes through you again. “I can’t.” You gasp. But you can. “You’re doing so good, little one, take one more for me and then I’ll fuck you, I promise.” Jason speaks lowly, the lower octave sending a thrill down your spine. There was something so sinful about Jason looking up at you from between your thighs, lips glistening with your release, eyes dark behind his domino mask, his Red Hood suit still on him as he tormented you. It was his voice, the way he spoke to you in such a sweet way as he ruined you, words falling from his lips, warm and smooth like honey, like ambrosia.
“One more, baby?” He prompted. “One more.” You nodded obediently, lost completely in the euphoria he had blessed you with, voice shaky and closer to a moan than words. “That’s my girl.” Jason hummed, pleased that you, like usual, were his good girl and you did everything he asked you to.
He soothed his gloved thumb over your pretty, aching little bud as he fucked you with his bare fingers. Jason might have made you promise to have one more orgasm, but he never promised he’d give it to you as quickly as the previous ones. The leather of his glove rubbed excruciatingly slowly over your hypersensitive skin and Jason revelled in the gasps and the way you trembled and jolted with each slight touch. “You poor thing, neglected for hours and now look at you, you’re taking it so well.” He was rambling, he was high on your pleasure and you knew he’d be reluctant to let you orgasm so soon. He’d keep you right where he wanted you until he was ready to lead you, tumbling into your meridian high.
Jason edged you slowly, languid movements seized you with pleasure and you thanked the heavy constraint of the ropes around you, holding you down, giving you purchase. The rope hugged you, enveloped your body, mimicked and extended the strength, protection and warmth Jason poured into the way he embraced you. You were trapped in your haze, bathed in ecstasy as you felt him circle your clit over and over, fucking into your slit, fingers hooked and stroking you closer and closer, back arching at the pleasure, breath ragged and uneven as you slipped further into your haze.
“Please, Jay.” The pleading had tumbled from your lips and you were barely aware that you’d even spoken the words in your daze. “Please what, baby?” He asked softly, voice teasingly sweet, almost mean as he coaxed you closer but not close enough. “Please, wanna cum.” You begged, breathy and barely discernible between your gasps and sweet, soft moans. “You asked so nicely, sweetheart. Been so good.” He spoke, gentle words contrasting his voice, rough and deep, tone rugged and steeped in lust. “Stay still and I’ll let you.”
With his words you obeyed, submitting to his promise and you sank into the embrace of your rope bindings as his tongue met your throbbing bud. He didn’t even need to give you long, quick flicks, the barest touch bringing you to the edge as he lightly soothed your aching clit with the tip of his tongue. You came with a gasp, the orgasm surging through you like flames, licking at your insides, flushing you hot with desire, relief, euphoria.
“There you go,” He hummed against you, gently helping you down from your high, craving more but knowing he had to keep his promise. Another night he would hold you here and satisfy the soft, pretty bud between your thighs for hours, but tonight he’d promised to fuck you and he would give you everything you asked for tenfold. “So pretty when you let go.”
“Relax for me, gonna give you everything you want, baby.” He was the perfect contrast, a man of duality. He could be possessive, rough and give it to you with aggressive thrusts and a grip that could bruise, but Jason could also be sweet and gentle and he could do both all at the same time. He knew you loved to be told what to do, you loved being his good girl and Jason loved that you were so willing to do everything he told you to do.
“Please, Jay.” You begged, voice soft, sweet, innocent and Jason groaned at the sound of you. “M’right here, my needy girl.” His voice raspy, dangerous even as he freed his cock from his suit. “Look at me, need you to look at me.” He told you and you obeyed easily, eyes meeting his as he slowly pushed into your soaked pussy. The gasp turned moan that left your lips was music to his ears and he grunted with relief as he allowed himself to sink into you until he filled you completely.
“Look at you, taking me so well.” His words came out in a grunt as he struggled not to lose composure. He held back his need to be rough, to let out the adrenaline of the night, but the way you moaned as he released the rope around you, pulling the cord from your skin, its roughness a contrast in of itself, soft in its caress as it brushed your skin, allowing you to finally touch him. You pulled him in, clawed at him, a silent plea for more and Jason couldn’t resist.
“Jay, please.” Your voice was soft, sweet and it was all he needed to convince himself to lean into his desires and give you what you wanted. His features, hardened and bold, were washed with pleasure and warmth as he took you. Reaching up as he thrust into you, rising breathy, pretty moans from you, you pulled his domino mask off him, looking into his eyes as he claimed you. “Wanted to see me?” He asked, voice gruff and heavy, backed with the sound of skin on skin. You nodded, a soft pout on your lips. “Needed to see you.”
His gaze connected with yours, warm and loving as you moved in tandem, his fingers dipping against the skin of your thighs, holding you perfectly. Jason Todd was many things, but your hidden facet of him, deep beneath everything else, he showed you his genuine kindness, his unfiltered love, vulnerability, his affection beyond the flirting and possessive touches.
Jason’s desperate movements became more controlled, more intentional and he made love to you, taking you as his, giving himself to you. After a night of patrolling, of playing as Gotham’s protector, a shadow bathed in red and black, Jason sank into you, clutching at the need to be himself with you, to be Jason, the man who’d stolen your heart with his lopsided grins and grumpy bad boy attitude. And as your highs peaked and your moans filled his ears with a blissful ring, he came closer to his high.
With each stroke, his demeanour softened as he left Red Hood behind and became Jason, your Jason. “Love you, baby, love you so much.” He was rambling as the pleasure took hold of him, as the pleasure of your orgasm sent him into a blissful haze, chasing his own release, he spoke with a voice imbued with his love for you.
As he found his release, your pretty moans complimenting his groans, you whispered to him the words that soothed him entirely. “I love you too, Jay.” And he was complete.
Jason was a contradiction, he had broken pieces, he had scars that had shaped him, and yet this man that scoured Gotham for its evil lay bare, perfectly faceted and scarred and wonderfully real. For you.
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joyfulfxckery · 1 year
Text
Okay so I saved a worm earlier, and I'm just like OMG IDEA!
Ghost & König reaction to s/o saving a worm đŸȘ±
cause they my husbands
đŸ˜Œâœšïž Anywhore
You guys were walking back from the store that was down the street from your house, and it was slightly raining. He was carrying the heaviest bag, and you were carrying the lightest one because you wanted to help.
Getting on the same block as your place, you stop and hold out the bag for him to hold with urgency, " Quick, take it."
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Simon đŸ‘» Riley
"What?"
The poor man is so confused as he takes the bag
Watching you randomly bend down towards the wet pavement just increases it
It doesn't entirely click until he sees the wiggling worm that's working it's way to the road
Even then, he's still relatively confused watching you
Trying to pick up the small slimy thing on the concrete
What makes it worse is that it's a baby
So it's so friggin' small
Si smiles underneath his black surgical mask when you start cussing out the worm cause you can't pick it up
When you finally do get it in your hand you hold it up so he can see
"Wormy wormy wormy" you say with a bigger smile of your own
He stands closer to the grass when you move onto it to put the worm farther away from the sidewalk
Like your own personal bodyguard
Who are we kidding he's always your bodyguard
He stands with a loving smile watching while you put the worm on the grass
Telling it to stay safe away from the sidewalk or the road
"They'll get you squooshed." You say
Walking back over to him with a proud smile
He moves the bags in his hands so he has one free to pull you in by your waist
Using the hand with the bags to pull down his mask so he can quickly peck you on the lips before pulling it back up
"My sweet girl/boy."
Making you smile at the praise before reaching for the bag you were holding
With your free hand, you grab onto his and pull him along
"Lessgoooo!"
It gives him a sense of pride watching you care and protect something, no matter how small it is
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König 👑
This man would also be confused
Unlike Simon, he takes the bag quickly from your hand while looking around for anything you may find important
When he sees you bend down to reach for the worm, he visibly relaxes
Watches with a smile as you struggle to pick it up
He chuckles, taking the gloves - that I can see him keep in a pocket just in case - out of a pocket
They have the grip on the fingers
Easy pick up of wiggly smiley creatures
He bends down himself while putting one on and within a couple tries, picks up the worm
You clap, smiling up at him. While he tells you to hold out your hand, you do, and he plops the worm in the middle of your palm
Both of you stand up, and you take a step over to the plants and grass to put the worm down in the middle
Taking a couple of steps back over to König who's eyes are crinkled up in a huge smile
Which makes you smile just as wide
He's already taken off the glove, the bare hand being held out for you
"The bag?"
"I've got it, Liebe." His voice gentle as he intertwines his fingers with yours
"Good eye, meine Königin"
"Thank you, my King." You lean against his arm as you continue your journey home.
It makes him love you even more, though he never thought that possible.
And in both accounts, when you get to your homes, the bags get put down, and they push you in front of the skin to get you to wash your hands đŸ©”âœšïž
Thanks for reading ♡
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avocado-writing · 1 month
Note
If requests are still open, could you do how the gentlemen companions + the tiefling bachelors would react to their small, usually very sweet and timid, s/o catching them off guard by flipping a switch and displaying very bold and dominant behavior towards them? Could be nsfw or sfw. Up to you!
Love your work so much, sending you all of the best! 🧡
under a cut bc nsfw >:) minors dni
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Astarion
he’s doing his thing, kissing up your neck, thrusting his clothed cock along the crease between your thigh and your sex
muttering sweet filth into your ear, reaches out to lick the line of your jaw —
suddenly a switch flips, you grab his shoulders and then he’s beneath you
“is this okay?” you ask, breathily, running your teeth up the length of his neck, nipping where his pulse would be
he’s immediately harder than he’s ever been in his life.
becomes rather quiet as you fuck him, not relying on his usual dirty talk, in fact all he can do is moan and hang onto you
he cums so hard he goes lightheaded
“my heart
 that was
 something
”
you giggle and bury your face, suddenly shy again, but up for a repeat performance

Gale
this man loves to be dommed. prove me wrong.
when you start being more dominant, he is thrilled.
lots of moans and whines to let you know how much he’s enjoying it, how well you’re doing
encourages you to bite and scratch. he wants evidence of this, of you.
he lies back and you ride him, pressing your fingers into his mouth for him to suck, and he’s never been more pleased lol
you like cuddly aftercare, checking in that he’s alright, and he lets you know at great length how much he enjoyed the experience
you catch him admiring his bruises and lovebites in the mirror later, proud 😌
Wyll
as we know our lovely lad wants to wait until marriage, so if we’re imagining this scenario mid-adventure

maybe he watches in awe as you put Mizora in her place, giving her a real dressing down, telling her to leave Wyll alone
he’s never seen this side of you, so vicious
 and for him
 it makes him feel things.
when she leaves you turn around and give him the most ferocious kiss, possessive
maybe you grab his arse a bit too

when the two of you separate, breathless, you mumble a little “I just don’t like her talking to you like that
”
he smiles and feels his face grow hot at your behaviour and realises how much he likes it 😏
Halsin
halsin is a big dude. if you’re smaller than him and suddenly you’re dominant? he’s surprised for sure.
he’s kissing you with your back up against a tree, you’re getting really into it, and suddenly your grab him by the hips and flip your position
his eyes go wide but he finds himself moaning into your kiss
it’s all rough. the bark is rough against him, your lips are rough against his, and suddenly your hands are all over him
touching his chest, running across his stomach, reaching down to cup his cock 

suddenly he realises how hard he is. genuinely, he’s throbbing in his trousers.
as you rub and kiss him harder he thinks he might be in danger of coming in his trousers like a pent-up, much younger man
yet as he feels your touch, he welcomes it. you make him release with a whimper.
he is so utterly enchanted by you. you never cease to amaze him.
Dammon
oh, Dammon. strong arms and strong heart, used to being the more dominant one when you’re together. thinks that you expect it from him?
then one day you steal into his forge with a wicked look on your face

you shut the door and lock it behind you. he takes off his gloves and turns to you to ask what’s the matter, but is swept up by your fierce kiss
when you stop to your knees he feels his face go scarlet.
says you don’t have to, but absolutely melts under your touch when you unlace his trousers and take his cock in your hand
oh, he’s speechless when your mouth is on him.
you give him mind blowing head in front of his forge, fire both at his back and from your lips.
he comes embarrassingly quickly.
you swallow - swallow! - give him a quick kiss, and leave with a saunter 😈
Rolan
pretends he’s expecting this. is a bratty sub lol
but as soon as your mouth comes into play he just melts.
you bite his nipples, nip down his torso, and take him so deep into your throat that he mewls underneath you.
if you’re in his tower? lay him out on his archwizard’s desk and ride him until he’s totally lost the power of speech. all he can manage is a desperate mantra of “please, oh gods please
”
he’ll do anything for you in that moment. makes promises of his devotion, his love, please just let him cum

when he’s boneless and sweaty he begins to get very embarrassed, he worries that you might think less of him for being so needy
but you just cuddle him and kiss him all over his face. when you call him a good boy he thinks he might just explode.
Zevlor
Zevlor is a switch because he’s a grown-ass man.
happy when either of you are dominant if that’s the mood your lovemaking takes, but does love it when you’re on top.
you pin him down, pressing his shoulders into the mattress and working his cock inside of you
his hands settle on your hips and he begins to chant your name like a prayer.
fucking him feels like an act of worship. your body is his altar at which to offer prayer. he looks up at you from the flat of his back and knows he has been blessed with you.
“do you love me, Zevlor?” “with every inch of my heart.”
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hitomisuzuya · 4 months
Note
childe fluff hcs but also nsfw hcs too like OH MY GOD i am literally in love with childe
Childe Fluff and Smut Headcanons. Childe x fem!reader. Smut. Fluff. Fingersucking. Breeding kink.
I am very in love with Childe as well 😌
Fluff
Childe loves cuddling you from behind, your your back flush with his chest. He loves holding you against him and resting his chin on top of your head.
He loves spending rainy and snowy days inside with you. To pass the time, he may teach you Snezhnaya children's games that he played with Tuecer and his siblings. I see board games being a big thing with him too.
Loves to give you flowers. Childe puts a lot of thought in picking out flowers for a bouquet or even randomly picking flowers outside to give to you. Every flower has a meaning, and it's important for him to give flowers with the most meaning of love and expression of his feelings towards you.
Will 100% write love letters and poetry to you. Like with giving you flowers, Childe puts a lot of thought into the words he chooses. Nothing he could ever write would ever be truly worthy of you, however. But he sure would try.
Loves to spend his money on you and spoil you. Nothing is too expensive for you. If you look at something window shopping, whether it be jewelry or a stuffed animal, Childe is already walking to buy it for you.
Adores the hell out of domestic life. There is nothing like little moments were you feel like his wife. Like, if you are cooking for him, he'll put his arms around you from behind, telling you the food smells as good as you look. Will call you his sweet little wife.
He'll suggest dessert afterwards. You.
Smut
Childe fucks like he fights, aggressive and passionate. He always takes great care to mark your body up with bruises and bitemarks. Your body is always a canvas for him.
He enjoys seeing the way your cheeks flush when he cooes a pet name in Russian to you, especially when your eyes roll back in your head while he buries his cock deep inside of you.
Enjoys giving oral, especially when you sit on his face. He loves looping his arms around your thighs, holding your drooling cunt on his face while you grind down on his tongue. He lets out the huskiest groan in bliss as he laps his tongue on your cunt. The mere taste of you sends him feral.
Childe absolutely loves being deepthroated, especially when you hum and moan on his cock while you suck. It makes his legs shake, letting out shaky sighs and moans while his hand strokes through your hair.
Whimpers when he is about to cum. Your pussy is squeezing around his cock just right while he pounds into you, blissfully milking his cock for everything he has to offer. Always knows he fucked you thoroughly when his cum leaks from your cunt.
Childe will talk dirty to you in Russian. The more turned on he is, the dirtier his words are. He will taunt and tease you in Russian as well.
He has a collosal breeding kink. The thought of filling you full enough to knock you up sends him feral. He wants a family with you. Cums just from hearing you babble about how you want to give him children with his beautiful blue eyes and red hair while you squirt on his cock, begging him to cum inside of you over and over.
Childe's fingers are a long and beautiful. He loves pushing his gloved fingers into your mouth to watch you drool on them while you suck. He'll taunt you while he pumps his fingers in and out of your mouth, "You are absolutely drooling on my fingers. You want to make them nice and wet before I stretch your pretty hole apart with them, hm?"
Will make you hold the lips of your pussy apart so you can both watch his fingers pumping in and out of you. It's very erotic for him to see you sucking on his fingers after you cum hard on them.
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teenandbeyond · 1 year
Note
Can I request a predator smut with prompts 51,52 and 64 please?
Predator x Reader
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Helloooooo, Briteny's back bitches 😌💅
Want more from me? Masterlist
☆*: .ïœĄ. .ïœĄ.:*☆
Hunter and Prey (Predator)
Warning(s): Smut, reader being chased, park smex (so that's nice, yeah), and idk how I wrote this in class, so have fun, the sparkly stars below are a scam, this is anything but cute
Your predator does what he knows best, hunt...
✹✹✹✹✹✹
“I thought I’d try something different tonight
”
With a tilt of his head, you knew your Yautja was intrigued as you leaned back into him.
“Play a little game, where I’d be your prey. Would you like that?”
You could feel the rumble in his chest, claws trailing down your frame.
“If I win, I do what I want with you—” your breath hitched as they grazed ever so delicately against your inner thigh.
“If I win?” his deep and gravelly English makes you smile. You were a good teacher.
“You do what a hunter would with any prey
” you trail off with a bite of your lip.
“Mm. Rules?”
“The first rule is you only have two hours after my 30-minute headstart. The second: No Bio-Helmet. It wouldn’t be fair to give you such an easy win.”
Then you felt the jump of laughter, you did always enjoy the sound of his laugh, even if it sounded absolutely anything but kind.
“I think I’ve got this in the bag. Your eyesight is shitty without that thing,” you grinned.
“Is that
a challenge? You know I love those.”
â€ąâ”€â”€â”€â”€â”€â‹…â˜Ÿ đ•»đ–—đ–Šđ–‰đ–†đ–™đ–”đ–— â˜œâ‹…â”€â”€â”€â”€â”€â€ą
And now here you were, being chased in the small town by your predator.
You’d made it a distance from your home, confident you would win this little game.
You were careful, the small town was dead at night
however, that didn’t mean there wasn't a risk you or your hunter would be seen.
But that made it all the more thrilling.
Soon, you were at the park, making your way through the crowd of trees.
Your head snapped behind you when you heard birds squawk
he was getting closer, you had to move.
On the other hand, your Predator was a little convinced you truly didn’t want to win, considering you were leaving clues.
Every half a mile or so, there was a piece of clothing he could see.
A hat.
A scarf.
One glove here, another there.
Your coat, he could see from the trees.
But he couldn’t find you. Yet.
He refused to lose, never once has he lost a hunt.
Then he heard the snap of a stick not too far from where he was.
There you were.
You knew you were fucked, you knew he’d hear you.
And he could smell your excitement fill the air at the thought of that.
Time was ticking, he smoothly leaped from one tree to another, getting closer by the second.
â€ąâ”€â”€â”€â”€â”€â‹…â˜Ÿ đ•»đ–—đ–Šđ–‰đ–†đ–™đ–”đ–— â˜œâ‹…â”€â”€â”€â”€â”€â€ą
“Shit
” you whispered, slowly lifting your foot from the broken branch.
You had to run.
You heard a couple of men not too far away murmuring lowly, maybe they could be the distraction. Hiding your body in plain sight.
You hide behind a tree, peeking out to observe them. Maybe you could stand close to them to confuse your body heat or—
With a gasp, you’re slammed into the bark, your mouth is covered.
He’s here.
His gaze pierced into yours, he leans into your ear, “I win. Twenty minutes left. What was that about
 having it in the bag?”
You scoff, voice muffled by his hand, “Bite me.”
“If that’s what you wish..."
â€ąâ”€â”€â”€â”€â”€â‹…â˜Ÿ đ•»đ–—đ–Šđ–‰đ–†đ–™đ–”đ–— â˜œâ‹…â”€â”€â”€â”€â”€â€ą
“H-hah
So-So much
” you whimper as you get rammed into.
You were so hot, yet so cold all at once. The air was crisp, and it didn’t help that the only clothes you had were ripped to shreds.
Your legs buckled, hardly able to stand, but you did, knees brushing together with each jut forward.
As much as he liked holding you
he really loved when you were bent over, taking him in.
His grip on your ripped shirt was tight, he used it to tug you back into him.
You tried so hard to keep quiet, you didn’t want to be heard.
But you were the only one that cared, so.
He decided to be a little asshole and let some of his raw strength seep in, he was still in control of course.
He liked you too much to kill you this way
Now anyway.
And quite honestly, in this fucked out moment of yours, you wouldn’t have minded this being your way out.
A loud mewl—that he thought was very cute—slipped past your lips.
He rolled his hips, the circular movement hitting you deep.
You bite your lip to keep quiet best you could, but he was making it hard.
He’d make it even harder for you.
I mean, you did this much. Made him hunt you. In public at that, but couldn’t handle a few weakling men hearing you?
What would they do except scream before he kills them for seeing you in such a state?
He made his thrusts more deliberate, not really fast, but hardly gentle. Hitting that spot he knew would make you break.
Because if he didn’t make you cry with pleasure, he wasn’t doing it right.
If you weren’t babbling for more, then his job wasn’t done.
He wouldn’t stop until he got what he wanted. That was his reward. He won fair and square.
He loved conquering you, admiring your body, feeling it against his.
And he also loved reminding you that no matter how long you’ve been with him, how much you’ve toughened up
you were still the weakling little human who’d easily get drunk on his cock no matter how many times you’ve seen and felt it.
You tell him it’s because you love him.
Such a thing is foreign to him, he had mates, not love.
But make no mistake, if there’s one thing he understands. He loves your body.
His hand traces over your sides, your hips.
He loves every curve, dent, blemish, freckle, mole, the uneven skin tone in some places.
You are quite the fascinating creature.
He watches as your body trembles, you gasp for breath, fresh after climax.
But despite him going so hard on you, despite your behind being slapped so much it’s changed color, despite the dents his claws left behind, despite your throat being sore from taking him earlier
you still smile and say

“Give me more
I know you’re not done yet.”
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daycourtofficial · 27 days
Text
Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 8
Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.
Author’s note: this is ridiculous and incredibly self-indulgent but I don’t care I had so much fun writing this. This is the iconic karaoke chapter and I’m so excited 😌
(Masterlist)
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Azriel drove the two of you through town, his motorcycle moving through traffic with ease. Your hold on him continues until he eventually pulls into a parking lot, stopping right in front of a small restaurant nestled beside an Insomnia Cookies store. You were quite impressed with how well you handled the ride - you had kept your gasps and nerves to a minimum.
Until you realized you had to get off the bike.
“Uhhh,” you say, looking at the ground as if the two or three feet away from the asphalt was a ravine.
He chuckles, sensing your hesitation.
“Hold onto my shoulders and just slide off.”
You breathe deeply, preparing yourself for the worst case scenario - either falling off the bike or death. You’re not entirely sure which is preferable.
You follow Azriel’s advice, your hands bracing your weight on his shoulders, sliding off with relative ease. You put your hands up in the air, jumping around at how proud you are of not dying. Azriel just chuckles, shaking his head as he mounts the bike, helping you pull off your helmet.
You two go in, and you look around to see only a one other couple at a table, eating what can only be described as the most delectable smelling sandwiches you’ve ever encountered. You spend a moment looking at the massive menu trying to figure out what sandwich you want. Azriel waits on you, and when you nod to him that you’re ready, he steps forward to the counter.
“Can I get a 12 inch triple meat and a 12 inch meatball sub, and whatever she’s having,” he says, motioning for you to tell him what you want.
You’re a bit surprised, and you desperately want to crack a joke about a 12 inch triple meat, but you bite your tongue, asking for a philly cheese steak instead.
Azriel pays, and you thank him as you two find a table.
“So
 12 inch triple meat, huh?”
Azriel snorts, “it’s Cassian’s go to.”
“What’s on it?”
“I’m pretty certain they just shove a bunch of different kinds of meat on bread, layer a bunch of cheese on top, and warm it up.”
“Hmmm,” you hum, “very on brand for him.”
The guy who took your order brings you your sandwiches in little baskets, one sandwich packed away in a bag.
Cassian’s triple meat, no doubt.
“How’d you like being my backpack?” Azriel asks, biting his sandwich, half of it coming out of the end.
“Excuse me?” You ask, taking a bite of your own, trying to keep the contents inside of the sandwich as you eat.
“My backpack. You were riding on my back, like a backpack.”
“Oh,” you push some hair behind your ear, “It uh wasn’t too bad, it was actually fun when I got used to it.”
“Yeah? Would you ride with me again?”
His eyes sparkle a bit at you, whether that was from the sunlight peaking through the window or if that was just Azriel, you’re not sure.
“Yeah, I think I would. When I was a kid I always wanted to ride a motorcycle,” you say, smiling. “How did you end up driving one?” You ask, not taking your eyes off of him
He hums, thinking about how to respond. “I always wanted to ride one, too. Then after the incident with my hands,” he holds up his gloved hands as if making a point, “after I relearned how to use my hands, all I could think about for years was riding. During my physical therapies, whenever it was getting hard or frustrating, I imagined myself older, being able to grip the handles, feel the wind on me.”
You just smile at him, unsure what to say, hoping your smile comes across as friendly as you tell him, “I just thought it looked cool.”
A smile breaks across his face, a beautiful laugh coming from him.
“It does look cool,” he replies, bunching up the paper from his sandwich once he finishes, throwing it into the basket.
“Rhys actually bought me the bike.”
Your eyes move from the paper to his face, and a somber look overtakes him.
“When we were kids he told me after those therapies that he’d buy me a bike once we were old enough.”
He shakes his head, the memories of all the times Rhys said those words to him coming in and out of his thoughts.
“I never expected him to follow through on it. But he did. He bought me the bike as a graduation gift.”
You were about to ask how an 18 year old could afford that, but Azriel beats you to it.
“Rhys’s dad is somewhat in the picture. If Rhys does things for him, mostly making appearances at family functions, he gets extra money.”
“His dad does pay our rent, and Rhys has a credit and debit card from his dad, but he also needed his dad to sign on for the bike.”
“Your brothers must really love you,” you say, reaching your hand out to cover his.
He looks up at you, hazel eyes peering into your own and he smiles, “yeah, yeah they do.”
-
You walk into the gym that Cassian and Azriel work at. It was quite large and it looked incredibly pristine. It’s full of people working out, seemingly everyone in town was spending their Saturday afternoon sweating the week off.
Azriel pulls out his phone, shooting a text to Cassian about his sandwich. The two of you chat idly about the gym, and Azriel tells you a bit about the guy who does the scheduling when you catch a glimpse of long hair in a half messy bun on the top of his head.
You see Cassian’s head come from a corner and he makes his way to you two, his grin getting bigger as he sees you next to his brother.
“How’d your date go last night?” He asks, not mentioning Az’s spare helmet in your hand or how if he blew out a breath you’d be touching his brother.
Azriel glares at Cassian over you, but you tell him, “uh, terribly, actually. He was a douche.”
Cassian grabs his lunch from Azriel, thanking him.
“That’s too bad.”
And yet, Cassian wouldn’t stop smiling at you. You go to ask him more, but he tells you, “I gotta go - I only have a few minutes to eat. Thanks,” he tells you, and before you realize what’s happening, he’s grabbing your head giving you a kiss on the forehead, doing the same to Azriel.
The two of you stand there confused as Cassian walks away, over his shoulder yelling, “do NOT forget about karaoke tonight!”
-
You stepped into your living room, to find Rhys, Mor, and Az lounging on your couches, not adhering to the bar’s theme. Rita’s did themed karaoke nights once a month and this month’s theme was cowboys.
Naturally you pulled out your Barbie costume from last Halloween, and are now looking at your non-costumed friends gobsmacked.
“Why is no one else dressed up?” You ask incredulously, as all three of them look towards you. Rhys and Mor start laughing, but Azriel lets his eyes graze up and down your body, his gaze making you wonder if you’re even wearing clothes right now.
Mor smiles at you, “we don’t follow the theme - Cassian does though.”
You huff, crossing your arms, “he made it seem like all of you dressed up!”
Rhys’s eyes dance with amusement as he tells you, “because he wanted you to dress up too.”
As if you summoned him, Cassian comes out wearing black leather pants, no shirt, a matching vest, and a cowboy hat. He looks at you, smiling wide. “You look great!” He tells you, clapping you on the shoulder as he walks past you. “Uber’s here.”
You don’t have time to turn around and change as your group is herded out the door and down the elevator. It hadn’t occurred to you to question how the five of you would fit into an uber until you got down to the curb, Mor bolting for the passenger seat as the guys get into the car.
“You can just sit on someone’s lap,” Mor tells you flippantly, before placing a finger on her nose telling you, “nose goes.”
Az, Rhys, and Cass get into the backseat, and Cass pats his lap for you, raising his eyebrows at you.
“Ew,” you tell him, clambering to get in on Az’s side. “I don’t trust you, Cass.”
You drape your legs over Rhys’s lap, your feet landing in Cassian’s hands as you get situated on Az’s lap. You shoot him a look, wanting to know if this is okay, but he’s talking to the uber driver.
You pull up your phone, typing a note into your notes app, showing it to him once he’s finished with whatever he was telling the driver.
Is this okay?
You show it to him as Cassian and Rhys are watching the end of a rugby game on Cassian’s phone on the other end of the backseat. Az reaches for your phone, his fingers gently brushing against yours as he grabs your phone. You watch him type, his fingers dancing across your keyboard, their scarred skin providing a texture you want to touch.
It’s more than fine.
He had replied, and you’re about to respond when he grabs your phone again, typing out:
Just like the way you look in that costume.
He hands you your phone back, smiling as a blush floods your cheeks. He puts his arms around your torso, holding you in place, and one of his hands gently holds onto your hips, securing you to him.
Sitting mostly in Azriel’s lap, you spend the car ride holding onto him, leaning your head into his neck for support while you talk to Cassian, who keeps threatening to tickle your feet. You tell him you get spazzy when tickled, which would give Rhys a free knee to the face.
“Please don’t, Cass. I’d like to keep my face intact for tonight.”
“Yeah because Feyre’s meeting us at Rita’s and he wants to look good,” Mor replies from the front seat, drawing out the last word.
Rhys rolls his eyes, but you do notice him unlock his phone to the messages between him and your friend, the last one asking her to let him know when she got there.
The five of you arrive to Rita’s, a bar located on the edge of campus, just close enough to be packed full of other students.
Mor leads the group in, with Rhys saying, “Feyre’s on her way.” The blonde leads your group to a large round booth in the corner, all of you piling in. Mor sits on your right as you maneuver your way in, Azriel right beside you.
Cassian sits on the edge, likely so he can get up and go sing without being too much of a hindrance. Rhys doesn’t sit down, heading to the bar to grab drinks for everyone instead.
And perhaps keep an eye on the door for a certain brunette.
The four of you sit in the booth, Cassian being uncharacteristically quiet as he waits for Rhysand to bring him his traditional shot before performing.
You nudge Az, getting him to turn his attention to his brother.
“You okay, Cass?”
Cassian shrugs him off, “I just want my shots. You know I prefer being a bit buzzed before going up there.”
You reach in front of Azriel, squeezing Cassian’s forearm, “you’re going to be great!”
Cassian softly smiles at you, his hand covering yours in a gentle squeeze, “thanks, sweetheart.”
Cassian did seem in better spirits, opting to pick up a conversation with Mor about the best shots to drink before karaoke.
You turn to Az, the two of you closer than necessary in the booth, but you can’t bring yourself to scoot away.
“So, Barbie huh?” He asks, his fingers touching the pink pleather fabric on your shoulder.
You’re confused for a moment, before realizing what he’s talking about. “Oh, yeah. Mor wanted us to go as different Barbies from the movie for Halloween - she was rollerskating Barbie, I was cowgirl Barbie, and Feyre was the pink gingham dress Barbie.”
He rests his arm on the booth behind you, and you stay as still as possible so you won’t scare him off as he asks, “no Kens?”
You laugh, “no Kens, unfortunately.”
His smile is on the verge of cracking his face in half as he says, “maybe this Halloween you’ll have some Kens.”
Before you can reply, Rhysand comes back with a tray of shots and Feyre behind him, wearing a very cute black mini dress.
“Traitor!” You shout at her, as she scooches in next to Mor.
“Rhys told me we didn’t actually dress up,” she defends, holding her hands up. Your eyes shoot to violet ones, their gaze full of mischief. Rhys smiles at you, and your jaw drops, “and you didn’t think to extend the same courtesy to me?”
Rhys’s grin grows feral, “I thought surely with all the texting you and Azriel have been doing, he would have told you.”
You turn, smacking him on the shoulder as he chuckles. “Okay, okay, I should have told you, but you were so excited about it, how could I rip that from you?”
You scoff, “I look like an idiot.”
“A cute idiot.”
Your blush doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone at the table, as Mor pokes her nose in. “I think it’s only fair if next time we come out Azzy and Rhys adhere to the theme.”
Your eyes light up, pointing to Mor, “oh oh oh, I like that idea!”
Rhys turns to cousin, “and why am I involved in this?”
“It only seems fair. You told Feyre that we don’t dress up, so you should have told her as well.”
Azriel butts in, “well Feyre could have told her too.”
Feyre motions her hand over her throat, trying to stop Azriel from speaking further.
“It’s decided then,” Mor says, “the three of you adhere to the theme for next month’s karaoke.”
You pick up your glass and clink it to Mor’s, solidifying the deal. Everyone else is groaning, slumping back in their seats, but this agreement causes Cassian to become invigorated. He’s buzzing with excitement, and at least three shots of vodka, as one of the bartenders walks up to the mic and says, “next up for karaoke - everyone’s favorite - Cassian!”
Cassian gets up, all of you wishing him luck as Mor places a sloppy kiss on his cheek. He prances up to the stage as the scattered applause dies out. The opening notes to Shania Twain’s “Man I Feel Like a Woman” come through the speakers. Cassian lifts his head to the mic to sing, “let’s go, girls”, then turns back around away from the mic. He begins swaying his hips in time with the beat, the leather pants he’s wearing making his ass and his legs look phenomenal. His vest rises a bit as he raises his arms, and you can see the bottom of the tattoo he had gotten during your drunk escapades.
“Are we sure Cassian’s not a stripper?” You ask the table, but Mor shushes you so she can watch the show.
You turn to Azriel, leaning in close to him to whisper, “Do you know how to whistle?”
Your whole body is warm as he leans close to your ear, whispering, “Yes, why?”
You miss the look Rhys gives the two of you, huddled together impossibly close in the large expansive booth.
“I want to whistle, but I don’t know how. Can you do it?”
He obliges your request, rolling his eyes as he wolf whistles at Cassian, who beams at the attention.
You giggle, whispering to Azriel, “his stage name should be 12 inch triple meat.”
You two giggle at the joke before turning your attention back to the stage. Cassian makes it through the first chorus, and he is not receiving his dues. No one is paying any attention to him, and you’re about to ask if there’s anything you guys can do, when Mor grabs your and Feyre’s arms, pulling you out to the little dance floor in front of the stage.
You guys start singing and dancing with him, hips swaying with the music. You guys are singing to each other, smiles plastered on your faces.
You’re lost in the moment when you feel Cassian’s warm hand wrap around your wrist dragging you up on the stage. He has his other hand on Mor, so you quickly grab Feyre’s wrist, all three of you assisting him with the vocals on the “oh, oh, oh”.
It was ridiculous - the four of you on this tiny stage, everyone at Rita’s not caring as you all danced and sang, the three of you providing backing vocals for Cassian.
Three of the most important people in your life singing to Shania Twain.
It was ridiculous. It was everything.
The song ends, and you can hear Rhys and Azriel clapping enthusiastically as the four of you head back to your table.
You slide back into Azriel’s side, his smile making everything inside of you burn for more of it. You spend the rest of the night drinking as Rhys and Cassian regale you all with stories of karaoke nights of the past, the unspoken words hanging between them, but not making their way into the discussion.
The past nights of singing were nowhere near as fun as tonight was.
218 notes · View notes
yeyinde · 1 year
Note
okay wait now we need a second version where the reader does leave with ghost and he walks her home and he's all shitty about the drunk flirting and she's like "bruh it was just flirting, if you would make a move i wouldn't need to make you jealous" 😌
ask and you shall (eventually) receive~ đŸ–€
i hope you enjoy this!!
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"What? He's been keekin' you all night." There is a divot between his brow. When he turns his head, the fairy lights behind make his stubble look darker. "Yer aff yer heid!" Soap’s Version
It's all words. 
Thin, hollow: they're empty ones bereft of meaning. They roll over you—a gale rocking you from side to side until you're dizzy with that awful little thing that clings to your pericardium, refusing to relent.
Hope. 
Yearning (in English this time, if only just for him).
It clots there, taking root until you're a little queasy. A little unwell. The alcohol, perhaps, or—
He sits by Laswell, head angled down to murmur low in her ear about things that shouldn't matter right now when everyone is alive, and safe, and back together. But of course they do. They always do. 
You wonder if they ever rest. If they ever take a moment's reprieve from the endless death and carnage that bulldozes your life until it's in shambles. Until the only thing that remains is broken chunks that reek of smoke and petrol. 
It feels impossible. 
He hasn't looked up once, despite whatever nonsense Soap might be on about. Untouchable. A chasm. 
Ghost is a shoreless island in the distance. Rocky and steep. 
Sometimes, if you stand on the furthest point of the beach, you can almost see the land peeking out from under the sea. Hazy. Shrouded. It sits amid the crashing waves, out of reach from everyone. 
Soap pulls you back in, a few clipped words shared back and forth, and everything else melts away. This is easy. 
This, being: drunk on expensive scotch (thank you, Captain Price; and oh no, thank you, I don't don't want a cigar) as you share snapped banter in a small pub. Vacant, of course, save for the six of you, and the barkeep. A man who offers little more than a nod at you when you mutter about the washroom, and swats at Price when he comes for peanuts and pretzels. 
It's easy to pretend, you think, that the honeycomb eyes, a bashful grin, and hands that feel like the sun are what you want. 
Easy, and yet—
You wonder if he's had anything to drink. 
(You wonder if he'd keep his gloves on while he held you—)
You snap something at Soap, something you hope is witty and charming, and maybe if you play your cards right, you won't end up alone in a foreign land tonight. That, maybe, he'll let you close your eyes, and pretend—
It's ground out, raked through coals. "Soldier."
He makes you dizzy. Makes you want, yearn, makes you—
It falls into nothing, until your head is full of him: blood hell, Christ—
Never said I wasn't. 
It feels like more of a reprimand than anything else he'd tossed your way thus far. A warning, maybe. Don't get too close. You know what you're in for. 
Don't make him into the fairytale he isn't.
"And you, soldier?"
You're drunk. Too drunk. Head gummy and full of sin. 
"Should leave," you say, casting a glance toward the mosaic window. A cross hangs in the distance. An augury. "Maybe go to church." 
"Aye, lass. Think someone ought to get you home. Lt?"
You pull the last swallows in your cup before Soap has the chance to take it away from you. Liquid courage, you think, wilting under a black stare. A looming, uncharted island in the distance. 
"C'mon," he says, words a shade away from being a command. "Haven't got all night." 
You don't point out that it's nearly three in the morning—devil's hour in the company of a ghost—and wisely hold your tongue when Soap leans down, whispering: you can spend the night with me, hen.
"We're leaving." A growl, now.
It jars you. His voice is unlike anything else you've ever heard: gravel and ash; gunfire booming in the distance. It sits low, like the words are dragged up from the depths of his chest, and sounds like smouldering embers. 
Your hands shake around the glass. It knocks against the wooden counter when you set it down, a hair too hard. You're crumbling. Slipping into waters that have no bottom. Rough, frothing. The white foam clogs your throat, drenches in you until you're weighed down, and sinking fast. 
In over your head. No way out. The island is too far away.
His eyes are sharper than you've ever seen them. A yawning abyss. You wonder if something would snap at the tips of your fingers if you got too close. 
Soap brows sit arched on his forehead, mouth thinning into a small line. "Alright, bonnie?"
"Gonna go home," you smile, tired. Wobbly. "Gotta get some sleep. Maybe next time, though." 
Ghost's stare has never felt so heavy. 
You stumble out of the pub behind him, pointedly ignoring the glance Gaz sends in your direction—the phone in your pocket already buzzing with texts that will make you whimper in the morning (saw you with Lt, mate. What the fuck? I mean what the bloody fuck?). This is normal, you think. Everyday. Mundane. Saturated in the ordinary. 
Except—
Sometimes, your life doesn't make any sense. How you can go from coldly planning a man's—mens—murder to walking down the wet streets of Glasgow, head full of your Lieutenant.
The church peaks in the distance. The light spills, bathes it in yellow. The tolling bells call you an idiot. 
Your head drops, eyes skirting toward the indomitable man beside you. Idiot, indeed. You can't help yourself, though. He's a magnet. A beacon. 
A current sweeping you out to sea. 
He says nothing. Hands tucked into the pockets of his black jacket, hood pulled down low. Those haunting eyes roam the corners, surveying the alcoves: always ready, always on-guard. 
It's a stifling thing, this silence. Oppressive. Crushing. 
Your throat itches with the urge to shatter it, to break it down until there is nothing left of it. Where it can't echo inside your chest like the brutal burn of rejection, and doesn't make your mind reel, an endless spiral of why and how and—
What can you do differently to make it a reality? 
No man is untouchable. Not really. There had to be others in his life. A man like Ghost—
It's just impossible, isn't it?
Does he go to a brothel when the urge wells? A pub? Does he have dalliances with other agents he'd met in the field? Ones with battle scars, the taste of gunfire on their breath, and firm hands on their rifle? Is there someone already waiting at home for him, tucked inside a place no one else can reach them? The only inhabitant on an island in the middle of the sea.
What is his type?
And how can it be you?
Queries. Questions. They burn through you. 
What if you just went for it? Is that what he likes? Someone who looks him in the eye, and says take me, I'm yours. 
You open your mouth to ask, but are stopped in your tracks by the stare fixed on you. Breath caught in your throat. Lungs bereft of air. You splinter. 
"S—sir
?"
"What?" It's harsh when it's ground out of his teeth. A snap. 
"Are you angry?"
His eyes slide down to you, lidded and heavy. "Negative." 
You huff. "Lying to me, now?" 
"I've been called many things, Rookie, but a liar isn't one of them."
The grit in his voice makes you tremble. Makes a heat spume inside of you, not unlike the scotch from earlier. 
Or—
Maybe it is the scotch. Your head is a slurry; a mess. The world around is shrouded in a sheen, a gloss, that makes the lights smear, and the cobblestone below quake under your feet. 
"Are you—" jealous feels too strange in conjunction with Ghost. To the man who, as close as he is beside you, has never felt further away. Stupid Soap and his stupid words. 
"Am I what?"
You mull it over. Let the word sit between your incisors to gauge the fit of it. It doesn't quite fit when you roll it around. Doesn't belong together.
(Like him, you.)
You stifle it.
He makes a noise, impatience, perhaps, and the word leaks into their terse air between you before you snap your jowls shut. 
"Jealous?"
His eyes slide to you again. The whites glow under the street lamps. "Jealous?" 
You feel a little silly. A little stupid. You blame it on the scotch. On Soap, and his keekin' you—
But—
You feel the words pool on your tongue, but you can't stop them from trembling out. 
"I could have went home with Soap—"
"Why didn't you?" 
It stings. The rejection hurts something fierce, but it's swallowed down. 
(In for a penny
)
"You pulled me away. I could have been fucking him right now, and instead I'm wandering around Glasgow—"
Tonight feels as good as any to get your heart wrecked. Loose lips sink ships, after all. 
"You might be fucking him, pet," his voice is a snarl, a feathered growl. "But you'd be thinking of me."
It punches into you, and makes you gasp, aloud; the sound echoing over the wet brick surrounding you. Your feet stutter when it's ground out, left to rot in the air. You jerk your head up to look at him, eyes wide. Heart-hammering in your chest. 
He stops, too, hands now hanging by his sides, curled into loose fists. His chin is tipped down, liquid eyes boring into you. 
You—
You've never seen a sight more damning. One more ready-made for ruin. 
He makes you feel a low grade fever burning in your veins. Stupid, intoxicated. 
You don't know where to go from here. Thinking of me. He's right. Of course, he is. It feels like a fractured mess when it tugs on the corner of your lip, a slowly unease smile. Distance, you think. You're an island far away from hurt. 
Rejection. The brutality of his words—they can't reach your shores. 
"And you'd be at home, getting thought of but not fucked." It's shakier than you'd wanted it to be, words a slow tremble. Then, a whisper: "You wouldn't even know."
"I would." He takes a step, another. His stare never wavers. "Just like I knew the first time you touched your little cunt to the thought of me. Couldn't look me in the eye for a week, pet."
"That's—"
It's true. You remember the time—all of them—and the realisation that he knows (he knows, he knows, he knows) burns into you. A knot of discomfort pools in your core. 
There is embarrassment, of course there is. Shame, too. 
But you're too drunk, too blootered, to think straight. Too raw, and cracked. You're a vanishing island. Water lapping at your inlands. 
More hollow, thin words: "why did you take me out?" 
"I gave you the option," he corrects, his voice is flat. It carries at the end, and leaves no room for any argument or protests. 
It's true, after all. 
You drop your chin, hands shaking. It's a bludgeon to your gut. 
(How can it be you—?)
Stupid. 
The false bravado quivers under his stare. A step backward flattens your spine to the wall of some long-closed Tandoori shop. The bricks are still wet from the rainshower that fell earlier. The cold dampness bleeds into your flesh. Goosebumps prickle. 
More liquid courage, you think, hands balling into quivering fists by your side. 
You lift your head. In for a penny, right? 
No island is truly unreachable. No man, either. 
All of this— something —with Ghost is drawn together into this single moment. The distance. The uneasy feeling on the nape of your neck when he's behind you. The want. He's been keekin' you all night. You look over and catch his stare. Feel it on your skin like a brand. 
(Ready-made, always.)
It all has to mean something. It has to. 
"Is that why you stare at me?" 
His eyes are embers. The glow from the streetlights make him look like smouldering ash. Demonic. It thrills you. 
"No, pet." 
He leans in close, his body a shadow over yours. A tower. You can't see anything except the fill of him spreading out around you. Black. Endlessly so. Your perpetual night. The embers spark, blazing, when he bores into you. A wildfire in the distance. Atavistic fear brims. 
Stay away from the fire and the being that can hurt.
His hand presses into the concrete beside your head. There is nowhere to run. 
"I stare at you because I keep thinkin' about those little fingers trying to fuck yourself silly, and how desperate you must be knowin' it isn't enough." 
You shiver—a whole body chill that has your teeth chattering together at the punctured words that drip, tainted with your demise, from his mouth.
The air in your lungs is noxious. It spumes inside until your knees quake, threatening to drop down into that unfathomable abyss that gapes below. The yawning maw of a man who wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into you until nothing remains. Rucked into the currents, it sends you careening out to sea until your fingers cling to the side of that untouchable island, begging for respite. Salvation.
It's a plea, a whimper: "you should have asked to take me home."
He offers none of it. His hand stretches out, and in the cup of his palm, he promises only ruin.
You shouldn't take it. Don't make him out to be the fairytale he isn't.
But the look he levels you with, ravenous hunger tucked inside the tenebrose of those spiralling depths, has you reaching out. A moth to a flame. The roar of the Styx in your head. You can't resist.
(You wouldn't even try.)
"I already am."
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—Gaz regrets sending the text when he wakes up the next morning to a detailed commentary on all the ways his Lt absolutely ruined you
— he refuses to look either of you in the eye for weeks after
—this is completely irrelevant and feel free to roast me for it, but! my hc of a jealous!Ghost depends on where he's at in the relationship
—in the beginning: he doesn't trust, he does his job, and he's distant; but if he feels it, he'll close down. total distance. silence. he's mean about it, too. waspish. he'll try to push you away. cold hearted bastard to a T.
—but later?? oh, boy. that's when the Loomingâ„ąïž starts. the, oh hey lemme go talk to that cutie over there - oh, wait. what the fuck that is that thing behind them and why does it look like it wants to eat me alive?! he's still mean, of course, but now he has a reason to snap. a reason to stand as close you as physically possible so everyone knows just who you belong to. and if he catches you flirting, i mean. rip, b. đŸ„č
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d6volution · 5 months
Note
sucking Caine off under a table or desk while he tries to talk to someone about something important .. I LIVE FOR THIS IDEA HOLY SHIT
oh yes yes of course heh 😌😌
---------
A moan escaped his throat, a hand resting on your head as it bobbed back and forth. You sat prettily beneath his desk, obscured from any prying eyes. You both heard the knock at the door, yet you silently insisted on continuing. Lips suckling at his angry red tip. He shuddered, his hat comically twirled on his head.
"Yes, come... on in!" He called out to the person on the other side of the door. His voice was surprisingly steady, but .. he looked incredibly stressed, nervous almost.
"Uh.. you alright there, Caine?" The familiar purple bunny asked, arms crossed over his chest.
"Peachy! What can I do for you, Jax?" The words rushed out of his mouth and he shifted in his seat a little. His hand was still on your head but you started to move anyways, swallowing his thick shaft up inch by inch. The warmth of your mouth made his gloved fingers tangle in your hair.
Jax rolled his eyes, "Well.." His words trailed off, and Caine had stopped paying attention as soon as he started speaking. His hips unconsciously moved forward, he could hear your lewd slurping, and that only made him throb against your tongue .. luckily enough Jax was at a far enough distance not to hear a thing, especially over his own voice.
'g-god, woman I cannot think like this!' He thought to himself and yanked your head forward, your eyes shot open as your throat was suddenly filled to the brim with his dick. You gagged and tapped his leg but he didn't let up. He grunted, but quickly cleared his throat afterwards.
"Good chat, Jax! I will tend to that right away, but at the moment I have more important matters to attend to!" Jax was about to protest, but Caine snapped his fingers and the bunny was teleported elsewhere, even if he were to comeback it'd take a little while.
Caine let go of your head, and you pulled back to catch your breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "Hheh.. still wanna stop..?" Your eyes fell back onto his dick, which jumped with enthusiasm.
"Nonsense, I didn't want you passing out on me dear... nor did I need Jax out of all people to see you like this.. Now," He gently gripped the back of your neck to line your mouth up with his throbbing tip. Eyes dilated and filled with lust.
"Now then, let's pick up where we left off, hmm?"
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Note
Hi
For a request for Dottore x fem reader
Where reader accepts him for who he is and is his wife and soulmate.
Fluff to nsfw
Sub reader
It can be a filthy as you want
Mm, I see I see. Filthy huh? I can do that😌
MDNI, filthy, nsfw. Not proofread btw.
Warnings: pussy smacking, fingering, pet (reader), established relationship, Doll (reader), fem reader, he's still kinda mean
A/N: Hope you enjoy!
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Some would say being married to the Doctor was a curse. That he'd somehow brainwashed you into the marriage. When in fact, it was the opposite. Any flaws others found in him, you loved. No matter what it was. You were his wife, his lover, his pet, his soul mate. Whatever he needed you to be. And it was of your own will.
He had his soft moments, you'd say. When his arms wrapped around your waist while you sat in his lap. Or you'd still sit but turned so you could play with his hair if a particular experiment was giving him trouble. His purred out thank yous when you brought him coffee.
He loved you, in his own way.
One way he'd show you is through sex. His sex drive was high and he made the most of that.
...
"So pretty, Doll." He murmured, his gloved fingers running along your spine. Your body shivered from his touch, a smile spreading across your face. "Just for you," you purred. Your back arching slightly from his touch. "Mm, is that so? This pussy all mine too?" He questioned, bringing his hand down to your wet folds. Sliding a digit in between before rearing his hand back, smacking your cunt.
You moaned, pussy leaking from the pain. "Mm, yes."
He smacked you again, watching as you twitched and dripped onto the sheets. The sting from his wedding ring made your stomach flip, forming a knot of arousal.
He laughed, smacking you again. "I know pet. I know very well of your devotion." His wide toothy grin made your heart thump and add more fuel to the knot in your lower stomach. You swiveled your hips, tempting him into doing it again. "Oh?" He cooed, bringing his fingers back to your folds, circling over your clit. The wet, sloppy sound of your pussy echoed in the room. Then he slipped them inside, starting immediately at a quick pace. Your juices sloshing and spraying all over his hand and your thighs.
"Mm-ah-mmmhphhh~" you whined, pushing yourself back further on his fingers. "Gonna make a mess for me pet? Squirt all over my fingers?" You nodded your head rapidly, head getting dizzy with pleasure. Your thighs shaking as you felt the knot unravel, your pussy gushing all over the sheets and his fingers. Mumbling 'fucks' and s'good over and over as he helped you ride out the orgasm. He hummed, rubbing his messy fingers along your ass.
"You made a mess." You smiled, willing yourself to crawl towards him. Your lips wrapping around his messy fingers, cleaning off your own arousal. He smiled, wide and toothy as he watched. His other hand petting your head.
You let go with a pop. "Love you," you smiled. Your hands already reaching for his pants.
"Me too, Doll, me too."
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copias-girl · 1 year
Text
To Catch a Cardinal: Chapter I
A/N: Cardi is 100% a virgin in this đŸ˜ŒđŸ–€ Get ready for some slow burn and merciless teasing 😈
Song recommendation for this series!
Chapter II
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â€ąâ™„ïžŽđ–€â™„ïžŽâ€ą
“He looks just like a rat!” Sister Mable snickered, causing the other sisters of sin to burst out laughing.
“And he scurries around like one too!” Sister Ava added.
“You know, I heard he keeps rats. As, like, pets.” Sister Lilith whispered with a shudder, nearly horrified by the mere thought.
“Ugh. He’s such a weirdo, I can already tell. I hope he doesn’t try to strike up a conversation with me.” Sister Emily scoffed.
“Have you even seen how painfully shy he is? I don’t think he would even know how!” Sister Lilith retorted, causing the group to burst out laughing.
You heard their conversation as you came strolling by, carrying some Latin translations that Secondo had requested. You also had a pack of little Mix Max cakes that you were going to bring to Primo, Secondo, and Terzo. And maybe even one for Nihil too, as you knew how much he liked sweets.
The truth was, you were everyone’s darling. The Papas absolutely loved you. Primo allowed you the privilege of helping him tend to his precious garden, Secondo’s hard scowl softened considerably when he looked at you, and Terzo just couldn’t stop himself from constantly flirting with you, much to the annoyance of many of the other sisters of sin. Even the ghouls loved you; Terzo often having to shout at them to prevent you from getting dogpiled. It was no secret that everyone regarded you as the prettiest and most lovely sister in the whole ministry.
“Who are you talking about?” You enquired curiously, slowing your pace.
“Oh, hi Sister!” Sister Ava greeted you.
“We were just talking about that new Cardinal. He’s so strange! Have you seen him?” Sister Mable chuckled, clearly wanting you to engage in their judgemental banter.
“No, not yet, didn’t he just arrive yesterday? I’ve been busy running errands for the Papas.” You replied, gesturing to the things in your arms.
“Are those cakes part of your errands?” Sister Lilith asked with a playful little smirk.
You smiled, shaking your head. “No, just a little something for our dear Papas. They always seem to enjoy it when I bring them treats.” You responded cheerfully.
“I think what they enjoy is you always visiting them in their offices.” Sister Ava chuckled, and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a grin.
“Well,” You started to leave, “I better get these Latin translations to Secondo, you know how he doesn’t like to wait a long ti-”
And that’s when you saw him. Him.
He was an odd man, currently stuttering out a heavy-accented apology for bumping into someone, the stack of papers he was carrying now scattered onto the floor, some sheets of paper still in midair as they floated down.
“Ah, shit..” He mumbled to himself with that cute little accent, kneeling down and scrambling to gather his things. The guy he had bumped into ditched, quickly turning a corner and walking out of sight, leaving the Cardinal to pick up the mess by himself.
The group of sisters erupted into laughter, not even caring that the Cardinal could hear.
“Couldn’t they have gotten anyone better? Seems like they’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel with this choice.” Sister Emily snorted a little too loud, right within earshot of the Cardinal.
Casting an annoyed glance at Emily, you made your way over to the man, much to the surprise of the group of sisters.
You knelt down beside him, beginning to gather some papers together, but the poor Cardinal didn’t even notice you. He looked utterly humiliated, brows furrowed and biting his lip as he inwardly scolded himself for being so clumsy and making a bad first impression.
That’s when you both reached for the same piece of paper, his gloved hand meeting yours. Immediately, his head shot up, eyes widening when he saw you. Oh, Satanas, you. You were a vision, a dream- no, better than a dream. His stupid mind couldn’t dream up something as beautiful as you if he tried his hardest.
With lips parted and cheeks flushed red, the Cardinal stammered out a quiet, “H-hello
 Eh.. How do you do?”
You couldn’t help but smile. He was so pitiful and oddly cute, you felt like giving him a hug. Maybe you should? Maybe you would, you know, as a gesture to welcome him to the ministry.
“I’m doing quite good, thank you, Cardinal
?” You trailed off. You had heard his name in anticipation of his arrival, but it was escaping you at the moment.
“Eh? Oh! Copia. I am Cardinal Copia.” He replied, straightening his biretta. “And.. and you are?”
You gave him your name, still with that sweet smile on your face as you studied him. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Il piacere ù mio.” Copia murmured.
You decided against the hug. You wouldn’t want to give the poor man a heart attack, now would you? Instead, you opted to place your other hand on top of his, which was still frozen in place touching yours as you had both reached for the same paper. You noticed how he flinched at that, his blush deepening as his wide mismatched eyes gazed into yours.
“Welcome to the abbey, Cardinal Copia.” You said softly. Your voice was like music to his ears.
“Grazie, you too- Ehh, well, I mean-” Copia stammered nervously. Fuck, he could kick himself; he was really blowing this. You must have thought he was a complete idiot, how embarrassing

“I know what you mean, don’t worry.” You giggled, slightly putting the poor Cardinal’s nerves at ease. “Here, let me help you pick all this up.” You said, beginning to gather the scattered pages once more.
Copia nodded, doing the same, but it didn’t escape you how he stole little glances at you from time to time. He couldn’t help it, you were just so captivating. He’d never seen someone like you before. You simply glowed, you were captivating with your sweet voice, that gorgeous smile, those glimmering eyes, the front locks of your lush hair sticking out of your habit. You were so glamorous, and everything about you was just perfect.
And you couldn’t help but steal your own glances at Copia, catching him fixating his gaze on your glossy lips. A small smirk found its way onto your face, wondering if he was imagining kissing you, or if he was too shy for even thinking about that.
Finally standing up and securing everything in his arms, you opened the pack of cakes and placed one on top of his stack of papers.
“Eh? What’s that for?” The Cardinal asked.
“Just a little treat for you!” You shrugged with a smile.
“Grazie, I.. I love Mix Max..” He let out a sheepish chuckle, and you made a mental note of that so you would remember to stop by his office all the time and bring him some.
“You know, if you ever need any help in your office, or if you need anything brought to you, I’d be more than happy to.” You offered, mindlessly toying with the hem of your dress.
“Si
 Perhaps I will take you up on that, Sorella.” Copia nodded. “Grazie così tanto per questo.” He pointed with his nose to the stack of papers in his arms.
“Di niente, Cardinale.” You smiled, holding in a giggle as you watched him awkwardly nod and scurry away, his black cassock swaying with every step.
The group of sisters were absolutely astonished, all staring with wide eyes and jaws dropped. They didn’t exactly know what had just transpired, all looking amongst themselves once you sauntered down the hall and out of sight.
“Did you see the way he was looking at her?!” Mable scoffed, breaking the silence.
“Well can you blame him? She’s so gorgeous.” Ava pointed out, to which Emily rolled her eyes. Emily was always was jealous of you.
“And she’s so kind too! Just watch that weirdo take it the wrong way, though. He’ll probably think she likes him!” Lilith chimed in, earning sounds of agreement and outrage from the other girls.
‹𖀐‹
The corners of your lips were quirked upwards into a little smirk, eyes shining and hips swaying as you made your way towards Secondo’s office, a little pep in your step. This new Cardinal seemed
 fun. And you decided, then, that you wanted him. You really wanted him, with his cute little moustache and his pointy nose and his slightly greying hair. But you also decided that you’d be taking the scenic route; the long way around to get to your final destination which was his bedroom. Poor thing, he didn’t even know what he was in for.
And as you strolled down the halls of the ministry, deep in thought, you supposed that the sisters were right; Copia did kind of look like a rat.
But what a coincidence. You loved rats.
𖀐to be continued𖀐
Taglist: @sucharide @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @rightintheghoulies @copiaswifey @youhaveahomeinmyheart @mister-girl @faeeeeh @rubyserpentine
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dindjiarin · 2 years
Text
Six Days, Part I - (Sierra Six x F!Reader)
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Being stuck in a room with Sierra Six for a week causes more drama than you thought.
This was a 16 hour fever dream. It's probably going to be a two-parter, but this one ends satisfyingly anyway! I had to get this out of my head because ✚Sierra Six deserves a lil kiss✚ 😌
Beginning / Ending / Prequel
TAGS: Smut, One Bed, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Six x F!Reader
WARNINGS: MINORS DNI 18+, sexual content, blood/wounds/death, poor knowledge of wound care.
WORD COUNT: 7.9k
◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇
I
The knife slashes diagonally across your upper thigh, cutting deep enough you see 
 yellow? That’s probably not good, your mind flashes. You stumble forward, holding the wound.
The man who had just given it to you tries to grab you again; he was careless where the knife in his right hand went, as long as you weren’t killed. His gloved hand snatches at your left arm, but his attempt ends abruptly. You feel his body fall to the floor with a thump. You hadn’t even heard the gunshot, but there in front of you appears a disheveled Six, his firearm still pointed down the hallway behind you. 
His eyes drop to your hands clutched around your bloody leg, and he closes the distance between the two of you in a second.
“You’re okay. Can you run?” He sounds calm.
One hand reaches out to gingerly touch the side of your face; he tilts his head to peer into your eyes. It won’t cross your mind until later that he’s trying to keep you from panicking. 
“I-” your voice breaks. “I think so, yeah.” 
Six nods, thankful that your adrenaline has taken hold; even he'd be making noise with that kind of injury. That wound was certainly going to require several stitches. 
“Hold on to me.”
He indicates his belt, wanting to keep you close behind him but needing to keep his arms free. You comply gladly, curling your fingers through a belt loop. Though still scared, your body responds automatically to the protectiveness emanating from the man who has watched over you for the last four months. 
He sweeps through the house, following the escape route he’d had planned from the very day he got here. You try not to see but the specter of death is unavoidable. Black-clothed, anonymous bodies lay strewn across broken glass. Debris extends throughout the house, but mercifully the kitchen is corpse-free. Six guides you across the room, and he reaches out for the garage door. As it swings open, Six curses. 
“What’s wrong?” You whisper to his back.
He hesitates, then states, “A friend did me a favor.”
He doesn’t move toward the broken body lying next to the vehicle - it’s clear by the angle of the man’s neck that he’s beyond help. 
“We’re even,” Six solemnizes over the man.
He says it so quietly that you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear. You feel a prickle in your nose like you’re near tears. You don’t know if it’s the situation or the fact that you’ve never seen the reticent man show any strong emotion, but you scrutinize the back of his head, trying to understand what’s inside.
“I’m sorry, Six,” you breathe. You drop your hand from his belt to give him space.
Six doesn’t respond. 
You can’t really tell the difference between the man lying there and the other bodyguards that had been rotated through over the past week. Six had hidden the fact that he knew the man well; you’d never seen them interact.
He steps over to the driver’s door cautiously. You wince as your adrenaline starts to fade and the distraction of Six’s body is gone. Ensuring no joy-riders are hiding in the backseat, he climbs in and starts the car. As the engine springs to life, he observes you standing still in the headlights and deadpans, “You stayin’ here?” 
*****************************
The two of you burst into the tiny apartment, not initially noticing the fact that it’s shockingly small: one chair, one bed, one bathroom. Without warning, he scoops you up into his arms and heads into the bathroom, flicking on the single bulb. He sets you gently on the countertop. He bends to grab a first-aid kit from the cabinet, and you wobble without his support, lightheaded from blood loss and exhaustion. His hands steady you and he stares into your eyes, willing you to be composed. You blink twice, realizing his face has never been this close to you - ever. You smile shyly, and he frowns. Clearly, he thinks you’re in shock. Your heart is racing but it has very little to do with the night’s events.
You’d been half-expecting an assault for some time now, and you’d prepared yourself as best a normal person could. Sure, you were scared - nothing would ever be the same now. But you had survived, thanks to Six, and the cold, animal part of your brain knew that was all that mattered. No, the thudding of your pulse was the fault of the ever-present magnetism you felt for the man working before you.
“I’m going to cut your jeans,” Six states.
You nod, mind racing with thoughts too silly to vocalize. He pulls a folding knife from his pocket and gingerly slices away the front half of the already-cut pant leg. You’re left with what resembles a pant-mullet and you giggle a little hysterically at the ridiculous thought. 
He peeks up at you, now certain you’re in shock, “Lean against the mirror.” 
You obey, your eyes lifting to the ceiling as you recline. Six rises from his hunched position, standing so close that you can still see his face out of the bottom of your vision.
“Tell me when you need a break.” His voice is gentle, but you notice his jaw clenching. His hands settle on your skin. “Deep breath.” 
Then the pain blinds you. You’d been silently crying in the car, the constant burning feeling in your leg causing you to grind your teeth, fidget, do anything you could to distract yourself. But the bite of the needle through your torn, pained flesh as he stitches you back together is much worse.
You slam your palms down against the edge of the counter, gripping tight - your sheer willpower the only thing keeping you from thrashing against him. You take deep breaths as he instructed, trying to leave your body behind. 
Your mind wanders to earlier in the night, before chaos reigned, when Six had actually agreed to play a video game with you. You’d let him pick the game, and he’d chosen a first-person shooter (because of course he did). You’d still beaten the trained assassin. He’d sat beside you on the couch, his body heating your right side, and when you won the match, you’d sworn the side of his mouth turned up a little at your gloating. You’d spent most of your time together trying to make the man laugh, so you’d take anything he gave you. When he beat you in the next round, you’d been a sore loser - accusing him of cheating. You had poked his side, gently, and he had actually laughed. Okay, you checked yourself, it was more like a snort, but it counted. 
But then he had admitted to it, “Gotta use everything to your advantage. I could see your location on your side of the screen.” 
You gasped, “You’re a screen-looker!”
“A what?” He scoffed. “There’s a name for it? And not even a creative one.” 
“Yeah, for cheaters who screen-look.” You glared.
He’d rolled his eyes, then met your stare with his own, much more intense one. His face might be guarded, but his eyes expressed his feelings. He always tried to hide it, but everything was written there among the blue. Your heart had lurched, your breathing requiring thought. For God’s sake, he was so close. His eyes weakly flickered down to your parted lips; but then he had stood, walked a few paces away from the couch. 
“It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
Rattled, you followed his lead. You knew he wanted you in your room; he always did his rounds once you turned in for the night. You had stood and stretched upwards, relieving your back. You never saw the guilty way his eyes followed the curves of your body as you moved, nor the way his jaw ticked as you bent to turn off the gaming console. 
When you’d turned around, he had been perfectly composed. You had passed by him as close as you dared, close enough to hear the gum he was chewing, and muttered, “Goodnight, cheater.” 
“Goodnight, loser.” He’d said, shrugging at you as you closed the bedroom door. You’d laughed at that, and as soon as your door had closed, he’d allowed himself to smirk.
He stuck the needle through a particularly sensitive section of your leg, and you were thrust back into your new reality. The safe house wasn’t safe anymore, and people had died because of you. Including Six’s friend. He’d probably request an entirely new team now; one that would replace him. He’d be free of the assignment he’d had for too long. You’d heard him say once that most assignments don't last longer than a week, and he’d been stuck babysitting you for months.
Your eyes close again, and a sob escapes.
He stops, “I'm just over halfway. You need a break?”
You shake your head, “Get it over with.”
The next stitches are as painful as the others. But then you feel his hands leave your skin, and you hear something fall in the trash can - bloody material, maybe. You hear Six wash his hands in the sink next to you, then dry them with a towel. Exhaustion tinges your every thought, now. It’d been nearly a full day since you’d slept.
Tears fall from your closed eyes, unbidden. Gently, but quickly, his fingers wipe away the liquid, and your eyelids flutter open at the contact. The ugly light causes you to squint, but you see Six lean toward you. His right arm slips under your legs, his left snakes around your back, and he lifts you from the counter. You softly cling to his neck. He’s careful not to jar your leg as he maneuvers out of the bathroom and across the room. The bed dips with your weight as he sets you down on top of the covers. Instead of moving you again, he lays a different blanket across your body. He leaves your wound uncovered. 
“Don’t let that touch your leg. Need to keep it as clean as possible, and the last time these were washed, cell phones still had visible antennas.”
“Yes, sir.” You say sleepily. It’d been a long day, a longer night, and though your leg was still paining you, the temptation of the abyss was greater. 
Six watches you fall asleep from the red wingback chair in the corner. He was grateful it was thickly padded - he wasn’t sure he could sit in a plastic chair with the bruises he had. There was no couch, and only one bed, but he wasn’t going to sleep anyway.
He wanted to believe that this safe house, two hours away from the previous, was off-the-books enough for his enemies to have overlooked it.
We’re fine here, he was nearly chanting to himself, willing it to be true. But he wasn’t going to relax, wasn’t going to get complacent. Not when he had a job to do.
*****************************
II
Six’s entire body ached. He hadn’t moved from his chair except to use the bathroom. He was completely still, his arms folded across his body. He wanted to check the perimeter; he wanted to see what was going on outside. Maybe they were setting up for a raid out there. Maybe they were already on their way inside. Or maybe they had one or two agents doing recon, trying to get a confirmed sighting of him or of you. And if it was the latter, him exiting the building would be the opposite of helpful. But god, he hated sitting here feeling useless.
His eyes kept dancing over your sleeping form. You’d slept fitfully at first, but you seem peaceful now, despite it being nearly mid-afternoon. Six wouldn’t dream of waking you unless necessary. The chair creaks as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, hands covering his face. 
How could he have found out? What didn’t I do?
He couldn’t carry the heaviness in his heart. His whole life had been about protecting others; his brother, buddies in prison, strangers, and now you. It’s all he knew, it’s all he wanted to do. Now, because of him, Denver was dead. 
Six had asked him to help beef up security for a few days. There’d been word that something was likely to go down soon and Six had looked to one of the few men he truly trusted for help. He grimaced, mourning the dead man; he’d saved Denver’s ass three separate times, each one becoming a joke between them about life debts. Six wished he could’ve been there a fourth time, but he also knew he wouldn’t have altered a thing. 
You hadn’t been asleep like he’d assumed so he had broken the pattern in their established rounds to find you. He’d felt nearly panicked searching the house, and when he recognized what he was feeling, he’d grunted, trying to shake it off like a broken toe or a stab wound. It had hurt nearly as badly. He’d shot two men and gotten into blows with a third before finally seeing you at the end of the hallway as you left the bathroom, and of course, he had shot the fourth: your friend, the knife-wielder. Six would never forget the way his body had sagged with relief at finding you. 
No, even if he had known that he had a choice that night between you and Denver, he wouldn’t have hesitated in his answer.
And there’s the problem. He somehow knows my answer, too.
*****************************
You sat up quickly, knowing you’d slept longer than normal as the golden light streamed through the small, frosted window. Hoping to neutralize the hunger pains, you threw off the blanket and swung your legs over the side of the bed, hissing at the new pain. 
“Well, don’t undo all my hardwork.” Six’s favorite tone with you was exasperation; like a man whose patience was always at its limit, but never beyond.
“It’s fine, doctor,” you toss back sarcastically, “I just forgot about it.” 
“You - forgot - about the gash in your leg?”
“...yes.” 
He rolls his eyes, a hand passing over his face. You’re about to thank him for stitching you up, since he’s apparently sensitive about it, when your stomach growls. 
“Is there anything to eat?” 
“Yeah.” 
You bite your lip and narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, I guess I will make us some food.”
He doesn’t move except to pick up a book from the shelf. 
You hobble over to the kitchenette and see the world’s worst pantry. Canned peaches, olives, green beans, and chicken - the latter of which you gag over. There’s a mini-fridge on the counter next to the hot plate. You open that and see a carton of eggs. Wonder how old those are. The carton seemed new, so you open it and are pleasantly surprised by twelve fresh eggs. 
A few minutes later, you’ve made two chopped olive omelettes. There are no plates, but there is a roll of paper towels. You walk slowly toward the chair Six has taken up residence in, an omelette on a makeshift paper plate in your hand. He sees the movement and looks up from the book. He stands and leans forward to take it from you, with a curt, “Thank you.” 
“So, what do we do now?” You ask. Your mouth is half-full of egg and you’re nearly unintelligible. 
“We wait.”
“For what?”
“For things to get quiet.” 
“Mmm.” You nod, still chewing. “Okay, then what?”
He looks up from his own food, answering, “We move. Further away.” 
“Okay. And by ‘we’, you mean you’re not leaving?” You keep the nervousness out of your voice.
“What-? Where would I be going?” Genuinely not anticipating your question, Six’s eyebrows knit together. He blinks, gears turning in his head. 
It finally clicks for him and he frowns; you’re a little confused how your question could irritate him, but you can’t stop the satisfied grin blooming on your face. The soulful eyes, the little curl of hair resting on his forehead, Six is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever met, as well as a good friend, and the thought of leaving you apparently never even crossed his mind.
“And now you’re smiling?” He’s now totally bewildered. 
Six is doing his damndest to put distance between the two of you emotionally, but you seem to be happy about 
him staying with you? After assuming he’d leave you in this mess? He is speechless, his food forgotten momentarily.
“Nothing, really. Don’t worry about it. I just woke up, I’m still loopy.” You awkwardly smile again. You realize he’s not going to be satisfied with that, but you’re definitely not admitting your thoughts. So, you edit and try again.
“Okay, well, I figured since the original team is gone, a new one would be coming. Also,” you pause, knowing he’s against emotional oversharing, “I am very sorry about that. I know it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme, but I feel terrible. How do you get used to a life like this? People dying for you? My project wasn’t that incredible. There are more intelligent, more experimental chemists than me. There is no way my knowledge was worth that.”
You set your partially-eaten food down beside you, no longer hungry. 
“You don’t get used to it.”
He answers your first question in the rawest voice you’ve heard from him. His eyes bore holes into the floor, desperately wanting to come clean, to relieve you of your guilt. They didn’t die for you, they died for him. 
You try to catch his eye, to raise him from whatever mood suddenly snagged him, but he won’t look at you. He’s conflicted. Not only is he hiding the truth from you, but you still believe he’s capable of leaving you at the first bit of trouble, that he’ll give you up to another protection detail at his earliest opportunity. Six decides he cannot sit any longer. He rises, still avoiding your face, checks his gun, and walks to the door.
“I’m going to do a perimeter check; probably be gone ten minutes. I’ll knock in that pattern I showed you.” He pauses then adds, “If I don’t, there’s a trapdoor in the bathroom.”  
“Alright,” you say quietly, your eyes on his back. Confused by his behavior and unable to let him leave in that manner, you can’t help but stage-whisper, “Please be safe, Six.” 
You can’t see the way his throat constricts, the way he closes his eyes and lets your words soak in. Then he’s gone.
You mark the time with the analog clock on the bookshelf, and busy yourself by exploring the infinitesimal room. Your college dorm had been larger than this. The bathroom door is closed, and when you open it to find the trapdoor - just in case - the door hits the toilet bowl. 
“Wow,” you wonder. “How did we both fit in here last night?”
You crouch to explore the grimy linoleum for the hidden seam, but you don’t see anything. Your eyes strain and your head bobs from side to side, trying to see something. But you find nothing. Maybe he’s confused this place with a different tiny, foreign safe house. Unwilling at the moment to actually feel around the gross floor, you’re content to just believe he’ll knock in the correct pattern.
You turn back into the main room, and pick up the book Six had been reading off the chair. A trashy bodice-ripper? How in the hell had he kept a straight face? You cover your mouth to stifle a laugh. There’s no way he’d actually even read the title. He - for sure - had been trying and failing to seem preoccupied while you cooked. You’d get even with him for that.
You sprawl out on the bed, the book still in hand. You skip to a third of the way through, hoping to find the good parts, and sure enough: pure bodice-ripping. Again, you laugh out loud at the absurdity of the emotionally-repressed man you know reading this. Feeling this.
That sparks an idea in you; it had been a good long while since you’d been allowed to be completely alone. The waistband of your mangled jeans is loose enough to slip your hand down, and you engross yourself in a particularly dirty passage. 
You're totally absorbed by the filthy story when the front door flies open and Six barrels through, shutting it as quietly as he could compared to his violent entrance. He flinches at your aborted scream, watches as your hand rips out of your jeans and you scoot up against the wall, trying to seem like you were not doing what you were definitely just doing. 
The two of you stare at each other for a breath too long. Knowing he won’t - or can’t - you break the silence, “See anything?”
He short-circuits for a second, “No, you’re wearing jeans.” And then he realizes what you were actually asking about, “Oh, no. Nothing.” 
His face is flushed and he can’t meet your eyes anymore. You’re under the impression you’ve mortified him, but he knows if he keeps looking at your excited, glowing face for a second longer, he’ll make a decision you could both regret.
“I’m really sorry. Why didn’t you knock?” You titter at the ridiculous situation. But you’re less embarrassed than you thought you’d be. It hits you suddenly that Six has always made you feel safe in a multitude of ways, and maybe... maybe you don’t mind being caught by him.
“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Hence the busted door.” 
“Oh.” You peer up at him sheepishly.
He doesn’t make a reply, so you question, “Why were you pretending to read this?”
“Hm?” He settles his firearm back in its holster. 
Six takes a long, calming breath, then meets your eyes. He’s as stoic as can be - except, now you're starting to wonder if it’s a front. You’d long felt like there was an electricity between the two of you. You’d seen Six’s eyes on you more than they should be, you’d feel his hand hover over your lower back sometimes when he walked you to your room, sending chills through you. He was reliable, protective, witty - he was also kind and selfless, though he let few people see it. But only in your daydreams could you believe he had any real feelings for you. 

so why did he just react that way? Wouldn’t a normal bodyguard apologize (right or wrong) and move on? They wouldn’t have to stand there and collect themselves, surely.
Or I’m just seeing what I want to, you chastise yourself.
“I know you were not actually reading this.” You tease, waving the book in the air.
“And how do you know that?” It’s clear he doesn’t even know what the book is about. He folds his arms across his chest and you attempt to discreetly ogle the vein on his bicep.
The smirk on your face warns him that you’re about to say something he’d rather not hear, “You wanna know how I know you weren’t reading this book of trashy erotica?” You heavily emphasize the words, and his eyes go wide. “Want me to read some aloud?”
He lunges toward you and snatches the book. “No. No, I do not.” 
He absolutely cannot let you read porn aloud to him, he would lose all semblance of control. Six was already losing it, and that thought has him grumbling under his breath. Unthinkingly, he glances at the page you had open and he groans. This is what you were masturbating to? Fuck, shit. He shouldn’t have looked. His teeth grind together. 
Oblivious, you bounce off the bed onto your good leg and say, “Since there’s no one out there, we need food for dinner. Is a store nearby?” 
“I’ll go." He immediately takes the diversion. "Gotta find a new doorknob, anyway. You stay here, and listen for my knock.” He pins you with another exasperated look. 
You huff, “Okay, jesus.”
You want to push him, ask him for the book back, ask him if you’re allowed to continue, but you can see he’s on edge. So you let it go.
He tosses the book unceremoniously on the highest shelf which you can’t reach. You glare at his backside, but he’s gone without turning around.
Six doesn’t get surprised. He doesn't let emotion get the better of him often, and in the past hour you’ve done it twice in two very different ways. He takes a deep breath, and swears again to build one more wall. He can’t let you continue being in danger because of him.
But, part of him knows there’s not much he can really do; leaving would only make you vulnerable and leave him lost. He couldn’t leave your fate up to strangers. No, he knew staying was still the best option. He just needed to stop entangling himself in you. Six’s best chance at protecting you long-term was to convince everyone else that you meant nothing to him. That meant getting through this current shitshow, and disengaging from you. You deserved a normal, boring life. A life where you wouldn’t be hunted, used as a pawn, just to hurt him.
*****************************
Six didn’t speak to you again the entire night. He hadn’t been able to get much with the cash he’d had on hand, but dinner was satisfying enough. You’d handed him his portion on another paper towel, and he had nodded his thanks, but that was just about the only communication he gave you all night. He’d fixed the door and you’d teased him about being handy, but his only response had been to stick his palm out for one of the screws you'd been holding.
He then picked up a book, pointedly avoiding his earlier choice, and actually read all evening while you snuck glances at the way the light from the dusty reading lamp caught his fair hair, his tense face. He had pretended not to notice, but each time your head tilted toward him, he realized his feelings might not be quite so one-sided.
Sure, he knew you were attracted to him; after all, he was trained to notice the little things. The difference between your genuine smile and the polite ones you gave the other bodyguards; the way you unconsciously broke his personal space, brushing past him, poking him; and the way you tried to take care of him. He'd never had that, never had someone bring him glasses of water while he sat at his laptop, ask him how he felt about a certain song, what his favorite flavor of gum was.
But he was afraid it was more Stockholm Syndrome, or boredom, than genuine affection. You were a good person, and bringing someone a glass of water wasn't a Declaration of Intent. So, he had ignored the numerous times you turned to him - written them off as restlessness.
Now, the sheets scratch your face and you rub your eyes, sleep calling you once again. You roll over to face Six, still in his chair, to ask him to join you. Not for anything nefarious, but because you know he must be exhausted. The past thirty-six hours had been stressful, and your method of coping with humor had been at his expense.
Your eyes adjust with the dim lamplight and you see the book drooping from one limp hand, his eyes closed and head tilted to the side. Happy he was finally getting some rest, you shuffle off of the bed, take the book and mark his place before setting it on the shelf. You grab the plush blanket he had given you last night and drape it over his much-larger body. It didn’t fully cover him, but it’d do.
You gaze down at him, admiring his vulnerable form. Six meant more to you than you cared to tell him. No family, a workaholic with coworkers for friends, you’d let yourself grow fond of the reserved, self-sacrificing blonde man with the affinity for chewing gum. It was the closest you’d been to a person in over a year. No matter what he considered you - a client, a ward, a burden - you considered him a friend.
“Thanks for always being there, Six,” you whisper, knowing he wouldn’t hear. You softly kiss the top of his hair, then get back in bed. The abyss welcomes you back. You must’ve been dreaming when you heard what sounded like a defeated groan.
*****************************
III
You wake the next morning to Six seated on the opposite corner of the bed, his gun in pieces. You prop yourself up on your left elbow and watch as he painstakingly cleans each part. 
“Can you teach me how to do that?”
He lowers the barrel in his hands, turning to you. You’re backlit by the small window on the far wall, and he curses inwardly. You look sleepy, domestic. Something pure and stable that he knows he’ll never have. 
“Yeah, I can.”
He twists a little in place to fully face you, and you crawl a little closer to see the parts. He picks up a piece and hands it to you, extremely careful not to touch you.
“This,” he explains, “is the slide. It’s what chambers a new round and ejects the old casing.” He hands you a paper towel, again obviously avoiding your skin. “I like a softer cloth, but I don’t have anything blood-free. Gently rub the interior.” He instructs.
You do as he asks, working in silence. You hold it up to him for inspection, a smile, disproportionately proud of your simple task, beams on your face. He responds with a faint smile, and places the slide on another towel designated for finished parts. 
“Can you show me how to-” You falter as he turns his heavy eyes back to you. “Like, if I needed to, how to use it?” You hesitantly ask, hoping you weren’t bothering him. You’re not a fan of firearms, they’ve always made you nervous. But if push came to shove, you’d prefer not to be using the gun as a club. 
Six is not quite so nervous around guns, and he nods, agreeing that you should have every possible manner of defending yourself. 
“Sure.”
You watch in silent admiration as he puts his weapon back together faster than you’d ever be able to, meeting his eye at the end and giving him a dramatic, impressed look. He smiles again, a shade more than earlier. 
You slide over to sit beside him, your legs dangling off the bed. He spends the next few minutes helping you find your way around the gun. He still refuses to touch you, and it gets more noticeable with every second. He even sets the gun on the bed for you to pick up rather than hand it to you. You wilt a little at that, sure now that you’ve pushed him away even further than you thought. You can’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. He’s never been a touchy-feely, overly-friendly person; why did you make him so uncomfortable yesterday? You want to kick yourself. 
You watch as he stifles a yawn. 
“Didn’t you sleep?” You ask incredulously.
“I slept enough.” 
“No, you didn’t.” 
Six sneaks a quick, longing glance at you, replaying last night’s feeling of your lips on his hair. How he’d woken up at your touch. How could he have slept after that? He’d warred with himself about climbing up beside you, holding you close. But Six didn’t want to push this now. He knew there was a power imbalance here (although most of the time it felt to him like you were the one in control) and he didn’t want your feelings out of gratitude or survival. He’d compromised with himself by letting his mind free; he imagined your breathy sighs as you slept curled against him, how perfectly you’d fit alongside his body, the feeling of your hair between his fingers. He tears himself away.
“Please take a nap. You’re no good to either of us dead on your feet like this.” 
“For a corpse, I think I look pretty good.” 
“Six, for god’s sake, it’s daylight and it’s been silent for days. I promise I will wake you at any noise.” Your voice drips with earnesty, “I promise.” 
He rubs his brow, knowing you’re right. “Yeah, okay.” His eyes are intent upon you, “You promise.” 
You nod twice in quick succession and he makes a face like he’s accepting a plea bargain. He stands, then all but collapses onto the same side of the bed where you’ve been sleeping. You take up vigil in his chair, and it doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.
After an hour, your legs begin to cramp, and you start pacing the tiny apartment. Still feeling a little guilty for yesterday, you wonder if there’s any gum nearby. Maybe a vending machine? You assess Sleeping Beauty: still breathing deeply. You tiptoe over to the door and unlock it. Six’s rhythm is unchanged by the sound of the deadbolt, so you slowly pull the door open. Peeking your head out, you see a featureless, white hallway; several other plain-looking doors leading to God-knows-where; and there, at the end and nearly out of sight due to the alcove it’s in, is a glowing vending machine. You pat your pocket and find two coins. Should be enough, you hope. You’re unfamiliar with the local currency, and honestly you’re not even totally sure which country you’re in. You prop the door open, just in case, and cautiously step out into the hallway.
Ears straining for any noise at all, you begin your trek. Keeping your feet as close to the baseboards as you can, you make as little sound as possible. Eventually you reach the vending machine, and you’re right - you have no idea which country this is as you don’t even recognize the language. But you can identify a pack of chewing gum anywhere. It’s only one of the coins, so you pop it in and get your reward. Uneventfully, you return to the room, quietly slipping the door closed, and deadbolting it shut.
Six sleeps for another few hours, while you spend time making lunch for when he wakes up, and reading some of the other, mostly boring, novels scattered around. One novel piques your interest with a convoluted plot which helps time pass. The book makes you feel uneasy, makes you start to wonder about your own situation. It really doesn’t make sense for Six to still be assigned to you over some biochemical project that never even made it to the testing stage. The fact that someone had actually attacked you made even less sense. None of your research was on your person, and it’s not like you had memorized every single formula. Maybe Six knew more than he’d told you. 
Thinking about Six makes you grow lonely, wishing selfishly he would wake. You’re debating getting in bed and taking a nap with him, your only inhibitor being your promise, when he stirs. He shoots up like a dead man raised from the grave, his hand going to his side where his weapon usually rests.
“Everything’s fine,” you assure him.
“Mmph,” he grumbles. You’re trying not to stare at him, but he looks so uncharacteristically soft, you can’t help it. He pretends not to notice, thankfully. Six tosses the covers off, and picks his gun up from the nightstand. He walks to the door and listens. Satisfied, he turns around and sits back on the mattress. 
“I can make lunch-” he starts to offer, but you cut him off.
“I already made you some,” you swiftly grab the sandwich from the mini-fridge and deliver it to him. After he takes it, you pull the gum from your pocket, extending it towards him, too.
His eyes jump from you to the gum and back again twice. “Where’d you squirrel that away?” He jokes, thinking you took it from your previous residence. Then he remembers the machine outside. His face tightens, “You didn’t leave the room, did you?”
“... don’t be mad at me,” you begin slowly, dropping your hand to your side.
“Dammit.” Six hisses. “Dammit, you promised.” He’s off the bed again, towering over you. 
He shakes his head, disbelieving. He’s still in the hyper-alert mode he has been used to for twenty years. But his eyes keep catching on your pouting lips. He’s finding temptation difficult to ignore when all he can think about is how those lips would make him feel.
“I upheld my promise! There were no noises!” You know it’s not a real defense.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his mind on the problem. “Did you see anyone? Did anyone see you?”
“No to the first, and honestly, I can’t answer the second.”
His mouth opens to retort, but he closes it, thinking better of whatever he was going to say. He raises his hands in supplication and slowly states, “You can’t go out there alone.” 
“I wanted to do something nice.” You explain. “But I am sorry. I was trying to ease some small amount of stress for you, not add to it.”
Six snorts and looks away. You'd put yourself in danger to make him happy. How was he supposed to react to that?
When he turns back to you a moment later, he reaches to take your wrist. Goosebumps appear down your arm, but he tries to ignore them. You loosen your grip on the small paper package, allowing him to take your peace offering. You don’t want him to let go of your wrist, and he doesn’t. His hand is hot, his thumb rubbing languidly across your skin. 
“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “But shockingly, you take priority over gum.” His tone deepens and he orders again, “Do not go anywhere alone.” 
He’s not trying to turn you on, but with his rough hand holding yours, his authoritative face inches from your own, and his protective demands, you feel the tension coiling.
“Mhm, noted,” you respond. 
Your blood feels hot. Surely he can feel your pulse thrumming? You try to shake yourself out of the rising heat you feel. Take a cold shower, you thirsty bitch, you mentally jar yourself.
“You wanna relax? Make my job a little easier? It’s like you’re trying to kill me yourself.” Six accuses playfully, finally releasing your wrist, where - yes - he had been enjoying your quickening pulse. 
His soulful eyes dance between yours. You feel flames licking up your body, your stomach tightening in anticipation. Am I killing him? The way he’s killing me? Your heart is hammering, body screaming for him to touch you again. 
“Little dramatic,” you snort, surprised it comes out in a normal tone of voice. Turning away from him, you walk towards the bathroom.
And you’re not sure what possesses you, you’re half-sure he can’t stand you, but still you hear yourself say, “I’m going to shower. Am I allowed to do that alone, Six?” 
His head snaps, his intense stare nearly stopping your breath. You watch him swallow hard and you wonder what he’s thinking. Your chin tilts upward, eyes locked with his, confirming every pass you’ve ever made at him.
And well, he tried, didn’t he? Six is a strong man. He’d been stabbed, shot, he’d fallen from great heights, been pepper-sprayed - and through everything, he’d kept on fighting. But this? The slow drip of you over the past few months had been bad enough, but stuck in this room with you nearly begging for him? He wasn’t strong enough for that.
“No. You’re not,” he growls.
He crosses the room in two strides, his arms enfolding you. He grunts as he lifts you up and backs you into the wall; at the same time his lips come hard against yours, months of repressed feeling apparent in his grip, his fevered kiss.
Your legs curl around his waist, tugging him closer, and your hands move down him - everything you can reach, you want to feel. Your hands press in his hair, his beard, they caress his throat before dropping to feel the beat of his heart through his wide chest. Your frenzied movements send him wild. He had no idea giving in would feel this good; he’s already forgotten about the shower. 
You feel the wall disappear as he moves toward the bed. His knee bends on the soft surface as he lays you onto the blankets. You feel his weight pressing into you, grounding you to him. His left hand slides up your shirt, breaking his kiss to remove it fully. He tugs his own off by the collar, and the sight of his bare chest makes you gasp. Intensely defined muscles riddled with scars and tattoos decorate his body. He's lived a hard life. You’re breathing heavily, chest heaving, and he makes a lustful noise at the sight. He unclasps your bra, replacing it with his mouth. 
“Oh,” you throw your head back at the feeling, and he makes another deep, rumbling sound at your approval.
His pants go next, leaving him in dark red briefs. He pauses and regards your pants, your wounded leg. 
“Um, carefully, I guess?” You shrug. 
He moves his hands appreciatively along your sides, stopping when he reaches your waistband. Six’s beard scratches your sensitive skin as he plants kisses lovingly around your thigh. He’s hoping you understand it’s his apology for not killing the man before he ever touched you. He unbuttons your frayed, fucked-up jeans and places a large hand over the cut on the outside of your leg to protect it while he pulls the material down, your underwear also going. 
As he leans back over you, you can’t help but admire him, your eyes brimming with fondness at his care. His burning chest presses into yours, and you can feel his muscles flexing as his hands grope your body.
Your hands go to his hair once more, clutching him to you. His tongue skates over the hollow at the base of your throat - you inhale sharply at the sensation. His thigh shifts between your legs, and the pressure on your most sensitive area causes you to tilt your hips back and forth, riding him a little. Six notes your reaction greedily; he presses his thigh into you harshly and you whine. He places a large hand around the base of your throat, and continues his mouth’s path upward until he reaches your jaw, spurred on by the obscene moans you’re making. 
“Sweetheart, you’re making me blush," his breath caresses your ear.
One of your hands cradles his chin while the other snakes along his body, pushing his briefs down - he kicks them off. The feeling of his thick, naked thighs against your own nearly distracts you from your goal. But you find him quickly - you knew he would be big there, too - and you relish the way his powerful body goes slack at your touch. In your peripheral, you can see his biceps shake at the tension building in him. Your thumb brushes over a vein, and you shiver as he lets go of the most wrecked groan you’ve ever heard him make. 
You lean up to capture his lips and swallow the sound he just made. His hand plunges into your hair, cradling your head while the other palms your lower back; he grunts as he leans back onto his heels, easily taking you with him. His mouth connects with yours, and his hand slides to the curve of your ass. 
Your thighs straddle him in this kneeling position, and you grind along his smooth erection. His hand on your ass encourages your rhythm. His other arm falls from your hair to wrap around your midsection, holding you tight to him. Six’s kisses are deep, desperate, but tender somehow. It makes you want him everywhere - you want to know nothing but him. You rock forward far enough that his tip catches at your center. 
He stills your movement, keeping you in limbo. He leans his head back to see you. You can feel the strength in his muscles, so you don’t even attempt to fight him for the friction you’re craving. Artlessly pushing back the hair that had fallen in your face, he then rests his palm on your cheek, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. 
He shifts his body for a better angle, then slowly - so slowly - pushes up into you. Six’s eyes are almost entirely black, the smallest bit of blue rings his blown pupils as he drinks in your whimper. You didn’t think you could be more turned on, but the look in his eyes is so hungry. He sucks a line of kisses up your neck and the sensation of the warm trail cooling on your skin causes you to clench down on him; he grunts again at that.
You sigh in relief when his hip bones sit flush with yours. You’ve been so ready for this man, the considerable stretch doesn’t hurt in the slightest. You breathlessly laugh; utter bliss surging through you. You don’t try to move, knowing instinctively that he’s in charge. 
“Mmm,” he hums gruffly, running a hand through your hair. 
You feel him twitch inside you, and you want to ask him what he just thought about, but he pulls out and thrusts up into you without warning. You cry out, but he’s not done. He does it again, then again, snapping his hips brutally. You’re getting what you wanted, he’s driving up into you and it is overwhelming; Six is destroying you, piece by piece. His arms flex as they hold you still, his stomach muscles jump at the strain underneath your slack hands. Sweat begins to shine on both of you; the slick reward for his exertion somehow making you wetter elsewhere. A lock of dirty blonde comes free, swinging against his forehead; and you’re mesmerized by the masculine beauty of Sierra Six.
His pattern slows briefly to lay you both back down. His right hand finds its home in your hair, before he begins a deeper, more sensual pace. You gasp out his name at the new feeling, the intimacy. He’s weakened your body so thoroughly that he is absolutely fucking you senseless into the mattress despite his slower pace. You grasp at the bedsheets above your head; you can hear the bed creaking with the force of him. His lips press against your forehead, breathing heavy. One hand cradles the base of your skull while the other plants against the wall for leverage. He tilts his head to rest against yours, and it’s clear he’s all but making love to you at this point. The knot in your stomach gets more tenuous with each and every one of his touches. 
You try to reign in your gasps, your cries, but his left hand falls between where you’re joined, and your attempt at being quiet ends entirely.
His lips brush your ear and he growls, “Should’ve known you’d be as loud in bed as you are every other fucking day.” 
“You love it,” you choke out, smiling smugly.
His voice is heady, “It is that obvious?”
You’re in sensation overload, the feeling of Six pushing inside you, the rhythmic motion of his hand, and that look in his eyes has your body taut as a bowstring. Your hands reach up to frame his face, wanting to hold him, when you're surprised by the tension in your abdomen snapping viciously. You writhe up beneath him, fucking him back, never breaking eye contact. You feel yourself repeatedly clench down as you come apart for him, finally closing your eyes when you breathe out his name. Six possessively parts your lips with his, groans echoing in the space between kisses as he lets go, too. His hips begin to stutter; his abdominal muscles jerk as he buries himself deep within you, spending himself nearly as powerfully as you did.
His head drops to your collarbone and you press another kiss to his hair. Six raises up on his forearms, memorizing the way you look underneath him. His lips meet yours again softly before he carefully eases himself from you. He wraps a muscle-bound arm around you, tugging you to him. Six scoots both of you a few inches onto a pillow and throws the covers over you.
Diffused, indigo light from the window indicates that sunset has just occurred, and you can’t help but hope tomorrow doesn't come. Staying here in this comfortable, intimate twilight world was the only place you cared to exist. You feel Six’s chest press into your back then retreat, and his exhale tickles your ear. The tattoo on his left forearm lay across your naked breast, and you don’t stop yourself from tracing it. 
“That feels wonderful,” his sigh is gravelly. You shift further into him and he responds by pulling you tighter, settling you flush against his body.
“I won’t stop, then,” you promise him quietly. 
He sighs, and within a few moments, you feel his breathing deepen. You keep your promise until you drift away, too.
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