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venuslore · 5 months

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𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; after being struck by a peacekeeper, coryo puts aside his differences to clean you up.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; pls coryo may be a little ooc in this but i tried. ok? i tried! physical violence, mentions of blood and death, as well as the events that take place in the hunger games universe, spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

the blow sent a stinging sensation through your cheek, the level of force behind it knocking you to the ground on impact. you had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit in the face – if you would be able to take it – and well, now you knew.

you sat there on the ground, a spectacle among the crowd, and all because you were helping an elderly lady and unknowingly stepped into the peacekeeper’s way. you didn’t mean to, and before you knew it his leather glove was colliding with the side of your face.

you loathed the peacekeepers, everyone did, but specifically the way they thought they could belittle you and your people just because of their job title. and yet, it terrified you to know how harsh they were over something so small, you couldn’t even begin to think how torturous they could be behind closed doors.

once the peacekeepers move on, laughing among themselves at what they had done to you, a man and his wife help you to your feet, and you dust yourself off. your palms burned from the rubble you had landed on, small rocks sticking into your skin, and your head was ringing, but nothing compared to the side of your face.

you were tough, there was no doubt about it, but having the peacekeeper’s hand collide with your face with such force had you a little shaken up.

“i’m okay, everyone,” you let the group of onlookers, and those that had helped you, know. with a faux smile and a reassuring nod, you quickly return to helping the woman pick up her belongings that had been knocked over in the midst of it all.

“oh, don’t worry about me, dear. go take care of yourself,” she gestures to your face and your hand instinctively reaches to feel the wet cut that had formed on your lip. a small speckle of blood now on your fingers as a metallic taste fills your senses. it ached to touch, and if it looked bad now, you could only imagine how bad it was going to be later.

you take your leave from the woman and make your way home along the seam. the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds as the sound of the town drowns out behind you and into the distance. people watched as you passed them by, noticing the blood on your face and probably wondering what had happened.

you didn’t mind the stares, not much happened in the district, and it wasn't as if you had anything to be ashamed of. well, not that anyone knew of anyway.

you eventually make it to the last stretch of the dirt path before your house when your name gets called out, stopping you in your tracks, and in the direction it had come from were a couple more peacekeepers. though, these ones didn’t instil fear in you the same way the others had.

they were familiar faces – faces that you were somewhat glad to see – however, you weren’t sure how they were going to react seeing the new feature that had been ever so kindly bestowed upon your face.

sejanus waves you over, tapping his partner on the shoulder once he notices, and gestures towards you. coriolanus stands beside him, turning your way after seeing the panicked look on his friend's face, and his smile drops the second he sees the cut on your lip and the bruise that had already begun to form.

“y/n…” he speaks your name delicately, a forbidden whisper, before rapidly scanning your surroundings to make sure the area was safe. it was. “what happened?”

he wants to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and kiss you better, anything he can to make sure you were okay, but he can’t. he knows that. it would be too much of a risk in such an open space and he wasn’t going to be the reason you end up with another bruise, or worse. so he quickly fixes his posture and positions his gun against his shoulder where it was meant to be.

“oh, this? it’s nothing,” you wave them off, even adding a wink to further convince them that you were fine.

sejanus smiles, even stifles a laugh at your nonchalant attitude, but not coriolanus. no. he could see right through the smile you were presenting them with. how could he not? he had spent far too much time staring at you, his lover, whether it be from across the town square, or beside you in your bed. he knew every which way your face contorted and exactly what it meant.

he could see you were in pain.

his jaw tightens at this, fighting the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder so that he could take you home. it was one thing to have to watch the horrors and physical brutality that went on in the district every day, most of which he had become numb to, but seeing you be the victim of it filled him with not only rage, but fear.

he wanted – no, needed – you to be safe.

“is there anything we can do?” sejanus offers. “anything we can get you?”

“don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine,” you smile once again, though this time, coriolanus refuses to sit by and watch you lie.

“can you cover for me?” he asks, though you know it’s meant for sejanus, who instantly nods at the request, further proving his loyalty to his friend. “go home and wait for me. i won’t be long, just don’t touch it.”

while you wanted nothing more than for coriolanus to follow you home, you knew he couldn’t. it wasn’t safe, not while the sun was still out, “no, i’m fine. i promise.”

“just do what i say, okay?” his eyes bore into you now, an urgency in them as his protective side comes into play, and you knew there was no point trying to argue with him when he got like this.

you nod, begrudgingly, and lazily salute the pair before continuing on down the path to your house. it was only a little ways away from where the boys had spotted you, but the second you see the chipping wood and beaten down stairs that you called ‘home’, you’re overcome with relief.

upon entering you immediately splay yourself down on the sofa — one of the few pieces of furniture you still owned after your parents — and wait, just like coriolanus had asked you. your head had stopped ringing a little, but the throbbing pain in your cheek was still there. nonetheless, you knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight come morning.

minutes pass, twenty-seven to be exact, before you hear shuffling at your back window, followed by heavy footsteps. you knew it was coriolanus. he regularly came through the back of the house so as not to be seen by your neighbours, but like you always tell him, barely anyone bothered to come down your way.

the second his face comes into view, you let off a weak smile, more so as he begins to remove his uniform, placing it down on the table in the corner of the room, alongside his gun, “i don’t have long. sejanus is covering for me, but even he knows it won’t be long before they start wondering where i am.”

“you really didn’t have to come. i told you, i’m fine,” you sit up now as coriolanus meets your side with a small package in his hand.

the look in his eyes shifts as he gets a closer inspection of the damage that had been done to your face, a heavy breath falling from his lips. coriolanus believed people deserved to be punished for the things they did, but not you – never you. you were his girl, his flower, his love – and he had been doing everything in his power to make sure you were safe.

he knew it wasn’t his fault what had happened earlier, but he still couldn’t help but feel somewhat to blame. he should’ve been there to stop the situation, de-escalate it in any way that he could. he had been doing everything in his power to keep you off the other peacekeeper’s radars, away from any potential danger, and selfishly, away from him ever losing you.

you watch as the stiffness in his jaw goes slack and his shoulders slump a little, eyes downturing as his lips push out into a pout ever so slightly. you reach for his hand, “coryo, what’s wrong?”

“i just… i don’t like to see you hurt,” he pulls his gaze away from you now, wanting to avoid thinking about it, and begins to unwrap the small package in his hand to reveal a mini first-aid kit. “i grabbed what i could without anyone seeing me, though i doubt you’ll need most of it.”

you watch as he gathers a small cloth, coated with a disinfectant solution and gently dabs at the cut on your lower lip. it stings a little but you didn’t mind, you’d do just about anything to get a moment alone with coriolanus. perhaps getting hit in the face wasn’t all bad, at least the outcome of it anyway.

once the cut was cleaned, he pulls out a small bandage and presses it across your lip. you weren’t sure you really needed it but it felt nice to be looked after. as for the bruise, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do.

“how does it look?” you sigh, and he reaches up to gently brush the tender skin.

“it looks… like it needs something,”

“and what’s that?” coryo’s lips quirk up into a roguish grin before he slowly leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek. it’s soft and sweet, and gentle. all of the things coryo was when it was just the two of you alone. “you know what? i think you might be onto something.”

coryo’s laughter reverberates through his entire body, looking at you with glistening eyes, but he gives in, pressing another kiss to your lips, and what starts as a light brush of your lips on his becomes much more when you find yourself pushing him backwards on the sofa. he doesn’t protest and lets himself fall into the cushion behind him as you situate yourself on his lap. there’s no hesitation when his hands cup your thighs, running small comforting circles into your skin.

you stay like that for a few moments, small trickles of laughter escaping you both as you continue to kiss before you evidently decide to curl yourself up into him. you nuzzle your head into his chest, one leg still draped across his as the other burrows in next to him and instinctively his hand searches for yours - fingers idly grazing one another before he threads his through to hold you.

“so, what’s the verdict doc? will i make it?” you smile.

“as long as i have anything to do with it,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, but you can’t help but feel like there was another meaning to his words.

#— ꒰ ‧ ₊˚ vee daydreams ˖꙳‧ ꒱#coriolanus snow ᰔ #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow one shot #coriolanus snow oneshot #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n

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petrapalerno · 3 months

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Submitting to the Alien Barbarian: #2

Alien x fem reader, a dom/sub erotic short.

TW/CW: rough consensual sex, primal play, knotting, breeding, aliens, dominance/submission, blood play, spanking, gagging and violence.

MASTERPOST

“Hey, where are we going?” You pound your hand against his back. “You’re supposed to fuck me!” You grumble like a petulant child as he quickly moves away from the wild revelry happening behind you.

“Somewhere I can take my time with you, Human.”

“Fuck you!” You slam your fist into his back. “I said fuck me!”

You don’t want to be taken somewhere else, you want to join the orgy.

He doesn’t listen, so you do the only thing you can think to get him to stop. You turn your head taking his flesh between your lips. Your teeth find the shell of his ear and you bite down hard, until you taste the coppery tang of blood.

He stumbles, and pries you off his ear with rough hands and throws you flat onto your back, the red dirt swirls around you in the air. You lick his blood off your lip, staring directly into the barbarians soul.

You barely have time to catch your breath before thick hands grab you by your hips and flip you over, forcing the side of your face into the ground.

“Is this what you want?” He yells, ripping what’s left of your jumpsuit off your ass. “You want me to fill up your human cunt with my warrior’s seed?” One of his hand finds the slickness between your thighs while the other pushes your head harder against the ground.

You can see his entwined cocks out of your peripheral vision. They seem even bigger this close.

His thick finger thrusts hard into you, stretching your entrance before he begins pounding his even deeper yet. Your pussy clamps over his calloused fingers, you swear you’re almost ready to come just from his hand.

“Could you even take my cocks in this tiny human cunt of yours?” He asks you as he moves his hand back to his own pulsating members.

The loss of him has your pussy clenching over nothing, the ache in your core is almost unbearable.

“Make it fit you coward,” you tell him, you can’t wait any more for release. You need this.

His hand leaves your head, and you turn to get a better look at his face. His throbbing cocks are notched at your entrance. Those eyes shine with some kind of viciousness you’ve only dreamed about, and you swear you can see something behind his visage snap. His nostrils flare, and you realize the time for talking is done.

He plunges into you, and it fucking burns. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, he doesn’t allow you time to adjust, he just keeps up his relentless rhythm. The pain and pleasure mix in a way you’ve never experienced before, and you make noises that sound more animal than human.

The coil of his cocks hit your g-spot with every thrust, and despite the pain there’s a tension as an orgasm builds with a hungry intensity. Your body wants this, it yearns to submit.

“You’ll come on my cocks, and then milk me so hard that you’ll be dripping my seed for weeks. Your used cunt will belong only to me. You’re going to be marked forever in my cum, no one will dare touch you ever again. I’m going to fuck you raw,” The Volkroth bellows, his words coming faster as his pace increases.

When he puts his hand back on your throat, squeezing the sides hard, you black out with how violently you come. The taught cord inside you snaps, and any pain left is replaced by waves of ecstasy. Your body throbs with pleasure from your toes to the top of your head. Every muscle seizing in a symphony of joy.

In your boneless haze, you feel his body tighten. Inside you, his massive cocks move and unfurl as if they’re rearranging themselves. Your over sensitive flesh can barely handle the sensation before you feel something swelling inside you. He presses on the bulge he’s created on your stomach as he comes. His seed washes over your insides.

He’s still coming when it begins to leak out and down your thighs. Your clasping walls grip onto him, and you feel locked together.

Eventually the giant collapses on top of you, even though you expect him to head back to the crowd.

“What are you doing?” You ask him.

“You took my knot…” He’s out of breath, and he sounds surprised. “We’re stuck together until the swelling goes down.”

You flex your inner walls, and you can feel the bulge locking you together. Even though his body is still, his cocks continue to pump hot semen deep inside of you.

“If you keep doing that with your cunt, we’ll be here forever, human,” he growls.

Wrapping an arm around your back he pulls you against his body, your head barely reaching his pecs, and flips over so that you're laying on his chest.

“So what happens after this?” You ask him, feeling like your body has not a single bone left to keep you steady. You catch yourself rubbing my face in his thick chest hair, totally blissed out after your experience together.

“I do it again, and again, until I’m sure my seed takes and your belly is swollen. I’ll fuck your human cunt as many times as it takes to ensure my bloodline.” He tell you as if it’s the only obvious choice.

“If I let you,” You whisper snarkily.

White flashes behind your eyes as his hand smacks your ass.

“You’ll do as you're told,” he says before closing his eyes and ignoring you.

And you will. You’ll do whatever he asks if he keeps making you feel like this.

NEXT PART

#monster fucker #monster fuqqer #monster smut #monsterfuqqer #monster romance #monster lover #smut #terato #aliens #i love aliens #alien romance #alien x reader #alien x human #alien #petra palerno #STTABshort

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 3 months

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 82

Part 1 Part 81

All Eddie wants to do is cling to his people and not let go. He wants to latch onto Steve, to Uncle Wayne, to Will, but Steve’s not Steve, and Wayne’s off with Mama Byers trying to get Owens to tell them what’s going on. So he sits, holding Will’s hand and does the thing he’s worst at: he waits.

He’s been pulling both their tethers to himself rhythmically, can’t help but make sure they’re both still there, even with the visual cues right in front of him. Will pulls back, each time with the same desperation. Steve doesn’t react at all.

He’s been staring at the door everyone walked through since it clicked shut and locked.

There’s still no fucking clock, but he could count the minutes by the blinking of Steve’s eyes, if only he could look at him.

Will’s curling further and further into Eddie, almost in his lap save for the bar separating their conjoined hospital chairs. It’s a move reminiscent of a much smaller child, but Eddie can’t blame him. There’s not much less to cling to.

His Mom’s off kicking ass, friends MIA out still living in the Right-Side-Up, and Steve’s staring at the door.

Eddie’s it, the last man standing.

So he sits, and waits, and clings right back.

Steve’s voice breaks up the quiet like a shot to the head.

“Something’s wrong.”

The last time Steve had said that, Hopper was buried six feet deep. The words hit with a jolt. Eddie and Will both sit, bolt-upright, finally looking Steve’s way.

“What?” Eddie demands, reaching out his hand toward Steve before settling it back down on his own knee and clenching down.

“I saw something.”

“You mean like with Chief Hopper?” Will asks.

Steve’s not looking at them, he’s still staring at the fucking door like neither of them had spoken at all. What if it is like Hop, and someone else has found themselves in a deep grave, unable to dig their way out?

“The shadows,” Steve says absently. “I think I know how to stop him.”

Unable to sit still anymore, Eddie drops from his chair, knees rioting against him as they smack into the linoleum. He knee-walks over to Steve, dignity lost somewhere in a hole in the dirt, and grabs Steve’s hand.

The skin turns pink immediately, painful and inflamed. Eddie doesn’t let go, reaches up up up to turn Steve’s cheek with his free hand, forcing Steve to finally look at him.

His cheek looks pink, like he’d been slapped when Eddie drops his hand, but his gaze burns hotter still. The thing that isn’t Steve looks down at Eddie like he’s nothing at all.

“How, Stevie?” Eddie begs, shuffling forward to get closer. “How do we stop him?”

Steve just watches.

“Sweetheart, please.”

Will gasps. Steve stares. Eddie’s crumbling in his foundation, made dust when Steve turns away to peer at the door.

It’s silent again.

Eddie can’t get up, can’t turn away, can’t look at whatever face Will’s making as he gets up from his chair to put his palm on the back of Eddie’s shoulder, gentle like he’s fragile.

Steve’s still staring at the door when it opens. Eddie doesn’t turn at its click, doesn’t do anything at all until Uncle Wayne calls, “kid?” quietly.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until he turns his face up to Uncle Wayne’s call like a sunflower to the last bits of dying light and Wayne brushes the tears off his cheeks. “What happened?”

Eddie’s eyes drift back to Steve, who’s staring fixedly at Dr. Owens. “Stevie, he…” Eddie realizes he doesn’t know what to say, how to explain the way Steve’s vacant, flickering, empty.

He doesn’t have to. Even like this, Steve’s drawing attention away from Eddie’s weakness, sheltering him from words he doesn’t know how to say.

“The shadows,” Steve says, same words, same cadence, same vacancy, “I think I know how to stop him.” He’s like a stock character with a limited amount of dialogue options, stuck repeating the same lines over and over until someone engages in the right way.

A pit sinks into Eddie’s stomach as he watches not-Steve act like he wanted to help. But all he could feel from their bond is cold, cold, cold.

Part 83

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #my fic #steddie upsidedown au #will byers

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starfellforyou · 30 days

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imperfect for you ✧⋆｡˚

❛ ༉‧₊˚ featuring: neuvillette x treasure hoarder!reader

❛ ༉‧₊˚ premise: the iudex of fontaine is renowned for his impartiality, objectivity, and unwavering principles. he resolves the court’s cases with precision, wielding a sharp blade of virtue against any misconduct that arises before him. but when a pesky treasure hoarder with a crude tongue and an eye for jewels crosses his path, she threatens to obliterate everything he’s ever stood for…

❛ ༉‧₊˚ genres: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, class divide

❛ ༉‧₊˚ word count: 4k+

♪ imperfect for you - ariana grande (slowed + reverb)

Sometimes, to make a living, you’ve got to get your hands a little dirty.

I would know. The life of a Treasure Hoarder, to the disagreement of many, is no easy feat. I’m not going to act like it’s a righteous path, but it’s the only path for the likes of me; and unlike my fellow bandits, I don’t burn my cash nearly as quickly as they do.

Fontaine is like an open treasure chest, full of twinkling gems and glittering jewels, a realm of luxury and riches. I normally sneak slices of warm bread into my satchel. But I’m tired of always struggling to get by. I’m sick of making ends meet when I could be weaving a tapestry of opulent threads.

I want to steal something bigger. Brighter. Feed my brothers and sisters without having to worry about warm bread.

I hear the Court of Fontaine is stocking up on a sackful of precious goods from all over the nation - and I intend to get my hands on them.

…

Sneaking into the court was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was put on an old hat and pretend I’d been sent to deliver the week’s paper.

“I’m here to collect a stack of news, sir.” I tip my hat politely, a paragon of manners and humility.

And just like that, I’m in. This isn’t my first time breaking into the court; after all, it’s terribly troublesome for non-aristocrats to find themselves welcome in a high-society breeding ground like this one.

I stroll down the frilly lanes of Quartier Narbonnais, taking my time to avoid suspicion. Parasols and silky dresses line the streets, hushed chatter and gossip filling the air like the incessant chips of Bluecrown Finches. Something to the left catches my eye.

It’s a child standing on the tips of his toes, arms outstretched towards a small roll of sapphire-blue ribbon on a tall wooden shelf. I realize I’m standing in front of the Chioriya Boutique. Huh. Such beautiful dresses… The boy’s clothes are slightly tattered, his skin marked with dirt. My heart pangs with sympathy at the thought that this child is just like my little brother; anxious, alone, and with nothing to his name.

I point a finger towards the bushes next to the shop and shout, “Look! Over there!”

The ladies looming nearby gasp with curiosity, craning their necks to get a good look of whatever it is that’s caught my eager attention. I yank the roll of ribbon off the shelf without making a sound, a devious act that only one with years of practice could master. her

Handing it to the boy, I ask him what he needs it for and pull him to the side.

“My sister’s dress is missing a blue ribbon. I figured I’d find her a replacement…” He trails off, uneasy. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any money to pay you, mademoiselle…”

“Consider it a favor.” I pause. “You owe me one, that’s all.”

The boy nods, his adorable features lighting up. I ruffle his hair and tell him to scurry off.

“Make sure you don’t get caught, little one!”

“Caught doing what, exactly, young lady?”

A deep, commanding voice speaks from a few feet behind, startling me - though I do not show it.

I turn to face the man in a relaxed, casual manner. His face surprises me even more than his voice does. He’s an elegant, poised man, tall and intimidating, yet not in a bad way. He does reek of sophistication, nevertheless. I curse myself for being so careless. What are you, an amateur?

“Why, by his sister, of course! Children these days, always running about.” I chuckle for effect.

It doesn’t seem to faze him.

“I have reason to believe you have stolen something from this establishment, miss. I’ll have my officers take you in for further questioning immediately.”

What a jerk! I can hardly believe such cold-hearted individuals exist. I glance over his fanciful robes and twinkling accessories with disdain, remembering exactly why I proclaim law enforcement in Teyvat to be a terribly corrupt system run by frauds. I need to think fast if I want to make it back out of the court alive.

Criminals like me have no place in a respectable region like this.

“Of course, my lord. I will obey your orders without a word of complaint.” I bow to him despite myself.

“Very well then. Come with me.” He starts forward, footsteps strong and chin held high. “You must be from the villa–”

I’ve snuck behind the nearest bush and climbed up a wall, as swift and soundless as ever. Watching from above, I giggle at the officer’s notable confusion.

“Show yourself!” He shouts, eyes frantically searching his surroundings but to no avail. Clearly frustrated, he curses under his breath, attracting the attention of the ladies nearby, who swoon once they meet his gaze.

“My apologies.” He mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitted together in a scowl.

He storms off into the crowd.

…

It isn't until I return to base that I realize that was no ordinary officer. The way he was dressed, the power in his voice when he spoke to me… It all seemed very peculiar.

“The Iudex. You spoke to the Iudex of Fontaine. There’s no way.” My younger sister seems to be in a state of shock.

“The Chief Justice? Nahhh. It couldn’t have been him. I mean, what’s he doing next to a women’s boutique?”

“Based on your descriptions, I think it’s safe to say that it really was him. I have heard that he enjoys strolling amongst the locals.”

I have a hard time believing it all. Indeed, my sister has always been the most well-read of us, but surely if I’d come face to face with the Iudex of Fontaine himself, I’d have known, right?

It all just seems absurd.

But I guess anything is possible in the Land of Justice. Now that I’ve found myself on the Chief Justice’s radar, it would benefit me to be more careful with my thieving endeavors in the court.

A minor inconvenience isn’t going to stop me now.

…

In an ornate, oversized office, Neuvillette sits by the fireplace, pondering.

He’s infuriated that someone dared defy his word in his presence. He’s puzzled about the thief’s identity, her next move. Most passionately of all, he feels foolish.

Utterly ashamed that he let a young woman escape with her pride right under his nose.

He calls out for a servant. “Have a Melusine troop assembled by tomorrow morning. I must catch this thief if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Of course, sire.” The servant hesitates, unsure. “Don’t mind my prying, sire, but this girl seems like nothing more than a petty thief. Why are you so hung up on bringing her in?”

Neuvillette rests his head on a gloved hand, elbow propped up on his polished spruce-wood desk.

“Because no one… escapes from the law.”

…

No one, of course, but me.

I spent the next two weeks stealing all sorts of interesting artifacts from within the court, some that sparkle and some that whir. With the money I’ve been bringing in, my siblings are finally able to have meals that contain more than just mushrooms and a few slices of bread.

Multiple times a member of the Iudex’s troop - occasionally the Iudex himself - managed to catch me, but each and every time I got out unscathed. I think I enjoy this life of crime.

Or rather, I enjoy the look on his face when he realizes I’ve slithered out of his reaches. The thrill of coming this close to facing him again, each and every time.

I received word that a masquerade ball is being hosted at the Vasari Passage tomorrow night, and that many fine ladies and gentlemen of society will be there. Naturally, I decide that my next cause of action is to “borrow” a pretty ball gown for my grand entrance.

I choose the most exquisite of gowns from the shop’s dusty attic - a rich purple shade to match my eyes - and brace myself for a possible run-in with the Iudex. I can’t risk him capturing me again. There’s no way he’d still recognise me. It’s been ages. Besides, I’m sure he has other bandits on his list.

…

The ball is an extravagant affair; I’ve never seen this much Hydro in one place - on land, of course. I have to admit, it really is quite enchanting.

Throughout the evening, I’m careful not to expose my face. I must be the most wanted petty criminal in Fontaine. In the unlikely event that anyone should identify me as the thief that’s been stealing their goods, it would only mean more trouble for me. With grace and finesse I whisk through the crowds, yanking one pearl necklace after another from the necks of oblivious aristocrats, stashing my finds safely away in the pocket strapped to my leg.

Just as I’ve gotten my hands on a marvelous emerald bracelet, I bump into someone I didn’t notice was standing right in front of me. As I recover, I’m struck with the familiar sight of flowing sapphire robes, a head of long hair as pristine and pure as snow. Oh, Archons.

Before I can even begin to protest, he grabs me by the waist with a firm hand and pulls me into a back garden, far enough away from the bustle of the ball. A glowing waterfall splashes gently to my left, and a couple dozen fireflies light up the Romaritime bushes that surround us.

I watch him carefully as he flexes his jaw. Though his face is partly concealed by a mask, I can tell he’s been driven mad with contempt - no, irritation. He’s been waiting a long time for this moment.

“It’s you.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord?”

“Enough of your games.” He spits out the words as if they’re poison on his tongue. “You cannot run forever. I know people like you well. It never ends well for them, running from the law.”

This pisses me off.

“Because the law protects the high and mighty, like you. Like the people out there. There’s no room in the law for people like me. Those who have to fight to survive. Those who can’t find work. Those who can’t put food on the table without stealing it.”

I watch as he falls silent, seemingly at a loss for words.

“What you are doing, while worthy of sympathy, is still illegal. It is my duty as Iudex to uphold the law and bring justice to all.”

“What about my family? What justice do they receive then, you bastard?”

He seems taken aback by my choice of words, a small frown written across his brows. Did I just insult the Chief Justice? I try to think of a way out of this situation; it’s gotten far too messy for my liking.

But a part of me doesn’t want to leave him here. This game we're playing - it excites me. Sometimes, it feels as though he lets me go on purpose. And while I do credit myself for being an excellent thief, I can’t help but feel as if I’ve gotten myself entangled with the law in more ways than one.

“I must take you in immediately. You will return all of the items you’ve stolen, precious or not. Fontaine is no place for such thie–”

I take a step forward and kiss him on the cheek.

Just a peck; a gentle act of intimacy that lasts no longer than a second. It shocks me as much as it does him, and I swear that beneath his mask, I can see his cheekbones flush a deep crimson red.

“P-Pardon me, my lord.” I take the opportunity to flee, leaving whatever just happened in the garden behind me.

He must’ve been too disgusted to follow me.

…

The following days passed with little to no thievery. I couldn’t explain it, but a part of me felt… guilty, for the first time in my life. Maybe not for stealing all those things from the hands of the wealthy, but for kissing him the way I did, in an attempt to save my own ass.

But that was the tricky part; did I really kiss him just to save my own ass?

I shake my head, desperate to prevent these frightening thoughts from clouding my judgment. I still have a family to feed.

I’m just about to sneak a sack of berries into my satchel when I feel his presence wash over me, watching me. I spin around to survey my surroundings, and sure enough, there he is. The Iudex in all of his dignified glory - staring at me from across the street. I return the sack to its position in the pile and walk over to him, my footsteps light and quick.

“I didn’t steal.”

“You would have.”

“But I didn’t.”

He sighs, exasperated. “I have been lenient to you. Whether or not you agree, I have shown you kindness by not exacting harsher measures in response to your… intemperance.”

I suppose that is true, especially after what I pulled that night. I remain silent.

“And despite every fiber of my being telling me to put you behind bars this instant, I wish to ask you a few questions before I do so.”

“And what’s in it for me, wise-ass?”

If he’s offended, he’s doing a great job concealing it. “I’ve called off the search. And, you’ll get to ask a few questions of me.” He tilts his head cautiously.. “Something tells me you would find that most enticing.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

“Fine. Shall we head to somewhere more private, my lord?”

…

For some reason, he brings me to his office in the Palais Mermonia. We enter through a secret entrance hidden from the public eye, and manage to remain unseen. He’s very serious about keeping our arrangement confidential.

The building is lavishly decorated, its shiny walls a reflection of its equally shiny inhabitants. At every turn I’m awed by the sheer magnificence of it all; by how I’m likely to never set foot in a place like this again.

“Please, have a seat.” His voice is low. He almost looks uncomfortable.

“So. What’d you wanna ask me?” I lift both feet and rest them atop his desk, crossing my right leg over the left. This is my first and last time in a room as cushy as this one, after all - I might as well make myself at home. “If you don't mind, I’d like you to answer my questions before I answer yours.”

He doesn’t object. I continue, “Why are you so unwilling to turn a blind eye to a few measly scoundrels? The people they’re stealing from already have far too much - and yet, you are complicit with their greed.”

There’s a distant look in his eyes. “Ever since I’d been issued the position of Iudex, there’s been an immeasurable… weight on my back. To uphold the law, standards of safety, fairness… That has been my job for as long as I can remember. I have dedicated my life to ensuring that Fontaine is the splitting image of perfection.”

“You speak as if you are old.” I scoff, feigning sophistication in my voice. “You’re a young man yourself. Shouldn’t you, of all people, understand that achieving perfection is impossible? Not when there is so much filth and corruption manifesting beneath the surface?”

My words seem to have struck him. “...I suppose there is truth to your words.”

“So stop. Let me and my people live as we have been. We don’t go around attacking the rich unprovoked, you know, despite what most people think.”

We share a pleasant silence for a moment. It feels as if I’m getting to him; as if we’re beginning to really see each other.

“You really do have the most exquisite eyes.”

This takes me by surprise. Did the Chief Justice of Fontaine just compliment my eyes? I try to suppress the redness growing across my cheeks.

He speaks again, his unfaltering gaze fixed on mine. “I never quite got your name, Miss…”

“Y/N,” I answer hastily. “And, you are…?”

“Neuvillette. My given name.”

Neuvillette. It’s never occurred to me how much I don’t know about the affairs of the city. About him.

“I have another question, Neuvillette.” He nods. “Why are you so intent on bringing me in? Are there no other criminals in Fontaine that demand more pressing attention?” I push further. “And why are you talking to me now, rather than locking me up?”

He looks speechless, as if troubled by something. “Because…” My heart stutters as I anticipate what he’s about to say. “Because I have something to ask of you.”

I deflate. “Oh. What is it?”

“I’m willing to offer you a job - an esteemed position in the Maison Gardiennage. You’d be an excellent addition to the team, and you won’t have to worry about a single piece of Mora from now on–”

My heart stops stuttering. It sinks. “So that’s what this is about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You pity me. This whole time–you’ve been trying to recruit me for your–your–battalion! To use me!” I feel betrayed. Blindsided. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.

I rush to stand up, and he gets up just as quick. “I assure you, that is not my intention, Miss Y/N–”

“You just want me taken care of so I can stop stealing and you can go back to your precious duties.” And to think that maybe we shared something. “I thought you were different. I really did. Now I see I was mistaken.”

“Miss Y/N, you must not keep stealing.” He sounds desperate, as if about to lose the composure he so carefully maintains.

I can’t do this. I swing the door to the hallway open, fuming. “You call us Treasure Hoarders, but you fail to realize that the ones who hoard treasure are yourselves.”

I spin around one final time, taking in the sight of him. He’s standing less than an inch away from me now. I notice that it physically pains me to be this close to him. “I hope I’m not spotted, for your sake. Archons forbid what being seen with me might do to your reputation.”

I slam the door behind me.

…

For the first time, Neuvillette doesn’t have a solution for any of this. He can’t let her keep stealing, that’s for sure. But is that really all that’s troubling him? Is that the real reason why he’s so worked up about all of this?

He swats at an invisible thought in the air. Focus. A royal auction is to be held tomorrow evening, and there’s a lot to be done.

…

I can’t bear to stay in the court for much longer. Everything is just… too much.

If I am to stop stealing in the court, all while ensuring that my family is fed and happy, I’ll have to end my business here with a bang. Steal something truly valuable that’ll guarantee I’ll never have to steal again.

Therefore, when I receive news of the Annual Court Auction being held the following day, I can hardly contain my anticipation.

This will be the heist of all heists. My family’s lives are on the line.

I must sneak in unnoticed, snag the one-of-a-kind Hunter’s Brooch from wherever it is backstage, and sneak back out where I came from. Make sure I avoid running into Neuvillette, at all costs.

…

As the clock strikes six, the auction begins. A dense crowd fills the ballroom, the stench of elitism wafting through the air.

I managed to steal a servant’s uniform while he was distracted and put on my disguise, determined to get the job done once and for all. As I pretend to refill my tray, I listen closely as the auctioneer projects his booming voice. “Going once, going twice… SOLD to the lady in pink!”

The Hunter’s Brooch is up next. I glide through the crowd, offering tiny pastries and shot glasses to the haughty noblemen as I pass.

“Next up: the Hunter’s Brooch!” The crowd oohs and aahs, captivated by its remarkable beauty. “Do I hear one-million?”

I inch closer and closer to the stage as bidders furiously compete with one another for the brooch. I hear numbers I have never heard in my life.

“Do I hear fifteen-million? Going once, going twice…” The crowd falls silent, seemingly bested.

“Twenty-million.”

My head whips around so fast I almost drop my tray. Neuvillette.

“SOLD to our Chief Justice!”

I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. Seeing him from afar is somehow a thousand times worse than seeing him up close.

I remind myself what I came here for. I attempt to ignore the pounding in my chest and sneak past the guards in front of the stage. There it is.

The brooch sits on a cushioned plinth backstage, sparkling despite the darkness. I yank it from its display in the blink of an eye and stuff it into my satchel. Hugging it under my arm, I latch on to the wall behind the stage and begin climbing towards the landing on the second floor.

Just as I reach the surface, I pick up a swarm of hurried footsteps headed in my direction. I try to steady myself as hastily as possible, but by the time I look up, it’s too late.

Guards.

They grab me by the arms and pull me away from the auction. From my grand plan. From my dreams of never having to steal again.

…

A trial. I’m to sit in front of the Iudex tonight and face him for the first time in days. I’m to relive the embarrassment of getting caught, of encountering my first defeat. I’m to look him in the eye as he finally decides to throw me in jail for good.

Time passes rather quickly in a holding cell, contrary to popular belief. Before I know it, I’m sitting in a courtroom, anxiously waiting for the Iudex to walk in.

My pulse quickens when the thick ivory doors swing open.

He remains the paradigm of grace and regality; able to command an entire room without ever so much as uttering a word.

Despite all the guilt, all the shame I’m feeling sitting in this chair, I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.

He moves to take his seat on the elevated throne in the middle of the room, and for a moment - just a tiny sliver of a second - we lock eyes. He looks conflicted, tired, as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

The trial proceeded as one normally would; everyone was represented by someone, though the loaded old man I’d stolen from had obviously hired a greater amount of skill.

It’s now time for the final judgment to be made.

The Iudex’s eyes are downcast, his forehead creased. His gloved hands seem to be restless and unsure. Please, Neuvillette. Don’t do this.

A pause that stretches on for an eternity passes, and he whispers something unintelligible to the court orderly standing next to him. A bewildered expression appears on the orderly’s face, but Neuvillette has already gotten up to exit, halting all further questions.

He charges out of the courtroom, leaving hushed exclamations and gasps of surprise in his wake. Neuvillette… Did you betray me? We all look to the court orderly.

“The Chief Justice of Fontaine has declared the defendant… not guilty.”

…

“So does that mean you’re free to go now?”

“Yep.” I smile at my sister with a sigh. “I’m never going back there again.”

“What? Why not? I thought you said the city was our golden opportunity.”

“It was. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t keep stealing from the hand that feeds me. It’s too much. It’s not… fair.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” She wriggles her eyebrows at me.

I give her a hard nudge, playfully. “There are other prospects, you know. I heard Liyue possesses treasures beyond even our wildest dreams. We shall aim to relocate by the end of the month.”

“Not yet done with your scheming, Miss Y/N?”

No. It can’t be.

I jump to my feet so quickly my sister flinches. “Hey, could you maybe…”

She runs off towards the camp, leaving the two of us standing face to face atop the most beautiful hill in the region.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” My voice comes out shaky, as if I haven’t spoken in years.

Neuvillette searches my eyes, vulnerable and sincere. “Did you really think you could hide from me for long?”

Inhale. Exhale. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you lock me up? Why come all the way here after two weeks?”

“You must know…” He trails off, stares at the setting sun just above the horizon. “My every waking moment is plagued by thoughts of… of you.”

I stop breathing.

“At night, I dream of you. The criminal I cannot seem to capture. The thief I cannot seem to subdue.” He takes a step forward. “Your words echo in my mind, your eyes pierce my soul. Your insolence, obscenity, rebelliousness… All of it. It-It vexes me.” Another step. “You are a thief, Y/N, for you have stolen more than just precious gems and sparkling jewels.”

I’m rendered speechless. All I want to do is run into his arms.

“Please. Don’t leave. I beg of you.”

My heart feels so… so full. I rush to close the distance between us, beaming so widely it must look strange.

“Only if you promise to let me keep stealing your stuff.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your wish is my command. I suppose it will do the nation some good if all of its inhabitants remain healthy and fed.” I smile. “You’ve made up your mind, then? No law enforcement work for you?”

“Actually… I’ve yet to give it any thought. You sure you’d want a Treasure Hoarder amongst your ranks?”

“You make a good point. But right now…” He’s staring again, lips mere inches away from mine. “All I want… is you.”

“But my lord, surely that’s against the law,” I tease.

“The law has no place here.”

And he kisses me, hungry and passionate.

For the first time in ages, I finally feel well off.

❛ ༉‧₊˚ author's note: i had to stop myself from writing a commentary on class divide and remember i'm in love with neuvillette lol (two things can be true at once) hope you like this one! typically this would've been a multiple-chapter fic on ao3 but oh well here goes nothing

✧ starfellforyou

#— ‧ ₊˚ 𝘴𝘧𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 🌸✩#genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvilette genshin #genshin neuvillette #fontaine

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cottoncandy-cult · 7 months

Text

Meliodas x chubby! reader

Meliodas sighed as he entered his bedroom in just his pants, he had just finished his bath and was ready for bed. He smiled towards the comfy piece of furniture as he entered, that smile broadening when he spotted the lump under the covers. (Y/n) had come up to the room an hour before him, she had been quite tired after how busy the day had been, and he didn't blame her. She always worked hard and today they had more customers than any of their previous stops, because of that after they closed most of them hung around near the bar for a drink or two. The blonde male made his silent approach, a small candle dimly burned on his side of the bed and lit up the small area. Giving him enough light to see his sleeping lovers face, he adored the woman more than anything else in this world. He moved to sit beside her, reaching out to gently stroke her plump cheek and brush some of her silken (H/c) hair away. It had been almost a year since they started dating, the two were a bit of an odd pair given their different heights and frames. He was smaller and leaner while she was taller and pleasantly chubby, he loved that about her. He'd certainly love her no matter her form, but he thought she was beautiful as she was.

His movements were slow and deliberate as he slid under the cover, he was careful when snuggling up to her but even in her deep sleep she recognized his presence. Her body curled towards him a little, a soft hum escaping the sleeping girl. Meliodas chuckled softly as he wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling the top of (Y/n)'s head as he gently rubbed her back. His fingers grazed over a couple deep scars, making him hold her closer as a colder look filled his eyes. When they had first met the girl had been living in a disgusting town, the town and a majority of its people were cruel and selfish and only cared about physical appearance. (Y/n) was one of a handful of good people being treated like dirt, it wasn't even as if she eats a lot but that it was just her more natural body. He thought she was beautiful, but he watched others insult and harass her, it was when things got physical, and she got thrown across a rocky hill side that he decided to put his foot down. They were near a slate like mountain so most the natural stones were quite hard and sharp, it was one reason boats were incredibly careful near its coast.

Meliodas hadn't been the only one to witness what had happened, Elizabeth had been quick to rush to the girl's side and that was enough to make the others move. They brought the girl into the boar's hat and tended to her injuries, every time he saw or touched these scars, he felt his anger bubble up. She was too sweet of a girl to deserve such harsh treatment. His movements came to a stop when he heard her groan, his fingers stopping where they were as she shifted. "Meli, you're squishing me..." Her sleepy voice made him realize he had been holding her tight to his chest, so he loosened his grip and watched her lean back a little to look up at him. Having just woke and still being tired her (E/c) eyes were a bit bloodshot and glossy; she gave him a lazy smile. "I keep telling you not to touch them if it's gonna upset you..." Her voice was a bit raspy and low, but he still smiled when hearing her speak to him. "I'm not upset, I just don't understand how so many people can be so ugly that they make excuses to hurt an angel..."

His voice was soft and smooth as he leaned his forehead against hers, gently rubbing his nose against her own as a deep crimson covered her cheeks. Her body pressed close to his as her own arms curled around his waist, one of her legs slipping between his own as they tangled themselves together. "None of that matters now, I'm here with you and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else." She leaned forward to steal a kiss from him, something he quickly reciprocated. The kiss was sweet and warm, both parties smiling lovingly as they'd break apart just to reconnect over and over before they settled against the pillows together. As the candlelight began to fade out the two had begun to fall asleep, comfortable within each other's arms.

#candy cult vault #fluff #x reader #fem reader #chubby reader #meliodas #meliodas x reader #seven deadly sins fluff #seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai

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twst-drabbles · 7 months

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Jade 3

Summary: There’s always something about the beauty of nature that makes Jade more energetic than usual.

(My mind craves angst and yet here I am, writing fluffy stuff and even planning out a magical person thing for my enjoyment. The brain truly works in weird ways.)

As nice as it would be to bring Azul and Floyd with you on this journey up your newly charted hiking path, you were still in the process of developing your muscles. And with developing muscles comes an almost bone-deep soreness. The seafolk weren’t made of leaves and flowers like your plant nymphs, nor are they deceptively light like the little spirits that come by. They’re more like Jamil, magical but made of flesh and bone.

And, well, flesh and bone was just heavy. You’re already struggling with the ones you were born with.

As such, you rolled a dice and Jade ended up being your hiking companion for the month.

Ooo! And judging by his little high pitched howl, Jade’s more than happy to be here.

Claws dug into the clasps of your bag, tail barely skimming the moist towel inside as his head bobbed up and down as you walked. A red leaf fell off its bare branch and tickled Jade’s nose. He lashed out to grab it, but missed by just the slightest bit. He would’ve fell out if you didn’t have his torso cupped in your hand.

“Careful there, buddy,” you scratched under his chin, not at all minding the slime he’s covered in, “I know it’s fun, but we can’t have you falling into the dirt.”

He propped his chin on your hand, excitement still sparkling in his eyes, but now tamed. Logically you know Jade to be distinctly different from Floyd in how they manage themselves, but experience told you to not let your hand leave Jade. He’s been behaving, you’ll acknowledge that, but he’s been behaving for too long, and that makes all the difference.

It’s not that he’ll suddenly go missing if you leave him be, it’s the fact that he will sneak off and then sneak back inside your bag with weird bugs, mushrooms and other such things by the time you look back. He’s a quick little eel that prefers to look innocent when you know very well he is not.

“Hmm, how about this,” make no mistake, just because he’s capable of misbehaving doesn’t mean you’ll keep him on lock down, “when I get to point A, how about I put you in the river so you can swim downstream? You’ll swim a lot faster that way.”

Jade perked up and his tail lashed out, as though caught in the fantasy of such an activity. He opened his mouth and tried to make a noise, but it was only air that escaped. So he only closed his mouth and nodded politely, as though he wasn’t overcome with excitement.

“That’s a yes, then. Just be careful not to hit yourself on any rocks. Or collect too many things, okay?”

It'll be good for him to burn off that unusual amount of energy he's got. At least like that he won't egg Azul and Floyd into any fights. He certainly likes to make the others jealous.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst-drabbles #twst-drabbles exclusive #drabble #octavinelle #jade #jade leech #house pet au #reader insert

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mychoombatheroomba · 3 months

Text

A Losing Game

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 17

He'd been promised pain, and Major Krauser never failed to deliver on that mark. At least now, the two of you had each other to distract from that pain, however dangerous it was.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

CW: horniness

You had been telling the truth; Leon’s first day with his new squad was hard.

It had all opened with a speech from Krauser, as so many days here had started. “I’ll promise you one thing,” he’d said, his voice severe as ever, “you’ll all be miserable. One of you makes a mistake, you’re all paying the price for it. You’re going to end up in the dirt, you’re going to run until your legs give out, and you’ll do it all without complaining because the more you sweat here, the less you’ll bleed out there.”

In the first hours, Krauser delivered on that promise.

All of it was dialed up to ten, and Leon could only struggle through it. The longer run in the morning, the more demanding exercises, the combat . . . trying to keep his focus off of you . . .

He would catch your gaze, sometimes. It was never more than a second or two at a time - you both had plenty of other things to focus on - but Leon found some small solace in your eyes. You were always silently urging him on. Telling him to keep going with just a look.

So, he pushed through the pain and exertion, because he had to. If it didn't break him, all of this would make him stronger.

Raccoon City hadn't been able to break him. Neither would this.

"You going to make it, pretty boy?" There was only one person Leon wanted to hear that nickname from, and it certainly wasn't Valeria. Not in the middle of their second run of the day, each of them carrying an ammo case along with their normal gear, when Leon's lungs felt like they were going to cave in on themselves. Not when, in the time since the tear gas attack, he’d realized who had likely put him in that headlock. Who had knocked him to the ground with a punch that left an ugly bruise forming on his jaw.

"I'll be fine." It was more a growl than anything else, delivered through a sneer and a furrowed brow. His voice wavered with the impact of his footfalls.

Valeria’s words did too, but her smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say. And no hard feelings about the hit, eh?” She took her hand off her ammo crate to point at his bruising jaw, giving him confirmation that he didn’t need. Still, the smug look on her face made him feel his frustrations sharp in his chest. “Figured you’d be used to it.” She grinned towards where you were running ahead of them, and Leon felt like someone had doused the ground in lighter fluid and set it ablaze, anger and embarrassment and all manner of other things burning at him.

He did his best to use that fire to push him forward.

He let it build in his gut when it came time to run the obstacle course, the humidity of the spring air pressing in around him. Each of them still held the ammo cases as they moved over the wooden planks and along ropes. It was an added thirty-five pounds of weight, as Krauser was happy to point out. And how would they navigate the course while still holding on to it?

“You’d better figure that out.”

Leon only made it part of the way before his case slipped from his grasp, and then he and the rest of the squad were doing push-ups. Twenty for his mistake. Twenty when Alenko fell from the course. Another twenty when Alejandro dropped his case, right before he reached the end. Twenty when even you slipped up, falling from the rope as you tried to save the case before it hit the ground. With each misstep, there was a punishment, just as promised. A punishment and glares of animosity from those who had managed to complete the task without error.

By the end of that exercise, in a group of fifteen, only four had completed it successfully. Eleven failures.

“I expected the rookies to be weak, but the rest of you?” Krauser shook his head in disappointment. That was the only break the squad got before moving on to the next exercise.

Krauser wasn’t just pushing the new blood, Leon could see it in your labored breathing. Still, you were handling it much better than he was. Your whole squad was. Enough that most of them were able to snicker a bit at the new additions by the time dinner came around, when Leon and his old squad mates dragged themselves into the mess hall. Leon’s arms felt like they were made of sand - sand that had been soaking in the desert sun, scorching and heavy. His legs shook a little, and he was just then getting his breathing back under control.

“Kind of thought there was going to be a party. You know, a little celebration,” Williams sighed, wiping her brow as she reached for her tray of food.

Shinoda was in front of her, and he scoffed at the notion. “Today was our celebration, far as Krauser is concerned.”

“Maybe we throw one for ourselves tonight, then,” Alenko huffed, and Shinoda shook his head in a decisive ‘no’.

“Only way I’m celebrating tonight is with some extra sleep.”

Williams groaned, rolling her eyes and giving a smile that was just shy of energized. “Aw come on, where’s the fun in that? Kennedy,” she turned to face Leon, one of her brows raised expectantly, “you’d join in, right?”

Leon laughed, even if it hurt his core to do it. He appreciated the sentiment, he really did, but after the day he’d had, all he wanted to do was spend time with you. Even if it was in a sparring match, and even if his body’s aches would likely stop him from winning against you like you’d challenged him to.

He wasn’t sure what that said about his life right now, and he didn’t care much to analyze it. All that mattered was that he’d had a shit day, and you made him happy. Kisses or words or the way you moved, it didn’t matter. You made him happy, and you made him stronger.

“I would but-”

“But you’re gonna go get the shit kicked out of you, we know,” Alenko shook his head, clearly amused by the idea. It was no secret how Leon had been spending his evenings, after all. “You’re crazy, Kennedy, you know that?”

Leon had to give him that. “Yeah, I know.”

That didn’t stop him from showing up in the training yard that evening, because just as surely as he was going to lose this fight, his weariness lost horribly against his anticipation. By the look on your face, you knew exactly how this fight was going to end, same as Leon. You’d known the minute Leon had joined you at dinner, practically collapsing into the seat across from you. Even so, you hadn’t offered a night of rest, and Leon hadn’t asked for one. You’d just given him one of those knowing almost-smiles - the same kind you were giving him now.

That look shouldn’t have excited him as much as it did.

“Last chance to go join the party,” you grinned. You were tired, too, but something told Leon it wouldn’t be enough.

“Oh, you heard that?”

You nodded, a knife arcing through the evening air after you tossed it. Leon’s arm protested him reaching out to take it out of the sky, but he managed to catch it anyway. “Sounds like things might get pretty crazy.” Even without the sarcasm dripping from your voice, it would have been clear that the truth was far removed from your words.

“Wouldn’t be much of a party without music,” Leon shrugged - or went to, before his sore shoulders demanded otherwise.

“Good thing we’ve got some, then.” Some classic rock today, it sounded like. Krauser must have moved out of his bluegrass phase.

The Rolling Stones scored Leon’s defeat - one delivered sluggishly, the two of you moving slower than you usually did. Even those first few bouts had the two of you panting, staring across at each other with heavy eyes. Still, both of you kept going. Leon couldn’t say exactly what it was that pushed you both onward. It might have been your shared terrors, and the desire to rise above them. Maybe it was simply the strength of your characters - enduring through the pain. Or, perhaps, it was that teasing challenge you’d issued the night before, whispered against Leon’s lips. If you can beat me . . .

Whatever the case, you both went on until at last the sun was down.

“One more,” you breathed, letting your breath escape you in a slow exhale before you raised your guard again. Leon could see it was lower than usual. Anything that required less effort. “Let’s see if you can get that win.”

And he tried - he really did - but he misjudged your exhaustion. Whether you were granted a sudden burst of energy, or it had all been a ploy, the fight ended with you taking Leon to the ground, then settling on top of him for a pin.

The fatigue helped, of course, but as you straddled him, your knife at his belly and your face so, so close to his, Leon decided that he didn’t want to move from that position for the rest of the night.

“Better luck next time,” you grinned down at him.

“I feel pretty lucky right now, actually.” Leon wasn’t sure where the words came from, but he was a little bit delighted to see surprise flickering across your eyes. It wasn’t often that he caught you off guard.

Then, your expression turned to something dangerous. “Careful, pretty boy,” you warned.

Did you mean to press your hips against his like that? Knowing you, you absolutely had. He’d lost. By your own rules, there would be no continuing last night’s affairs - but you’d promised him that you would tease him, too. You were ruthless with a blade, he fully expected you to be ruthless with your affections, when you wanted to be.

When he looked up into your eyes that night, he could tell that you very much did want to be.

“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.” Your words were hushed – a promise of something Leon had imagined for so long.

If it was a game, it was one he’d be happy to lose.

How long had it been since he’d felt so close to someone? How long since he had been able to hold onto a feeling other than regret? Even now, even as tired as he was, he found that he wasn’t exhausted enough to disregard those desires. He wanted you to move against him. To take the aches of the day and turn them into something sweeter. To kiss him until he couldn’t breathe.

But you were both in the training yard, where anyone could see you. It would be mad to go any further here. Even so, Leon learned that you weren’t averse to a little risk when you glanced around.

When you were satisfied no one was there to see, you moved like you were going to get up. All to disguise your true intent, as your lips brushing against the bruise at his jaw, just soft enough to not hurt the tender injury. Your hips dipped against his, making his throat go dry, and then you were standing, offering him a hand up.

As you pulled him up, he was frustrated to find his desire overtaken by pain, and he winced as he stood.

You noticed.

“Tomorrow will be worse,” you cautioned, that playful spark gone from your eyes. Replaced with something more sincere. “But after that, it’ll get easier.”

Leon nodded. You’d never lied to him before, he had no reason to distrust you now. “Right,” he sighed, taking a breath and meeting your eyes with a glint. “So, rematch after dinner?”

“As if there was ever a doubt,” you nodded, smirking once more, and for a moment, he thought you were going to say more. It took you until the two of you were finished putting the training equipment away for the night for you to voice the question. “I know you said you would tell me, if things ever went too far,” you began, your voice low, “but how much are you comfortable with just yet?”

“What do you mean?” Leon asked, and he could see the gears turning in your mind as you worked out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I mean . . . if we were anywhere else, and I asked you to come home with me and spend the night right now, would you say yes?”

The question made Leon’s lips part, the initial shock of it wearing off quickly because he’d known that was the name of the game you were playing. It was hard to interpret the dark glances and pressing touches any other way. Still, he appreciated you asking.

“Well . . . I’d like to take you on a date first,” he chuckled, and you gave him a look.

In all honesty, in another life, he would have liked to wait. He would have wanted to take his time; to get to know you. He would have taken you out to dinner. Maybe a movie. He would have talked with you about your goals, your dreams. Your family. Embarrassing stories.

He couldn’t do that here, and he didn’t need to. Even if there were still mysteries - so many mysteries - about you, he knew you well, now. He knew the side of you that you didn’t show anyone else. You pretended to act annoyed at bad jokes, but you told your fair share of them anyway. You liked the Spice Girls. You liked challenges. You were the type to apologize over and over for something, even when you didn’t need to. You pushed yourself because you never wanted to be caught unprepared again. You were afraid of losing people, so you hid yourself away.

You cared, very deeply, about the people around you. Even if you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

There was more to learn, he knew, and he would take whatever you were willing to share with him, in whatever way you were willing to offer.

So, in this world where he knew his life and yours may be all too brief, Leon gave his answer with certainty. “I would say yes,” he said it quietly, moving a little closer to you.

He watched your eyes flash, and you smiled that beautiful, incredible smile. “Alright then,” you nodded. “If I ever go too far . . . or if the teasing is too much, tell me. I’ll stop, no questions.”

“Same goes for me,” Leon agreed. “But as far as the teasing goes . . . don’t think I’m going to surrender now.”

He saw that competitive streak in you spark, and he knew he was going to be in for it.

“Told you . . .” you tilted your head, leaning close, “. . .that’s a dangerous game to play with me.”

“I’m counting on it,” Leon grinned right back, standing his ground the way you’d taught him too.

There was no time for anything else. And besides, Leon didn’t mind earning his time with you. He’d discovered his feelings for you on the business end of your knife, after all.

“Well,” you eventually said, “we can’t do much of a date, but I can at least walk you home.”

“We live in the same place,” Leon laughed.

“Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?” you grinned right back.

He almost forgot the pain in his body, laughing there with you. He held onto that feeling, savoring it while he could. Before the morning came and the pain began anew.

⧫⧫⧫

The next few days were hard on Leon, you could see it plain as day. It was hard for everyone, but the new members of your squad especially. Every day they barely managed to pull themselves through exercises, and every evening they retreated to the barracks with heavy steps and hollow eyes.

All but Leon.

You didn’t feel like you quite had a right to be proud of him, but you were. You were proud of how hard he pushed himself, never once complaining. It didn’t matter what kind of hell Krauser put you all through, or how much pain he was in, he still joined you in the training yard every evening.

And every evening, as he adjusted to the new training regiment, he came closer and closer to beating you.

He nearly had you on the third day, his knife grazing you time and time again. On the fourth, he managed to disarm you, and you narrowly blocked a stab to the heart. Then, on the fifth day-

You’d been trading blows, the two of you working at a speed that must have looked like a blur, to the untrained eye. Any of the sluggishness Leon had been experiencing in the last few days was gone, replaced now with the desire to win. Maybe because he just wanted to be a better fighter, true, but you knew damn well it was also because you’d been torturing the poor man with your teasing for the last few days. On that third day, after sparring, you’d pulled him into one of the blind spots of the cameras, kissing him quickly, letting your lips trail down to his neck. “Almost had me, there,” you’d whispered, and felt him shiver. On the fourth day, when you’d finally managed to take him down by pinning him against the wall of the officer’s barracks, you’d looked right into those ocean blues of his and pressed your thigh in between his own, just long enough to make his breath hitch. Oh yes, you’d been pushing your luck, skirting the edge of that knife just as you promised him you would. And on that fifth day, you knew, you were going to end up falling over the edge.

You’d known it going into sparring, even after your first few victories. There was just something in his eyes - a certainty and determination you’d come to see in him more and more. And beneath it all, there was a fervor there. A desire that had your belly fluttering with anticipation.

Never in all your time in STRATCOM training had you wanted to lose a fight like you did that day.

And Leon delivered.

You swung your blade down at him, held in a reverse grip. His knife was held the same way - not a hold he favored, you knew. That was likely why he was able to catch you unawares, locking the flats of each blade on each other’s forearms and pulling down. The leverage there was enough to send your knife flying, your eyes widening as he brought his arm through and up in an arc. One that ended with the tip of his knife pressing up under your jaw.

The two of you watched each other for a moment, the realization of what had just happened sinking in. The promise of what came next.

“So, what do I get for winning this time?” Leon asked, and the strained timbre of his voice set your blood aflame.

It was funny how now, with a knife to your throat, you found it so easy to look into Leon’s eyes. To communicate without words what you were feeling. Now, after so long spent running from what you felt, because you’d completely and utterly surrendered to the simple desire to be happy with him. You knew what you wanted, at long last. Still, after days of vexing him, the least you could do was offer him a choice. “Well . . . what do you want?”

His eyes, so pretty and so blue, softened. It almost scared you, the way he looked at you then. If it were just desire, that would be easier. Instead, Leon Kennedy looked at you like you’d just offered him the night sky and everything in it.

Terrifying, when you really only had one thing to offer, broken and imperfect as it was. He knew that, but his answer stayed the same.

“You.”

He spoke the word with such a soft honesty, it took all your willpower not to kiss him then and there, damned if anyone saw. Still, you had just enough of your wits about you to hold off, keeping his reverent gaze for a while longer. “Let’s clean up here,” you said, and the two of you put the training equipment away in record time.

All the while, you found yourself looking over at him, the anticipation building in your gut. The need. When it was done, your eyes met, and without words the two of you began to make your way out of the training yard, towards the back of the mess hall, to that spot where you’d imagined pulling Leon into the shadows so many times.

How had those imaginings become reality?

You didn’t have the will to answer that, right now. All you wanted was him, and so you rushed towards the back side of the building, your mind abuzz and your body alight.

You were so full of apprehension, you almost missed the smell of cigarette smoke. Still, it hit you and Leon just before you rounded the corner, and you both stopped dead in your tracks. With a quick signal for Leon to stay back, you peeked your head around the corner, trying to figure out if the smoke was indeed coming from the one place you needed to be right now.

When you saw none other than Alejandro, his outline cast in the now-present moon’s light, you felt like the next puff of his cig was going to make you burst into flames.

You looked back to Leon, shaking your head, and the shadows around him seemed to grow darker as he frowned. There was the blind spot by the officer’s barracks, you supposed, but that risked Krauser’s attention. Any of the other areas were supervised, you couldn’t linger there for too long without being watched. You did the math in your head and came to a conclusion that you absolutely loathed: your fantasies would have to wait another night. Maybe this was the universe punishing you for being a tease. A taste of your own medicine.

With no choice but to retreat, the two of you began to make your way back, and you tried to calm the lingering excitement in your belly. “Just our luck,” Leon finally said, and the disappointment in his voice was endearing.

“There’s always tomorrow,” you offered. You’d waited this long. Even if you didn’t want to, you could hold out another day.

If you must.

Leon nodded, pouting a little in the darkness. You couldn’t blame him. Still, he managed to give you a small smile. “Tomorrow.”

As you both settled into your barracks that night, you knew Leon was thinking the same thing you were: tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

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Chapter Index

A/N: So, yes, we're building to smut 😁

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #jack krauser #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months

Text

Captain John Price x Female Reader Dark Romance

Chapter Specific Warnings: canon-typical swearing, female masturbation, vaginal fingering, oral sex (female receiving), non-penetrative sex, erotic audio, consent / seeking consent, interrogation

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: Part Three of Dangerous Pursuit (for @glitterypirateduck)

Price gets that audio of you begging for him. Nikola breaks.

Chapter Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dangerous pursuit masterlist

It’s the hesitation before the touch.

The moment before skin meets skin.

It is the collective breath of anticipation before everything snaps, falls apart, or is pieced back together.

That is what simmers under your skin. Anticipation.

Anticipation of the words to fall from Price’s mouth. Anticipation of what it will feel like if he touches you. Anticipation of how your heart will burn, your stomach will flip, and your brain will melt like ice cream in the summer.

This situation may be shit, and your options limited, but fuck—Price is a handsome man. The words he’s about to utter will be fake. Forced. Yet you still long to hear him say them. You’re still curious as to how your mind and body will receive them.

It does not matter that this interaction is happening because Nikola is a piece of shit or that Price promised him that audio. In the moment, when Price told Nikola he’d return with a recording of you begging for Price’s cock, you were furious. Angry. You slapped the man. Cracked him across the face so hard the left side of his cheek bloomed bright pink.

Now, you’re transfixed, observing Price as he fiddles with the tape recorder. His large hands seem too large cradling the ancient device. It’s cheap and gray. Clearly from a decade when you were a child. But it’s useful, something that cannot be easily faked once it starts recording.

Captain Price is serious about this. He wants Nikola to believe him. What is Dimitri up to? Who does he run with that a member of the British Special Forces is asking you to fake sex with him?

Fake. Fake.

A part of you keeps bringing up the idea of the two of you not faking anything. That, if you’re going to do it, you better go all the way. Put on a show. Make it fucking count. But the very idea is absurd, and you nearly laugh out loud.

It’s true, you were mad. Furious with everyone involved and everything about this entire goddamn situation. You were ready to rage. The fangs were out, venom dripping, and in some capacity, they still are. At the slightest hint of danger, you will bite. You will sink your teeth in with the intention of escaping. You’re good at that. Survival.

But right now, you’re not sure if you’re ready to bolt. Safe isn’t the exact word, more like a reluctant trust sits heavy in your chest. There is no one for you to run to. The only person you have in your corner right now is Captain Price.

He stands opposite you, just an arms-length apart, the tape recorder in his hands. Around you is a wide-open space. It is barn-like in appearance with high wooden ceilings and walls. You and Price are on concrete in a kitchen area with a communal table. Next to that are two worn sofas and a coffee table that has seen better days. Beyond that is the metal door that leads into the underground portion. The place you and Price recently emerged from.

The concrete drops off into straw-covered dirt where several vehicles are parked. There is a classic military Humvee, a dusty compact car, and a beat-up farm truck. Along the far wall are several sets of large, metal storage cabinets. One sits open, revealing a variety of different sized guns. In that same area are two large boards hanging on the wall. Pinned to them is a World Map and one of North America. There are also a few smaller photos attached to the maps themselves with lines and string indicating certain directions. None of it means anything to you, and while you’re curious, you’re not stupid enough to stick your nose into their business.

As Price continues to fiddle with the tape recorder, the gnawing, anxious dread returns. It’s the same one that wrapped itself around you when you first woke up here, when Price tended to the small cuts and bruises on your body, when he said such soft things to comfort you.

Some of that anxiousness removes the resolve you’ve built, pushing it aside to make room for its ugly insistence.

You’re a survivor. That’s it.

“Right,” says Price as he turns the tape recorder right side up. He hits the red button. “This is Captain John Price. Testing.” He presses the red button again and then rewinds the tape, hitting the play button.

The recorder replays his gruff, British voice and Price nods in approval. It’s a bit staticky and not the best quality, but it’s clear enough. Nikola might believe it if you and Price are good enough actors.

Price clutches the recorder in his fist. “You ready for this?”

Are you? No. But you agreed, and you don’t like going back on your promises.

When you don’t answer right away, Price takes a step closer. “You can back out—”

“It’s fine,” you say sharply, immediately regretting your tone.

“Okay.” Price messes with the tape recorder, deleting the audio of him testing it. Once done, he hits the red button and then gently places it on the table beside you.

Silence follows and you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. How do you improvise sex? Should you just go for it? Start making noises? There is no script, and Price didn’t go over what he expects from you. Do you touch him? Do you keep your hands off?

Confusion and frustration flood in, and you completely forget all the anticipation that held your body hostage. This whole thing is Price’s idea. He told Nikola he fucked you. He put his hand on your pussy and collected your wetness on his fingers. He held those sticky digits in front of Nikola’s face and then licked them clean afterward.

This is Price’s doing. If he wants you to act, he needs to tell you how it has to go. He needs to lead. Because right now, he’s just starting at you like he’s expecting you to perform first.

Fuck that. And fuck him.

With a sultry movement, you wrap you fingers around the tape recorder and bring it up to your lips. Price’s eyebrows rise in surprise and then furrow with concern.

In the flattest, most monotone voice you can muster, you stare Price down and give him what he wants. “Oh, John. Please. I need your cock.”

“Fucking hell. Give me that.” Price yanks the recorder out of your hand and turns it off. He presses a few more buttons, deleting the audio. He glances up and glowers.

“What?” you ask, all feigned innocence.

“You’re not helping,” he mutters.

“This is your idea, and you didn’t tell me what to do. Nikola won’t believe any of this if we just,” you gesture vaguely, “improvise.”

Price gently sets the recorder down on the table. “He seemed pretty upset when I sucked you off my fingers.”

You freeze, trying desperately to not let the shock of his words filter out into your physical features. Is that…a smirk? Does Captain Price find all this amusing? Or did he enjoy licking your juices off his fingers?

She’s fucking delicious.

That’s what Captain Price said to Nikola after he was done. He wasn’t slow about it either. Price took each finger into his mouth, one by one, and savored it all before those words dripped from his lips.

Your cheeks flame, and you cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Why should I continue to help you?”

You’re pushing again, throwing up your walls. It’s habit. It’s survival. It’s what you fall back on every goddamn time. The very act is instinctual, and you hate that it is, because you don’t want to fight with Price.

Watching him now, you’re enticed by him. He’s dressed down in his uniform. Gone is the utility belt and bulletproof vest. He’s down to his basics, and Price looks fucking good. The space between your thighs heat, and you absently flex your hips where you stand, adjusting yourself without actually doing so.

“Because I can get Nikola off your back,” answers Price. “I can make Dimitri disappear. You won’t ever have to deal with them again.”

“Dimitri pays me a lot of money while I work his room. And why should I care about what you think is best for me?”

“I’ll be doing you a favor.” Price gestures at you, open palmed. “But you need to do me a favor in return.”

You laugh. “Quid pro quo. Got it.”

“If that’s how you want to see it,” replies Price, clearly growing annoyed with this back and forth. “We’ve been over this. You said you were fine with it.”

It’s true. You did say that. But you also said that you were allowed to back out at any time and for any reason. Price agreed to that condition.

“I don’t think it’s worth the effort,” you murmur, glancing away from Price’s intense stare.

“I’m not doing all this for shits and giggles, love.” Price moves into your space and you’re forced to look up at him. “Dimitri Radovic works for a dangerous man. And I’m after that man.”

You shrug, putting up a front. “There are plenty of dangerous men in the world. How is this different?”

Price takes a deep, calming breath. You’re agitating him, working him up, and you like it. “You think I handle petty criminals?”

No. Captain Price is British Special Forces, which means he handles people you’d never actually want to meet in real life.

“I’m aware that you’re likely not after the local drug dealer.”

Price snorts and then he runs his hand through his brown hair. This one action makes it a bit messy, like he just rolled out of bed. For a moment, you picture that very image of Price waking up in the morning beside you. Your heart flutters.

“Are you willing to do this?” he asks. When you open your mouth to answer, Price cuts in before you can get a word out. “And actually try.”

“Fine,” you acquiesce. “I will try. But only if we discuss what it is we’re doing.”

It doesn’t matter how embarrassing this conversation might be, the two of you need to hash it out, to lay out exactly what needs to be said and by who.

“Good,” nods Price. He takes another deep breath, and then suddenly looks nervous, like he isn’t sure where the two of you should start.

You tug on the hem of your cocktail dress. “How do you want me?” you ask.

“Excuse me?” Price’s head snaps up, his eyes a bit wide.

“Is this where you want to do it?” You gesture at the room and the table you stand next to. Price flushes. He clears his throat, almost chokes. “What do you think I mean?” you say with a slow sultriness.

Do you have an effect on him? Did he truly enjoy the taste of you? Is he picturing that in his own mind? Because you’re thinking about it. You want to know what thoughts swirl around in his head.

“This is fine.” Price fiddles with the recorder. You note his slight nervousness and the light twitching of his fingers.

You nod. “Okay. How should we go about this?”

You’ve certainly faked many an orgasm, but it has always happened during sex. This is entirely staged. Made up. You’re not an actress, and everything about this feels awkward.

“We do what comes natural,” answers Price, as if that somehow answers your question.

You don’t like that answer. It leaves too much open for interpretation. But you don’t know what the two of you should do short of doing the act itself.

“Fine,” you agree. “But you’re taking the lead on this.”

He glances up at you. Price’s grin is infectious. “You like to be led in the bedroom?”

You immediately punch him in the chest and then promptly shake your hand. “Fuck. You’re solid.”

His grin widens before he glances down at the tape recorder in his hand. That lovely smile of his starts to fall away, disappearing like melting snow. He taps it against his open palm once…twice…and then gently places it next to you on the table.

“Follow my lead,” he murmurs, his features almost solemn as he presses the button to begin recording.

The right light is on, bright and bold. There is a brief pause of silence, and then Price steps into your space, one hand resting on your hip while the other rests against the top of the table. He leans in, trapping you against the edge of the wood. Instinct has you reaching out, placing one hand against his firm chest to keep some semblance of distance.

Price’s eye contact is intense. Unbreakable.

You immediately think of his hand between your legs, touching your clit, fingering your wetness, and how after he collected you on his fingers, Price wouldn’t look away from your face until he was in the interrogation room.

“You want more than my fingers, don’t you?” Price leans in a bit more until he’s almost standing between your legs.

You’re so surprised by his words that your mind completely spaces. Every word and phrase utterly exits your head like leaves in the wind. All you do is nod, as if the tape recorder could pick it up.

“No,” he murmurs, his pelvis resting against your own. “I need to hear you say the words.”

This is your chance. This is your turn. Ball is in your court.

“I need you. John. Please. I—” Your voice cuts out when Price’s hand on your hip squeezes, draws you closer.

“Yes, love? Use your words.” His voice is a purr. A soft caress.

“I need your cock. Please. I need you inside me.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Price abruptly pulls away and picks up the tape recorder. His leaving is a shock. A blow. You nearly stumble forward from his sudden absence.

Price shuts off the recording, rewinds it, and then hits the button to play it back. As it goes on, it is incredibly clear to you how staged it sounds. There is nothing remotely believable about it. Price’s mouth forms into a frown which only deepens by the second.

“Nikola won’t believe that,” you murmur, saying the thing you’re both thinking.

Price shuts off the recording. “Why not?”

“Would you believe that?” you question, head tipping to the side.

Price sighs loudly. “No. I wouldn’t. It sounds like two people talking.”

“Exactly.”

It does sound like two people talking. There isn’t anything breathy or sexy or erotic about the recording. It’s supposed to sound like the two of you are having sex, that his cock is buried inside you, and you should be begging him for more.

“It’s what we have,” shrugs Price. “It’ll have to do.”

“Wait.” You can’t believe you’re about to throw around this idea, but fuck it, you’ll take the risk. “It doesn’t sound believable because you only hear our voices. There isn’t any realism to it.”

Price crosses his arms. “What do you suggest?”

While you don’t want to be helpful, getting Nikola off your back sounds good, and you could give a shit about what happens to Dimitri. Someone will eventually take that VIP room, and the money will return.

“I could—Fuck,” you mutter, running a hand over your face. “I could touch myself. Have the recorder close. Let it pick up the sounds…” You wave your hand in the air absently, trying to get your point across without having to actually say the words out loud.

“Pick up the wet sounds you’ll make as you pleasure yourself,” finishes Price.

“Yes,” you say slowly, holding out the s a bit like a rattling snake.

Price takes a step forward. It is slow. Deliberate. There is something primal about the way his hips lightly sway with the movement. “And where do I fit into this?”

You swallow back the little moan that wants to escape your throat. “You need to be close enough that the microphone will pick you up.”

Price smirks. “I’ll need to be almost on top of you to make it sound believable. You want me that close to you while your hand is between your legs?”

“Depends,” you reply, squaring your shoulders. “Are you going to be a gentleman about it? Or a creep?”

Price drops his arms and then picks up the recorder, erasing everything that just occurred. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.”

I’ll be whatever you want me to be, love.

“Then that’s what we’ll do, Captain.” Your voice is breathy, almost needy, and you hope he doesn’t hear it. “You stand close to me.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, and you hear the genuine concern in his voice as he takes another step toward you.

You swallow, trying to steady your racing nerves. “I’m sure.”

Price sets up the tape recorder and then presses the red button. He nods, indicating that you should go ahead.

A brief flare of embarrassment pauses your hand. You’re the one who proposed this and now you’re scared? Turning tail? No. You need to see this through.

Slowly, you part your legs enough for your hand to slide between. The heels you wore to work are long gone, and you go up on your toes, the curve of your ass resting against the edge of the table as you make room for your hand.

Your fingers find your underwear, push the delicate fabric aside, and you’re already so wet that you inhale sharply when your fingers slide through it. You start to swirl one finger around your clit. Each is a delicate little stroke that teases and draws forth bits of pleasure.

The need to look at Price is strong, almost overwhelmingly so, but you keep your gaze fixated at a flat point of concrete. It is safety, a way to bring yourself back to reality.

But all of that is shattered. All of it is destroyed. Yanked right out from under you.

Price moves into position, standing directly in front of you. One of his hands reaches out to your bare thigh, his fingers dancing across your skin in an upward movement toward the hem of your black cocktail dress.

“Fuck. You’re gorgeous, darling,” croons Price. “Look so good like this.”

The praise goes straight to your core. Clenching around nothing, your thighs shake, and you hear Price’s soft inhalation as his other hand rests on the opposite thigh. His hands are warm and rough. You want them everywhere.

Price lightly squeezes your thigh as the same moment you begin working your clit a little faster.

“Putting on a show for me?” Price’s head drops, his forehead pressing against your temple. He leans in a bit, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek. “All for me.”

A whimper leaves your lips. Hangs in the air. Price catches it, responds to it by sliding his hands to the back of your thighs to lift you off the ground and onto the table. The black cocktail dress immediately reacts, sliding to your hips, revealing the sight between your legs easily.

For a brief moment, you almost clamp them shut, but Price is swift, peppering you with praise that makes them fall wide.

“That’s better. Isn’t it?” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of your face as the peak of your orgasm starts to ascend.

It’s about to crest, to tip over the edge, and fall into oblivion. You’re wet, and that is very clear by what you’re hearing. But you also hear Price’s breathy, almost heavy inhalations and exhalations. His hands squeeze and massage your skin, fingers itching to touch you. And his lips, which are surprisingly soft, keep brushing against your cheekbone.

All of it is too much, and you come undone, hips jerking as the orgasm rolls through your body. It is not faked. It is not staged. But it is soft, and gentle. Nothing earth-shattering about it. Just pure, simple pleasure.

“John,” you breathe, turning your head a bit to meet him. “I—I need your cock. Please.” It’s easy to say the words. It’s easy for them to fall from your lips for him.

Price releases one thigh and wraps his hand around your throat. He squeezes lightly, and turns your face so that you can look into his eyes.

“It’s my turn, love. Spread those fucking legs for me.”

You’re so obedient. Perfect. Falling wide and then wider.

Price is gentle as he releases your throat and then grabs your wrist, guiding your hand away from your pussy, only to replace it with his own. The moment his fingers brush against you, you moan, hips rolling into his touch.

His lips are parted, and through half-closed eyes, you watch his gaze move from your face to the space between your legs. Price can see everything. You know this, and that only makes you that much more eager for his touch.

Those fingers of his trail upward, touching every spot, only to withdraw. The retreat is heartbreaking, but short-lived. Price brings those fingers to his mouth to savor your flavor. He tastes each digit that is coated in your juices, and the very sight of him enjoying you again sends your body into a shiver.

“So sweet,” he says softly, before returning his fingers to your sex.

This time, Price slides one, thick finger into your pussy. You clench around him, moan, head falling back to expose your throat. Price groans, runs his sticky lips over your neck as he sets a pace with his finger. With it, he presses his thumb to your clit, pressing and swirling.

“Fuck you’re tight,” groans Price. Your pussy responds by sucking on his finger, drawing him in as his thumb hits just the spot on your clit to cause your hips to buck into his touch. “Can’t wait to feel you around my cock.”

With one hand pressing into the top of the table, you reach out with the other, grabbing Price’s wrist as he finds a pace that has you a whimpering, moaning mess. Your hair is everywhere. Your dress, which is damaged and beyond saving, is shoved up around your hips. Price’s arm moves with the pump of his fingers.

He is not unmoved. The hand on your thigh is fierce, digging into your flesh, and he keeps brushing his mouth against his skin like he longs to kiss you but retreats every time. The pleasure building in the base of your spine bursts, thrusts forward, explodes outward.

You cry out, clenching hard around Price’s finger. Price’s answer is a groan.

There isn’t any time for you to come down from it before Price is withdrawing his hand, pressing on your stomach to push you flat onto the table.

“I’m gonna taste you now, love. Yeah?” Price’s timbre is its own begging. You hear it in the slight break between syllables. He wants you.

You nod, clawing at him, at the table, at anything you can hold on to.

“Please,” you beg. “I need you, John.”

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and then Price’s mouth is on you, sucking your clit into his mouth.

It’s a sharp ache, a dangerous glow of need that bursts behind your eyes. You nearly jump off the table from it. Price releases your clit only to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit in quick flicks.

Price is enthusiastic, eating you without care for himself. He chases and chases until you’re done, crying.

“Fuck. Please. John. John!” Your thighs tighten around his head and Price smiles against your pussy.

“Be a good girl and come for me.” Price lightly flicks his tongue against your clit, and that’s it. You’re done. “I want to hear you.”

Your entire body shakes, lifting off the table, curling forward, clawing at Price’s arms. When he releases your clit, Price’s arms go around you, dragging you to the very edge of the table.

Not caring that you’re now a fucking mess, you reach for Price, palming him through his pants. His hips reflexively roll against you, and he groans, his fingers digging into your skin as you continue to stroke him.

Your fingers curl around the belt, and pull him close. “I want your cock. I want you inside me.”

Every word is true. Fuck the audio. Fuck the interrogation. You want Price to fucking use you until you’re both empty.

Price’s hand closes over your own, and gently guides your hand away. At first, you’re confused, believing he’s rejecting you after all that. But then his hand is back on the belt, undoing the buckle, sliding it out with one hand, tossing it aside.

“Come here. Edge of the table. Sit up.” You follow the command, sliding forward. “Arm around my neck.” Complying, you slide your arms around the back of his neck, locking them there.

Price is staring you down, keeping you focused on his face. You’re entranced, enamored, desire pumping through your veins like a wildfire. You hear a zipper sliding along its track, the shuffle of clothes, and then Price’s hands are angling your hips.

This is it. This is the moment Price sinks inside you.

“What do you need?” asks Price, voice lusty yet serious.

“I need you inside me,” you answer, the words from your lips a pleading enticement to slip inside.

Price’s eyelids flutter and then he rests his forehead against yours. You feel it then, his cock, rock hard and thick, sliding through your wetness. He rocks his hips, moving slowly, the head of his cock rubbing your clit with each light thrust.

There is no penetration. And you almost hate it, but then Price is rubbing against you, sliding up and down your sex, rubbing against your clit with each movement, and suddenly you don’t care anymore. If this is what Price is going to give you, you’ll take it.

It’s a back and forth. A wet rocking as your bodies slide against one another.

You’re already strung out on the previous three orgasms, and the fourth is on you like an animal biting at your ankles. It is sharp and fast and bold. So loud that all you can do is hang on to Price as his hips stutter against you.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’m gonna come inside you, yeah? Be a good girl and keep it all in once I’m done.”

You nod, eager for it. Price’s head falls against the side of your face, and his lips press against your ear. He speaks so softly you almost don’t hear him.

“Keep your hips still.”

There is a brief pause, and then warmth explodes onto the inside of your thigh where leg meets pelvis. It’s just you and Price, and your combined breathing. The silence stretches, and then Price hits the button on the tape recorder to shut off the microphone.

He steps back and your arms fall away from around his neck. Price is stuffing himself back into his pants, as his head sweeps back and forth like he’s looking for something. You’re frozen, a little frazzled with Price’s cum slowly sliding down the inner crease of your leg.

Price heads for one of the sofas, snagging a worn blanket. He brings it back to you, draping it over your shoulders before grabbing your hips and helping you to the ground. Your legs are wobbly and nearly slip out from under you.

“You can clean up in a minute,” he says reassuringly, his warm palm resting softly against your cheek. Then, Price moves his hand to your back, grabbing the tape recorder and ushering you toward the door.

All you can do is follow, still in disbelief that everything fell completely out of control, tumbling toward…what? This. Whatever the fuck it is.

When the two of you reach the interrogation room, Price points to a spot near the wall. “Stay there.”

You deliberately stand elsewhere as he rewinds the tape, pushing into the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Nikola and Price stare each other down. It is then that you notice that Price’s lips are still glossy with your wetness.

Price hits the play button and you blanch. The audio is loud. Blaring. There is no mistaking what is happening on that tape.

“Is this not enough for you, Nikola?” asks Price, face stony.

Nikola snarls and Price retreats, heading for the door. He throws it open and grabs your arm, hauling you along with him. Nikola’s snarl drops when you enter, a realization forming on his features. He didn’t believe Price that you had slept with him, and now there is no doubt.

Without saying anything, Price reaches under the blanket and between your legs, his fingers swiping up of his cum that still remain on your inner thigh. Price presents those fingers to Nikola.

“I came inside that tight cunt. And let me tell you, Nikola. It was fucking good.”

Nikola’s face flames, and your own heats in answer, not because of the words but because just minutes ago, Price was sliding his cock over your soaked pussy.

Price guides you back to the door, releases your arm to open it, and then promptly smacks your ass. The spank is quick and sharp, and it juts you forward through the door. There is no time for you to spin around and snap at him because Price has slammed the interrogation door shut again.

“Is this better proof for you?”

When Nikola shows his teeth, Price shakes his head. He glances between the cum dripping from his fingers and Nikola’s face. Back. Forth. Back again.

“No answer? Fine,” shrugs Price. He pulls his hand back like he’s about to smack Nikola. But he doesn’t. Price doesn’t make contact at all. He whips his hand toward him, not with an intention to strike Nikola but to launch the cum at him. It hits Nikola’s face.

There is a brief moment of silence and then Nikola shrieks. Rages. He’s a feral animal as he tries to throw himself at Price.

Price doesn’t even acknowledge the outburst. He leaves the interrogation room, securing the door behind him. You’re frozen. Legs shaking. You’re fuming but you’re also impressed with how calm Price is.

He glances at you and frowns. “We need to clean you up.”

We.

“I’m fine,” you stammer, turning your gaze on Nikola through the glass.

“You’ve been through a lot. You deserve a shower. Clean clothes. Food.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

Price blinks. Shifts on his feet. “I’ll take you back to that room you woke up in. There is a bathroom connected to it. Clean up and I’ll grab some clothes for you to change into you. Take your time and then come up. Get you a hot meal.”

He takes a few steps back toward the door to the main hall. “Come on.”

You want to fight. To argue. To bite back. And just as you think it, you also remember his hands on your body and the way he begged. That didn’t sound like acting. It couldn’t have been because Price touched you with his fingers, with his mouth, and with his tongue.

Reluctantly, you follow Price into the room you previously woke up in.

“Shower is through there.” He points at a secondary door. “It’ll have everything you need.”

It feels like a dismissal, but you see his gaze and how it lingers on you. There is no denying that there is something greater at work here, some battle that’s happening that neither of you can see but both of you can feel.

Price dismisses himself with a nod, closing the door behind him.

The blanket is easy. It’s the dress that’s a torn mess. It falls apart in pieces, and nothing is better than when the fabric is gone and the hot water of the shower rains over your skin. The steam invades your lungs, and while you clean yourself of Price’s touch, you wish that you didn’t have to.

You’d like his scent to linger on you a bit longer.

Staying under the falling water for far too long, you finally decide to emerge, only to find clothes on your bed. It’s nothing fancy. Just slim sweatpants, a tank top, a zip-up sweatshirt, and tennis shoes that might run a little big but will have to do the job.

Every nerve ending is buzzing, coiled with anticipation as if the two of you are about to come together again. But that won’t happen. That was it, and you’ll have to accept it.

Running your hands over your face, you reluctantly leave, heading back upstairs. You expect to find Price alone, but you come to a halt when you notice Gaz, Soap, and Ghost all standing around him. They must have just arrived because there are still droplets of water on the three of them like they’ve been out in the rain too long.

The door slams behind you and they all cease talking, turning in your direction. You notice the flex of Price’s hand and his sudden attention, his entire body turning in your direction. But he doesn’t speak first. It’s Soap.

“Our guest downstairs is ready to talk.” He turns toward Price. “Not sure what you did, but I thought he’d never break.”

Price briefly glances at him before returning to stare at you.

You know exactly what he did.

What the both of you did.

taglist:

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fairysluna · 1 year

Note

because there isn’t enough soft!harwin, i’d like to request harwin trying to teach reader how to fight but they end up being silly and play fighting :)

i think i change the plot a little, but i really hope you like this anyway!!🤍

Your body fell to the ground, forming a cloud of dust in the air as you groaned. You looked upon your opponent and noticed the smug grin on his face, making you roll your eyes. He stretched his arm and offered you his hand for you to take, but your pride was big enough to not let him help you, so you just stood up on your own, shook the dust off your clothing and grabbed the hilt of your sword, getting ready to fight against him once again. This time, though, you hope you wouldn't humiliate yourself.

"I know you can do better than that," Harwin teasingly said, the charming smile never leaving his lips as he chuckled in the low watching your eyebrows furrowed and your lips pursuing with annoyance towards his playful words. You sighed, already feeling the exhaustion of the exercise you have been doing for two hours already. You were not ready to give up yet, but Harwin did not bend and was reluctant to give you a victory, even when it was a mere training session. "Your real opponents will never let themselves lose because you, my lady, threw a tantrum," he had told you, seconds before you lifted your sword and tried to smack it against him, failing miserably.

It hit right in the middle of his shield, and you used so much strength in your swing that it ended up being stuck in the wood. Harwin smirked as he pushed you gently, an action that caught you off guard and made you fall back to the dirt. You whined, softly, but before you could react any further, Harwin threw the shield with the sword, and lifted your body up without major effort, as if you were the lightest thing on Earth. You gasped out of impression, feeling his strong hands surrounding your tired and sweaty frame. Your fastened breathing smacking against his plump lips, as the proximity between your bodies was growing. Your shoes were barely touching the ground as he held you so tight against his armor. His deep brown eyes fixed on your face, drawing a path from your eyes to your lips and vice versa.

"You're such a competitive little thing, aren't ya?" He whispered, his nose brushing against yours as his rebel curls caressed your warm cheeks in such a soothing way. Sparkling eyes staring back at him, unconsciously begging for what your heart was longing for. One of his hands grabbed the nape of your neck, his thumb stroking the soft skin of your throat as he smiled in such a tempting way that made your knees weak. "I know what you want, my lady," he told you, murmuring. "and I'm willing to give it to you… just if you win in the next round."

With those words he let your frame go, and you opened your eyes as you woke up from the trance that he put you in. Once again you had been a victim of those puppy brown eyes, so charming, chivalry and kind. So loving, and devoting. You clenched your jaw as he laughed, your cheeks burning at this point while the butterflies flew uncontrollably around your belly. Inevitably, a subtle smile appeared on your face, for you were unable to hold it back; that was the effect he always had on you. You bit your lip and you grabbed your sword after pulling it out of the shield, your body turning into a fight position.

"Go on, I know you can do it, love," he cheered you up. And so you swing your sword one more time… it was a weak and ineffective movement the one you performed, and still you managed to win. Once Harwin pressed his lips against yours in such a hungry and passionate way, you realized that he had let himself lose.

But you did not complain.

BOLD MEANS I COULDN’T TAG YOU

GENERAL TAG LIST — @borikenlove @aemondsversion @jvpit3rs @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @valeskafics @clairacassidy @aemondx @arcielee @randomdragonfires @theminesofmoria @gothtargaryen @melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1

HARWIN TAG LIST — @hb8301 @megatardisbaby

#drabbles #harwin strong imagine #harwin strong x you #harwin strong x y/n #harwin strong x reader #harwin strong #harwin x y/n #harwin x reader #harwin x you #hotd au #hotd fluff #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd x reader

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

lego house

: ̗̀➛ frank castle x fem!reader

warnings — mentions of death, loss, canon typical violence, a lil splash of angst, no smut tho i was in the feels

a/n — i don’t know where this came from but lego house by ed sheeran came on and the words are so beautiful even though it’s an old song, like it’s just gorgeous and now i think it’s frank coded so here you go! hopefully this makes sense, i wrote it sitting in my car before going to the gym so i’m a bit wired on pre workout heheheeh okay bye. by the way it’s not timed to the song, but if you play it over while reading the fic i feel like it’s a nice effect. or don’t!! whatever floats ya boat 💞

✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬ ʚ♡ɞ ⚬ * ੈ✩‧₊ ₊‧ ✩ ੈ * ⚬

— i’m gonna pick up the pieces, and build a lego house. if things go wrong we can knock it down…

“Hey. Look at me. Look at me—“ You can’t see anything past the burning tears in your eyes. It’s another trick, something that isn’t real but it feels so real, sounds so real… fuck, even his hands feel the same. He couldn’t be here, though. He couldn’t be here— “I’m here, baby. Look at me. Please.”

“I miss you so bad, Frank. I don’t—“ You suck in a rough breath, air cracking it’s way down your throat through shuddered heaves. “I don’t know why I thought I could do it. I thought I could fix it… fix it for you. But I wasn’t strong enough. They’re gonna break me Frank. They— they know how.”

“Just open your fucking eyes, sweetheart. Please. Please… open those eyes. Come on…” Frank’s breath in on your face. You don’t want to open them, because you know what you’ll see. Frank’s body, twisted into a mangled corpse. Dead. It’s what they keep showing you, what these people know will drive you to insanity.

You can smell him, though. A mix of dirt and that bright pink laundry detergent you forced him to buy. How did they know he smells like… “Come on. Come back, baby. Fuck.”

“They keep showing me you. I can’t keep seeing you, Frank. Not when I know you aren’t—“ You hiccup on a sob, feeling the pain everywhere.

You’d begged them to break your bones, tear your teeth out one by one. Anything would be less painful than this. Feeling his hands, rough and so fucking sure of themselves, cupping your face gently. Almost like they know you. This pain wasn’t one you could take any more of.

“You’re dead. You… you aren’t real. I failed. They— god, they hurt you so bad, Frankie. I’m so—“ You choke again, on your own inhale.

“No, no no no. Just look at me. Look at me right now, I promise you I’m here. Please.” His voice cracks, and you can’t bare it. He’s calling you, whispering your name in a shattered song you can’t ignore. Even if it means seeing it for the last time. Falling into oblivion and never resurfacing. Even if you knew you shouldn’t.

It was Frank. And he wanted you to open your eyes.

So you did.

— i’m gonna paint you by numbers, and colour you in. if things go right we can frame it, and put you on a wall.

Frank held you together. His hands were never strong enough, arms never warm, body too hard, but he held you as best he could.

He could see what they’d done to you. Whatever it was, your mind was scrambled— you could hardly tell left from right, and you kept begging for him to stay. Frank didn’t think there was anything that could break him much anymore, but that fucking voice, those eyes rimmed with tears… that wouldn’t leave him.

“I’m right here, baby. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Stay right here with you, okay?” He gathers your bruised, marred body and tucks you into him. Even like this, your head naturally falls under his chin.

He buried his face into your hair. He breathes in deep, knowing you were under him, alive, and he’d get you for even just another moment— it allows him that one breath. His arms pull you against his chest, your skin cold but shivering. Alive. Alive. Alive.

“Frank…” You sigh. Your body shudders, and Frank runs with you. Like you were never there, he carries you up and out of the hellhole they had you in, and brings you into the light. Sunshine glitters on your skin, and Frank can’t take in the sight. You were losing blood… losing yourself. “You can’t be here. I k-know you aren’t real.”

“Shh. Shh, just keep your eyes open. You’re okay. I’m here.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You weren’t wrong. They nearly killed him. They broke his ribs, knocked out his teeth, gutted him so bad he swore he was in half. But he made it out. He crawled and dragged his way out of there, because you needed him. You mumble something else, and then your eyes roll back, and you’re gone again.

— i think the braces are breaking, and it’s more than i can take.

“Please. Please. You have to come back, baby. You gotta come… please.” Your hands were gathered in his, lips pressed to battered knuckles as he prayed to you like a deity. You couldn’t believe how real it felt.

You managed to open your eyes— you think. They were dry, and you wanted to close them again, but this sight was different. All you’d seen for the past week was his body. Tied to a chair. Beaten and not moving. But this… he wasn’t covered in red here. He was pale, almost, but his hair was dark and grown out. Nearly curly, if he let it get longer.

He said something, but the sound was muffled by you crying. As heavenly as the sight was— and it was, it wasn’t real. And you couldn’t bare it.

“Stop! Just stop— I can’t see him anymore! Please!” You scream to whoever’s listening, and the mirage of your deepest desire, the constructed image of your hearts one reason to pump any more blood through your veins, it moves with you. “This is more than I c-can take. Please, just make it stop.”

“It’s okay, I’m here. Can’t you see me?” Franks voice is soft as you sob, pulling your hands away from him. It’s mean— cruel, the way he feels so warm, and it feels so wrong to pull away. You want to fall into him.

“Can you make it stop, Frank?” You don’t recognise your voice. It’s shattered, like a broken vase under Franks leather boot. He looks at you, and your breath catches.

It always does when he looks at you.

He doesn’t let you get far. Mirage Frank yanks your arms back, the right one searing in pain, but you don’t think about it. All you think about is feeling him. How you can feel the cold, wet slip of his tears over your fingertips as he holds you against his cheek.

You shouldn’t be able to feel that.

It killed you, in all those images they sent of him. He was cold, and didn’t feel like Frank anymore. He wasn’t him.

“I’m here. I am. Why…” He looks away, and you want to scream again. His palms are warm, calloused in a way you have mapped out. Why isn’t he looking at you? “Why’s she still like this?! You said you could fucking fix it!”

You squeeze his hand, and he stops yelling. You shake, shudder. It’s not real. It can’t be real. It’s another trick— a cruel, horrible trick that the fire under your palm is really, truely your Frank. That he horsely whispers your name, and you stretch your fingertips higher, grazing his cheekbone.

“There you are, baby. You see me?” He’s so gentle, and it hurts so bad. Your arm, your heart. It can’t be real. This is too much. You… you have to ask. You have to. You were weak, and scared, and you had to ask again. Is this real? Are you my Frank, or are you going to fade away again? Please….please be mine.

“Please…” Is all you manage to form, and light brightens the room. You were on your side, and he comes closer. The bed dips— a bed. A bed. “What— no. This isn’t—“

“It’s real. Stop, it’s real. I’m fuckin’ real, sweetheart. Please just… don’t look away. Stay with me.” Your eyes were wide now, unrelenting and taking him in. You reach higher than his cheek, the curl of his hair hanging down his face. His hair… it wasn’t this long before.

His hair grew. It’s longer. Nearly touching his eyebrow. He… he was here.

“Oh, god. Frank.” You sob, and there’s no pain when there should be. You yank and grab and pull at whatever living part of him you can find, which is everything. You thread your hands through his soft hair— feeling it. A sign of life and the living parts of him you can see and hold.

You feel the way he curls against you, dwarfing you. Murmuring words on your skin, kissing you wherever he can reach. You’d move if you could, but you can’t go anywhere but into him. You want to claw your way to his middle and make a home there, feel the beat of his heart against your ear for an eternity and then some.

“I thought you—“

“Shh. Please, just stay with me.” He muffles the broken words into your hair, and you remember them.

You begged him to stay with you. Every-time you were sent those images in your mind, a technology you still couldn’t understand, of Frank crumpled and clinging to life, you’d beg him to stay, and he would fade through your fingers every time. He never spoke, just looked at you, and faded away.

This one begs for you. He says your name, pulls you close, clings to you like you are a lifeline that could reel him to the safety of your arms. It’s how you remember him holding you. It feels… real. You just nod back, shuffling so your head slotted under his jaw.

if you’re broken i’ll amend ya, and keep you sheltered from the storm that’s raging on.

“They broke me. I—“ You choke on your words, and Frank shushes you. “They made me think you were dead. They kept me down there for weeks and messed with my brain… I saw you dead, Frank.” You whisper after a while. You still couldn’t believe it was real. That he was real, his fingers dancing along your spine. “I shouldn’t of run. I’m sorry, I just thought if I could get rid of them you’d… fuck, I can’t see straight.”

“Shh, don’t try talk. You’re okay. We’ll fix ya. I got you.” You trust him. The warmth of his words travel low, over your neck and down your chest, nestling in your crumpled excuse of a heart. It beats a little harder at the intrusion, welcoming it with open arms. “You’ll get better. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll get better.” Repeating the words, hearing them from your own charred voice makes you solid in this reality. You don’t know what you did to deserve this type of warmth, but you cling to it tightly. You’ll never let it go again. “How… how did you find me? You were so…broken.”

“I’ll always find you. Hell or high water. I’ll come for you.” You were fading into exhaustion, out of touch with where you were, but in his arms you felt safe. A wave of it came over you— love. It was scary, but you allowed it to wash over your mind and body, feeling it seep into you. The tides of it’s meaning covering you like a blanket, the fear nothing like the feeling of loss.

You dont know if you’d ever of admitted it before— this feeling. If he ever would. Maybe it took nearly losing each other to be reminded of how important this way. You’d both tried to drift along in the storm, but it was over now, and you had to face it.

Frank feels it, too.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, but there’s no light anymore when your eyes flutter open and he speaks again.

“I… I never told you. That—“ he swallows.

“Yeah. Me too.” You press your lips to his sternum, the place where he’s surely locked your own heart away with his.

“Yeah?” You nod, kissing him there again. His fingers thread in your hair, holding you closer, but it’s impossible. It’s the wanting of it, though. To be as close as possible, as if you could be pushed together and merged to one.

You drift to sleep, both clutching each other even when you’re deeply unconscious. Maybe it took the end of the world to get here, but you think that it was worth it. The end of the world would be worth it a thousand times over if he was at the peak, because you know what it’s like without him. And no world is worth that.

and out of all these things i’ve done, i think i love you better now.

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x you #marvel tv #the punisher x reader #the punisher x you #marvel #the punisher x y/n

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boundinparchment · 2 months

Text

Dream a Little Dream of Me - LIX

Celestia had a cruel sense of humor. He knew this, even before his days as a student. But to be given a soulmate? Now, when he openly blasphemed against the cursed island in the sky? He would outlive you and the dreadful fated bond that haunted your shared dreams. There was little point in this. He could at least put a Vision to good use. People were nothing but disappointments. He had no use for you. Until you pulled the bow across your instrument and awoke a part of him long buried by self-hatred and arrogance. Soulmate AU; Il Dottore/Female reader w/ established personality and backstory. Slow burn. Lore and world speculation and interpretation within; follows canon story where possible. Fic is rated explicit; MDNI. This chapter contains references to war and the consequences of it. Mind the tags from AO3 as always. Chapter on AO3 here.

You suppressed a shiver as you gazed out at the vast wasteland before you. Nothing but permafrost and evergreen pines for miles upon miles. For once, you cursed your mask; the metal was lined on the inside, but that did not prevent the bitter freeze from permeating. The wind shook your hood’s fur lining and you shifted your weight.

The strange box was hooked up to various generators, striking against the shining white snow and ice. Panels had opened to reveal conical pieces that faced towards the testing area.

Zandik pulled you away before you could ask questions, his grin as wide as the day he showed you the cello.

You were given no details and could only pick apart certain words spoken between the two Harbingers and their Archon. Your Snezhnayan was passable but it was not as though you’d put much time into trying; music was the true common tongue, in your opinion.

Alone, you were left to ponder Natlan’s landscapes and its people. Supposedly, the Archon and the supposed Sovereign, who served Murata for centuries prior, were unable to come to a resolution over a matter that captured the attention of their people. It reminded you of an old tale about an abducted queen whose disappearance caused a decade-long conflict so dramatic that even the gods themselves took sides. Zandik explained only that the people sided with the Sovereign while the military forces were aligned with the Archon; he corrected you when you called it a coup d'état, for the Sovereign was the true incumbent.

“Whose side are the Fatui on, then?” you had asked.

You could not see a clear side: both contained the common people merely fighting for a cause.

“We need only the Gnosis; it does not matter to us what side wins. But consider this: Liyue is without Morax, and Focalors is dead. The age of gods has passed. Doesn’t humanity deserve to control the narrative again?”

Zandik posed it in the same way he gestured to a question from the Captain, a hand open and his palm up, hiding nothing.

Your soulmate stepped away to once again check configurations before he took a place between you and the Tsaritsa. He reminded you less like the ravens that haunted the high towers of the palace and more like a peacock, head tilted slightly and shoulders back.

All it took was the press of a button.

The ground shook, a slight rumbling making its way through your body as the wasteland beyond began to crumble. An invisible hand cracked the permafrost, loosened soil and water, and then dragged its fingers through the forest; trees fell of their own accord, some uprooted while others snapped free of their trunks. Birds and squirrels and other wildlife scattered in a dusty haze of snow and dirt.

Your body retained the echoes of the vibrations, your very heart trembling, and when the debris settled, silence held the landscape in a death grip.

Absolute decimation.

And Zandik wore nothing but a prideful grin.

Large fissures and loosened ground were treacherous to navigate. Dispersed wildlife was both an ecological tragedy and a matter of food and resources.

What else would happen in another environment?

Your mind worked too quickly. Flooding, drought, both of which resulted in famine and displacement of people. In a city, the results would be devastating.

You’d felt such a sensation before that started in your chest and crawled down your limbs, the very fibers of your muscles vibrating as—

Zandik stepped forward and turned, addressing the Tsaritsa, his entire body angled at her.

“The full effects and consequences are in the notes I provided, which, upon approval, will be handed over to the Sovereign in exchange for a call for a ceasefire. During which, with myself and Pantalone present, we will demonstrate the weapon’s capabilities on a predetermined location; I believe that will be sufficient enough for Murata to hand over the Gnosis without further conflict. She may be passionate about the strategy of war but even she cares for her people enough to not let them suffer.”

He continued on but your ears were ringing now, pulse throbbing behind your eyes. You stared at Zandik and your stomach churned and your blood turned to ice, burning as it went. The image of him swam and thought not of the man hours earlier, nor the one who pressed a baton into your hand and showed you what it meant to feel powerful again.

You saw arrogance, disregard for all caught up in his web, one that you had woven for him every time he heard you play.

How you wished Celestia struck you down in that moment.

Fate was rarely ever so kind.

#dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore/female reader #il dottore/female reader #dottore x female reader #il dottore x female reader #genshin impact reader insert #soulmate au #x reader #x female reader #mdni

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birrdies · 5 months

Text

going home

780 words, secret life finale spoilers

The air snaps and bends around him as his pearl strikes the earth. The world tilts upside down. His legs fold beneath the panicked pitch of his weight, his body rolling in the grass and dirt. Every bump and bruise aches, his lungs burn down to their bases. He grabs fistfuls of dirt to pull himself up. A mess of limbs rushing under him to haul across the open grasslands. The armor on his shoulders might as well weigh a thousand pounds, as if his boots themselves are full of leadened water threatening to drag him back down.

Etho’s given plenty of thought to how he would die. In a game that deals its bidding in deaths and hearts and borrowed time, there leaves room for little else to ponder. The simplest misstep, an error in redstone wiring, a careless back turned to an open cave. These are all it takes to lose it all, and Etho’s always tried to be careful about every single one.

He’s died a lot of ways across these games. He’s burned, he’s fallen, he’s fought himself bloody, he’s dug himself down into his own grave, riddled with arrows. Every time he’s died, it’s been with some semblance of dignity. His heels dug into the ground, his sword in his hand, some naive yet flickering hope that he might just make it.

An arrow skims his leg, striking the dirt to his side. He staggers to the side, his breath hot and jagged as fractured glass in his throat. Every breath hurts, every step reverberates through his spine like each clap of thunder— each death of a friend turned enemy turned fallen. Green, yellow, red, and gray.

He’s never been hunted down. Not like this. Hounded, the teeth gnashing at his heels as he throws himself towards the house embedded in the hill. He can see the greens from here, walls fading into the trampled grass of their sheep farms and the soft hills that come over the roof. Gentle slopes, warm torch light, the idle sounds of sheep out front behind the fencing.

Home. A weird name for a weird place for a weird group of people. But it’s the first time Etho’s been willing to die for a place; if this is how he has to go out, he wants to be in the comfort of his own yard. The half-finished staircase, the portal without proper corners, the paintings hung on the wall, the scuff marks from where bookshelves were placed and moved and placed and moved over and over again— the heralds of a place well-weathered. A place built for living rather than surviving.

“I’m going home,” he forces between pants, speaking onto the night air and the sleeping hills ahead of him. He can almost reach out. He can almost touch it. “I’m dying in my home.”

Because he’s known since the day began, since before night faded, since before Cleo looked him in the eyes and they both knew. Since she told him, You’re my favorite, you know. You always have been.

He’s not going to win. He’s never really wanted to.

“He sounds like a wild animal that’s been wounded,” a voice jeers behind him, as he’s reaching the steps, familiar wood under his boots. “Let’s put him out of his misery.”

The hot breath is on the back of his neck. The air pops with the force of another ender pearl, and he’s not alone anymore. Scar cracks through thin air with a sword reared over his head; Etho can’t notch an arrow before the blade’s run straight through him, blood gushing from the split in his chest and staining golden stalks of wheat crimson. It happens so quickly he hardly feels the pain of it, only an immense pressure crushing his ribs.

Etho’s died a lot of different ways. Some more painful than the rest. And he’s almost always died alone. He’s used to dying alone. But he’s never died an animal: completely cornered, hopeless from the start. Dead before his feet even hit the ground, before he peered over the ledge of the tower and lost his footing. But he’s home. He made it home. The smell of the sheep’s wool tickles his nose. Before his vision starts to blur, blankets of green lying over the hilltops, the lights left on in a living room he’ll never come home to. The heat of a nearby torch prickles his cold fingertips as he grabs onto Scar’s wrists. A final attempt at making a stand. But Scar’s eyes are impartial and cold.

It’s not the first time Scar’s killed him, but Etho thinks it might be the worst.

#secret life spoilers #secret life #ethoslab #etho #gtws #secret life fic #life series fic

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joron1a-stardustlor · 4 months

Note

Do you have scottbing hcs because im starving

the way i very audiably gasped and started jumping up and down when i saw this

Dont you worry fellow bretherin i'll feed the few scottning shippers out there;

SCOTTNING HCS [Scott x Lightning]

(Miniscule warning for child abuse/neglect and toxic relation ships*)

-Hmmm calling them either muscledirt or stardirt and nobody can stop me

-nobody would really be suprised if they were told scott and lightning were dating, but they never made it official, everybody knows but they just dont mention it

-Evil power couple who do very mean shit together

-their relationship has about three moods they are either fighting,making out or crying

-Lightning gets cold easily, so often he cuddles up to Scott for warmth, heas always suprised at how warm his skin is

-Scott is an unhinged farm boy, the biter even, will often wait for lightning to walk into a room to merely jump out from above and attack as a form of affection

-On the other hand Lightning does it at the most random moments

-Unless your're Sam or Brick who constantly encounter them doing this, you wont know if theyre serious or just messing with eachother

-For the most part they do this for fun and like to think of it as their own special way of showing affection

-Mommy issues x daddy issues exclusively*

-Going off from the last one Lightning always wanted to talk about what happened between him and his dad to Scott but he wasnt sure how to

-Scott then proceeded to tell Lightning about his Ma and how she used to beat him on how for most his childhood had deal with her liking his sister and treating him like shit to help him feel more comfortable

-Lightning's Dad always had high expectations and put a lot of pressure on him and ignored him when he failed, how after Cameron won, His dad had been ignoring his existence to the present

-The two often bonded over their parental issues

-Scott grew up eating dirt and gruel, the most he can cook is toast, bacon and eggs on the other side lightning is can cook amazing steaks and salads

-Scott of course pretends to hate Lightnings cooking, but in reality he made the best steak and salad you could ever dream of

-Lightning always calls out Scott for how skinny he is and always forces him to eat more steak

-Scott often replies to this with when is all the muscle in your body you get from steak going to work on his brain

-Lightning was willing to teach Scott how to properly cook a meal, leaving him a few simple ingredients to which one lightning since he realized he was missing some, when he came back Scott already burned himself and caused a fire

-they were supposed to be making hot dogs that night

-Scott likes tell Lightning hes a shmuck for being all rich and succesful and dare him to spend a week with him on the farm, to which of course Lightning said yes

-He quit after learning that all they had for breakfeast was a can of corn

-The amount of internalized homophobia i can fit in these two

-The two were very nervous to tell their parent about dating amother man but both their families were supportive

-Lightning started to fall for scott around the time he and courtney broke up

-Lightning and the other members of team dude were trying help Scott cope with the fact that courtney was just using him

-On the inside Lightning was kinda happy they broke up, mostly bc he knew courtney wasnt good for Scott

-Scott and Lightning insult eachother as a form of flirting with the other however the two arent too big on regualr flirtjng and compliments unless they feel like it

-They bust out the good tunes on saturday nights with some imagine dragons bursting through the radio/j

-As I have mentioned before, Scott and Lightning arent too big on regular romance but they do have their moments,

-Scott tried to cook something for Lightning bc he was having a bad day, and completly messed up and burnt the thing to a crisp, he was near tears at this so they just wrapped themselves up in blankets and cuddled for a while

-Both Lightning and Scott have scars after roti and they often caress the others scars as a form of comfort or reasurrment

-Scott has undiagnosed PTSD and depression, he often feels the need to push his feelings down and cover up anything he might make others feel like he is a nuisance

-He often has Nightmares or Panic attacks of Fang, Lightning feels guilty bc he is not good at comforting people and often needs Sam's help to make sure Scott doesnt hurt himself,faint,or hyperventilate too much

-In these situations the best thing Lightning can do is hug Scott and hope it calms him down

-Lightning likes watching sports live on tv or even better in the actual stadium, his favorite sports to play/watch are Football and Basketball, Scott despite not playing it himself argues with Lightning saying Baseball is better

-Lightning responds saying if he likes baseball so much to name every baseball player

-They enjoy doing stupid shit together, shit that could get them in trouble with police, stealing things,shoplifting,jaywalking, well thats Scott for the most part, all Lightning has ever done is steal a really expensive motorcycle

-They enjoy the others hobbies a lot, Scott always goes to Lightnings games and Lightning is always up for watching Scott hit and break bottles with a baseball bat

-Scott is Pansexual

-Lightning is Bisexual

Srry idk how to end hc lists but ty so much for asking me to make one

Dinner has been served :3

#total drama #total drama revenge of the island #total drama hcs #total drama headcanons #td scott #td lightning #total drama scott #total drama lightning #scottning #Muscledirt #THEM THEM THWEM #abt the image btw ->#THE WAY SCOTTS LOOKING AT HIM IM GOING INSANE OVER THESE TWO :33333

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obae-me · 9 months

Note

Ooh! for the blurbs I wanna request Lucifer with hurt/comfort! What can I say bittersweet angst is my kryptonite >.< I hope you get over your writers block soon <3

You know I'm always capable of writing for my boy. And with hurt/comfort? I know exactly what to do for this!

And thank you! Writers block for me is like a chronic plague. I'll get over it, I always do. Thank you <3

---

TW: Blood, burning. It's all in a nightmare, but still beware.

---

Burning.

It always starts with the burning. Then it's followed by his brothers screams. He always tries to call out, but he gets suffocated by blood and ash. It's a nightmare. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows this. But he can't wake up. Can't stop his mind from panicking as he feels his heart beat out of his chest as he spirals through the sky like a raging inferno. The ground approaches. He hits it, sending dirt flying through the air as his body scores a trench into the earth. That didn't wake him up this time? He feels them, the phantom pains. Arms, wings, everything awash in a firey pain. Then, the sound of his brother's bodies striking solid ground all around him. Wait. This wasn't the same. That...sound... Lucifer's fingernails clawed through the ground as he dragged his nearly useless body over to where someone lay.

Wait, no, stop! This was---

He awoke suddenly, sweat dripping down his face. No, wait... he was... With a shaking hand, he rubbed the tears away from his eyes, getting out of bed. His limbs still felt the tingling after-effects of the dream. Lungs tight with panic, he stumbled over to his record player, his fingernails gripping the furniture as he steadied his disoriented mind. Music, something to calm him down. Without really paying much mind to the specific record, he threw a vinyl onto the player, heading back to his couch to sit down and listen to the song play.

He hadn't had a dream like that in a while... and no matter how much he tries to heal, to move on, the nightmares are always there to drag him back.

"Luci?"

His head lifted up, realizing he had been dangerously close to falling asleep again on the couch. He spies MC waving their hand through the cracked open door, trying to get his attention while refraining from intruding too much. They must've knocked. He hadn't heard them. "Come in." He ran a hand through his hair, sitting up and attempting to make himself presentable in this state.

They poked their head in first before allowing their body to follow, shutting the door behind them. "I was passing by and heard your music." As they took a step closer, it was clear they quickly observed the little distressed details, no matter how much Lucifer had tried to hide them. "Are... you alright?" They hesitated to ask Pride such a question but found themselves asking anyway, sitting beside him on the couch. "Can I do anything for you?"

The demon's sin seemed to fizzle a little, dampened by the unease still swirling in his stomach. "Simply... stay with me for a little while." His hand gently reached down, touching their shoulder, his touch trailing down to their hand where he was simply content to let his palm settle on top of theirs. "Just your company puts me at ease," he sighed. The grip on his hand tightened, his eyes actually widening in surprise as his arm was tugged, his torso pulled down into a hug. A different sort of heat flooded his body as his cheeks tinted a flustered sort of pink. He quickly got over himself, shaking his head a little and actually chuckling. "I suppose this is fine too... Thank you."

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc

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real-jane · 2 years

Text

everything, everything

[steve rogers x female reader]

summary: steve and his partner are undercover on assignment, hiding out as husband and wife. the line between reality and fiction is too thin, and steve can't take much more.

warnings: steve is v dumb, pining/longing/etc, smut, canon level violence, smut, and also some smut is in it.

a/n: thank you to @sanguineterrain for the original prompt: "How about a Steve x reader who have to go undercover as a married couple and oh NO, they're pining for each other and don't know it! Whatever shall they do?! 😳😏"

enjoy!

He’s too stunned to move when the doorbell rings, so she slips between Steve and the counter with pink-stung lips and hastens to answer it. All the air in the room rushes out with her.

She’s not supposed to kiss me when nobody is around to see her do it.

Three weeks. It’s only been three agonizing weeks. When did the fiction bleed into reality? When did his hands start aching to reach for her?

‘You get along so well already,’ Bucky had said, ‘it will be nice to be undercover with someone who doesn’t get on your nerves.’ Except… Steve has never had less clarity in his entire life, especially not now, after she kissed the daylights out of him.

The smoke detector is his only saving grace. The pancakes he got up early to make for breakfast are charred beyond recognition, and he throws open the window to let out the smoke… and whatever hot air is keeping his brain from actually processing.

“Everything okay, baby?” she calls from the front room. Steve clenches his jaw.

“Wouldn’t you know it–I burned breakfast,” he replies, in as chipper a tone as he can manage.

“That’s why my husband doesn’t go anywhere near the kitchen. I’m surprised you let him try, Betsy.” Ugh. Sharon. Her husband is on a permanent business trip to live with his other family, a fact that SHIELD had uncovered in the process of vetting the neighborhood. Wayne Carter is also a very good cook. Sharon Carter puts on a haughty face for a woman who hasn’t seen her husband in nine months. Betsy… the alias his partner wears like the Southern Belle she most certainly isn't… she hates Sharon, but she’s a good actress.

“Oh, Steve’s a wonderful cook! But I was distracting him.”

His ‘wife’s’ little giggle is enough to make Steve snap the spatula in half. He stares at the bisected plastic in shock.

“Bex, what do you say I take you out for breakfast?” Steve rubs his jaw and gives up on the pan, which is entirely unsalvageable. “Mimosas and crepes, yeah?”

“Steven Rogers, you’re gonna spoil me rotten.”

“Impossible.”

Steve can’t stop the panic rising in his chest. It isn’t supposed to be like this. She’s a fantastic agent, and that’s all. God–he wants to kiss her until she can’t pretend anymore. He needs to have the upper hand, to retain just one ounce of professionalism as Captain fucking America. People know who he is. He’s on assignment. They aren’t married for real.

And yet.

Realization washes over him and he leans against the counter in despair.

Every evening, when she bids him ‘goodnight’, he hopes that she skips past the first bedroom and finds her way to his. Cooking for her? His favorite part of every day. He’s googled so many recipes that the app suggests fancy breakfast food. He wears that one blue shirt as often as he can because she smiled the first time he did.

Coming ‘home’ is his only source of comfort, because she is always standing on the porch… waiting. Sometimes a neighbor is talking with her; she’s so kind that it has been easy ingratiating themselves into the neighborhood. Nine times out of ten, she’s got a glass of lemonade in hand, slick with condensation, waiting for him. It’s the weekends that are most torturous, when he has no reason to be out of her presence. Like this particular Saturday morning.

It’s very easy to forget why they’re there. They’re so close to uncovering the ring–she fills him in on the dirt she’s dug up while playing cards, or gardening, or just gossiping with the ladies each day. The women on this street tell her things that he’s struggled to weasel out of hardened criminals. Steve is fairly certain he’s going to burst into flames before they succeed in this assignment. He’s ashamed of himself. She doesn’t deserve some sicko fixating on her, especially not her partner. He’s a public figure, for Christ’s sake! He’s better than this.

Her hand presses against the small of his back. Steve starts and wheels on her. She bites back a smile at the sight of him, and raises a hand to his cheek.

“You look like you’ve been sweeping the chimney,” she laughs.

He steps away, out of her grasp. “I’ll just get cleaned up, if you wanna go.”

“Oh. You really wanna go out for breakfast?” The surprise in her voice stabs him square in the chest.

“Why not?” he shrugs. “I destroyed the good pan anyway.”

“Are you okay?”

No. Absolutely not, under no circumstances. “What did Sharon want?” He still hasn’t looked her in the eye.

“She went through Zemo’s garbage,” she says, as if she’s impressed by Sharon’s gall. “She found like twenty packs of cold medicine.”

His head snaps up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. She’s got the bags in her garage, she texted me a picture, too. Look.” She holds up her cell phone and sure enough, a black trash bag filled with boxes of off-brand medicine fills the screen. “This is what we’ve been waiting for, Steve.”

“Oh my god…” he can’t help but laugh in astonishment. “This is reason enough for a warrant.”

“I already sent Fury the photo. Can you believe it?”

He wants so badly to pull her into his arms and hold on for dear life. Because if they’ve truly uncovered the lynch pin of the whole organization, then their days playing house are numbered. Worse than loving her is the thought of no longer getting to pretend, and hang all his hopes on precious public displays of affection. You two look so in love, one of the neighbors had said during their welcome block party. Steve had his arm wrapped around her shoulders then, because being the facsimile of a married couple was still too new to know how to comfortably interact in a way that seemed real. She lets herself be kissed by him with a sweet smile on her face, now. Her fingers always entwine with his, especially when they’re over at someone else’s house.

For one brief second, Steve considers how easy it would be to steal the bags from Sharon’s garage and destroy the evidence… but what would his partner think of him if she found out what he had done? Maybe that was the best way to push away these embarrassing feelings–push her away. Make them strangers, again.

“Steve–hey!” She snaps in front of his face. “What’s wrong with you?”

He shakes his head, but the heat which floods his cheeks is mortifying. “I slept weird. Not fully awake yet.”

She frowns. “Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll order breakfast in, and we can wait for Fury’s directive.”

“I don’t need to lay down,” he says quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You keep zoning out–”

“I said I’m fine, so I’m fine.”

“...why are you being like this?” She crosses her arms, leaning against the counter. “You’re pissy.”

“Can you just leave it alone?” he sighs.

“We’re in deep cover and you want me to ignore it? I’m gonna nag you until you communicate, Rogers–”

“You’re not entitled to every little thought in my head, alright?” Steve throws his hands up in the air. “This is a sham marriage, remember? Stop pushing me and accept that I don’t want to talk, I’m fine.”

She opens her mouth to press the matter, but thinks better of it. She looks away and nods, but she breathes in raggedly. “Well fuck me, I guess. Fuck my feelings. Crepes?”

Steve’s heart plummets through the tile floor as she turns away to leave the kitchen. He lunges before he can stop himself and grasps her wrist, staying her exit. Words clog his throat. She waits with one eyebrow raised, but when he can’t make the apology come, she rips her hand from his. Steve is left with the horrible feeling that he has ruined everything good between them… the real rapport they’ve built sharing an assignment, and the fake one which allows her to touch him freely where anyone can see.

And kiss him where they can’t.

He waits for her on the front porch in blue, having scrubbed the pancake ash from his face. She emerges from the house in a sundress. The light pink one which always robs him of sanity. For a moment her face is stony, but then her expression lightens to exuberance and she waves–beyond Steve, to the passing neighbor on the sidewalk.

“Hi Joe!”

“Hiya, Rogerses! Where ya off to on this fine morning?” The old man braces himself on their little gate.

Five soft fingers curl around Steve’s elbow and he remembers that he’s supposed to be helplessly in love with this woman. Well… no acting required, he thinks with a wince. He covers her hand with his.

“Somebody destroyed breakfast,” Steve says, pointing his thumb at himself, “so he’s gonna treat his wife to some French cuisine.”

“Good on you, boy. Betsy deserves the best.”

“That she does,” Steve says, a hair too earnestly.

“Talking about me like I’m not even here!” She giggles. “Joe, do you still need Steve’s help moving that dresser?”

Steve tightens his hand over hers. They’ve talked time and again about how Joe is capable of stealing one’s entire day, and how frustrating it is when he’s trying to keep tabs on Joe’s neighbor to have a two-hour conversation about hydrangeas–

“If he’s offering!” Joe smiles expectantly at Steve, who bobs his head.

“I could do that for ya. How’s this afternoon?”

“You know where to find me!” Joe salutes and totters back down the street towards his small bungalow.

Once they are seated inside Steve’s car, shielded by darkly tinted windows, he dares to study her. She ignores him, typing away on her phone. “What was that?” he asks lowly.

“You’ve been trying to find a reason to case his house,” she says, not looking up. “I got you an in.”

He clears his throat. “Right. Good idea.”

“You’re not the only influential Rogers in the neighborhood.”

Steve sighs. “‘M sorry–”

“It’s forgotten.” Her phone rings in her hand and she answers immediately. “Hello? No, unsubstantiated for now but Steve is going into Joe O’Leary’s later today while I pop over to Sharon’s. No, he’s just the only house we haven’t found a reason to go inside. It was Steve’s idea, actually.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. It absolutely was not, and if he’s honest with himself, he can’t quite figure out which part of this assignment he’s actually contributed to. She has all of the good ideas, she thinks of things he never would’ve dreamt of.

“--Yeah. Zemo is hunting this weekend, apparently. We won’t. Nick–that was one time!” she huffs. “I have the scar. We won’t go to his house until you’ve got the warrant. Why does every man around me insist on being so damn stubborn? No–god, I forget you have us triangulated at all times. We’re headed out for breakfast. I burned the pancakes, so…” She glances at Steve and shakes her head. “No, I copy. We’ll stay put. I’ll tell him.”

She hangs up and her head falls back against the seat. “He wants us to stay in place, and wait until he gives the okay to check out Joe and Sharon’s.”

“We already told both of them we’re going out… won’t that look suspicious?”

“I dunno… drive to the gas station. I’ll buy you some shitty coffee. At least our car will have left the driveway.”

“I’m buyin’,” Steve says, starting the car. “Last time I checked, you’re not the one who charred the pancakes.”

“It was still my fault.”

“You can buy me a moon pie, for my trouble.”

“I’ll buy you a whole box.” He can’t help the way his mouth turns up at one side, and when he looks at her, she’s smiling sadly. “I don’t like it when we’re at odds.”

Steve shakes his head. “No.”

“Partners?” She holds out her hand, but before he takes it…

“Why’d you do it?” His voice is soft, pleading. She shrugs.

“I wanted to. Don’t you ever do things, just because you want to?”

“Um. No, I don’t have that luxury.”

“I forgot who I’m talking to.” Her chin dips bashfully. “Just forget it happened, okay? We kiss in front of other people all the time, it’s a habit.”

“...which you wanted to do.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I haven’t overanalyzed it. Like you are doing right now.” She wiggles her fingers and Steve laces his in. “Partners. Do you wanna tell me what was going on with you?”

“Well… I suppose I was thinking about all this being done. It’s, uh. Hard to tell sometimes what’s part of the cover, and–”

“What’s real,” she finishes. “Maybe the truth is somewhere in the middle. We don’t have to answer that today.”

“I like holding your hand,” he admits. “I–shit, sweetheart, I-I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Yeah. But I don’t have enough caffeine in me for that conversation,” he says, squeezing her hand.

“You can do it back, if you want. You keep looking at my lips. It’s okay if you want to, Steve.”

“I don’t want to ruin it,” he murmurs.

“Only way to do that is to shut me out.”

He studies her neatly manicured nails. “I want to. So bad.”

“But?”

“I don’t know. Can’t think straight as it is. What’s it gonna do to me–”

“Hush.” She holds their clasped hands to her lips. “It’s okay.”

“No–it isn’t.” He squeezes. “It’s unprofessional.”

“If you think I haven’t spent the last three weeks relishing the fact that I get to spend every evening watching trash tv with you, staring at your ass, and listening to you laugh… fuck professional, Steve. I didn’t mean for it to happen, okay? You caught me off guard with your sweetness. I knew I was in trouble the first time you kissed me.”

“But this is gonna end…”

“It doesn’t have to. I–” She stops to cup his cheek and brush her thumb over his jaw in reassurance. “I don’t wanna go a single day without kissing you. I don’t care if it started because we’re pretending.”

“It’s never been pretend for me,” he breathes.

She moves first, because she knows that he can’t do it without real permission, where there’s no question why it’s happening. He moans against her mouth; it’s always felt like his lips were meant for hers, but with nobody watching… It's a gift. She is precious to him. He cradles her face to say as much, without putting voice to it. Kissing her this way strips him of all ceremony. He’s just a city boy with a crush on a beautiful girl, who kisses like a dream. It’s freeing. If anyone saw them making out in the driveway, what would it give away? Nothing which doesn’t show on his face every time he looks at her. Because Steve can’t pretend like she isn’t the center of his world. Not when he has permission to kiss her in private.

His tenuous control snaps.

She keens as his lips traverse her jaw to nip at the tender skin below her ear. “Been holding out on me, Rogers.” He sucks a mark, blooming a ruddy bruise on her throat. Then, he lavs that spot, pulling more heavenly sounds from her lips. “Fuck.”

“I think about that, too,” he whispers against her skin. “But I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

“We wouldn’t be the first partners to do it.”

“Remember when we caught Bucky and Nat after Bulgaria?” Steve eases the strap of her dress off the curve of her shoulder.

“God,” she sighs, tugging on his hair so he’ll find her mouth again. She catches his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t look at me.”

He blinks at her through heavy eyelids. “I was thinking about you.”

“You wanna fuck me in a bunk on the quinjet?” she scoffs. Her fingers card through his hair.

“Anywhere. Have forever. Buck knows. ‘S why he suggested you for this.”

She smiles against his mouth. “Remind me to send him a thank you card.”

“Can I touch you?”

“In the driveway?” she gasps, even as she guides his hand towards the hem of her dress.

“Windows are too dark to see in.”

“You’re kinker than I thought–fuck.”

He traces the pads of his fingers over her soft skin. Steve bites his lip, watching her eyes flutter as his hand gets closer to touching her where he wants to, most. “Think I’m vanilla, agent?”

“That is your favorite ice cream flavor.”

Steve stops for a second and squeezes her thigh in affection. He presses a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. She chases her lips after his, and pauses just a breath from his face. They smile at each other, drunk on uncorked arousal.

“Vanilla,” he whispers, tracing the hem of her panties, “is a complex flavor. Goes with everything. Chocolate. Cherries…” Steve dips his fingers beneath the silky fabric. She cants her hips to give him better access. He finds the little bud at her apex, worrying the bundle of nerves enough to make her moan.

“Exhibitionism,” she pants.

“In small quantities,” he chuckles. “Gimme your lips, sweets.”

She does so like a woman starved, but her head falls back as he sinks one finger into her heat. “Steven.”

“‘M here.”

“So good.” She rolls her hips to meet his hand. He thumbs her clit with every stroke. “Had a dream–mmph. You fingered me at a barbeque.”

“I’d do it. Under the table?”

“Mm. No. In the pool.”

“Our pool, sweetheart?” Steve works a second finger with the first easily. She’s drenched, she’s gorgeous.

She nods. “Yeah. But I couldn’t make a face because everybody was around.”

“What, then?” Steve feels her squeezing him tight. She’s close. He’s never wanted anything more in his life than to make her come. He doesn’t care how much work it takes to clean the seat afterwards. He’ll do it with a smile, as long as she comes.

“You made me orgasm in front of the whole neighborhood. Then you got in the hot tub and you made me sit on your dick.”

“Were you keeping me hard?” He tugs the cups of her dress down with his free hand and bears her breasts. “Christ. You’re so beautiful.”

“Nobody knew, and the bubbles covered us,” she sighs. “Right there, right–oh fuck. What about you?”

Steve groans as her hand finds his straining dick over the top of his jeans. “I’m gonna bust my zipper the second you come.”

“Wanna feel you. Please.”

He nods his consent, but not before flickering his tongue against her nipple. She stays his hand by turning her nails into the skin at his wrist, and forces him to lean his seat back so she can unbutton his pants, but she doesn’t get very far–

The back window of the vehicle shatters. Steve throws himself over her, peering above her headrest. She groans.

“I was so close,” she wheezes.

“Stay down, sweetheart.” Steve kisses her cheek and then throws the car into reverse, turning the wheel like a madman to dodge their attacker… Sharon. Standing on her front porch with a rifle. She raises the gun to take another shot, now that she has her sights on him.

“Roll down your window, baby!”

Steve doesn’t hesitate. His partner yanks the top of her dress up, lays half-way across his lap, and fires her own weapon (pulled from god-knows-where), catching their attacker in the shoulder. Sharon drops her rifle, but the gun discharges, destroying one of Steve’s tires with an explosive POP! The car drops heavily towards the front wheel well. Sharon staggers to retrieve her gun. After one more precise shot, she falls. Steve takes the gun from his partner when it is offered. She retrieves his pistol from the glove compartment, and they each get out of the car warily.

“Do you wanna trade?” Steve calls.

“You think I can’t shoot with your gun?” Her voice is sweet and teasing.

“I said no such thing. Is she dead?” They flank the unconscious woman… sure enough, she’s down for good, with one bullet right between the eyes. Steve exchanges a look of shock with his partner.

“Yes. Must’ve been desperate to risk taking us out like this. I’d say we found the rat,” she says.

“I guess so.”

“She has the shittiest timing.” She grins at him, which makes Steve’s ears turn red. She retrieves her phone from the car and makes a call.

Steve keeps his weapon at the ready. Several of the neighbors peer out their front windows in concern, but none are stupid enough to come out and investigate the ruckus. He attempts to stand between the body and the street, at least to obscure the pooling blood below Sharon’s head.

It doesn't take ten minutes for a dozen black SUV’s to come squealing down the sleepy street. By the time they take over the block, Steve and his partner are leaning against his car, glancing at each other with small smiles. They’ve collected themselves somewhat; he made sure there was no visible sign that she’d been just moments from an orgasm when they were shot at (other than the hickey, which he hopes nobody notices), and they attempt to look concerned that their attacker wasn’t someone they expected. But it’s especially hard for Steve to be stoic, because he knows how it feels to touch her. He settles for looking smug. He is, but who’s to say why?

Bucky accompanies the agents who emerge from the trucks, as does Fury. “Cap. Agent.”

“Director,” she acknowledges. “Sergeant.” Bucky wrinkles his nose at her.

“Walk me through what happened.” She steps forward with Fury and walks him towards the body, while Bucky hangs back with Steve. Barnes leans over and whispers.

“Your fly’s undone.”

Steve sighs. “Shit. Why are you staring at my crotch, huh?” He fixes the aforementioned zipper as discreetly as possible.

“Old habits die hard.” Bucky folds his arms and leans against the car.

“What would Natasha say to that?”

“...you think she doesn’t stare at your crotch, punk?”

“You two are nightmares.” Steve can’t help but chuckle, despite himself. “Carter annoyed the hell outta me, but I didn’t think she was involved.”

“You trying to change the subject?”

“Not succeeding, apparently.”

Just then, his partner looks up at him, gesturing towards him and then down the street, which is swarming with agents in black suits.

“Cool it with the puppy dog eyes,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve glares at him. “Shut up. That’s just how my face looks.”

“Not when you look at me,” Bucky says, elbowing him in the side. “Did you tell her?”

Steve’s eyes dart away, and he can’t help but smile. He twists his mouth to keep from breaking out into a full smile.

“Thank God,” Bucky says.

“Rogers!” Fury waves him over. Steve strides towards the director with his hands in his pockets. “I think your partner is a little shell shocked. Why don’t you take her to the house? I’ll catch up with you in a bit. I think it’s going to take a few hours for us to do a preliminary search of Carter’s.”

Steve glances at his partner, who has her hands clasped at her waist, twisting her fingers. She indeed looks quite shocked, eyes wide and unblinking as she stares up at him. “Yes sir.”

“I’m glad you two didn’t do anything hasty and stayed put. This could’ve gone a whole lot worse.”

Steve nods. He manages the world’s most convincing performance of concern, wrapping his arm around his partner’s shoulders. She leans into his side, letting him guide her across the street to the house with ‘Rogers’ painted on the mailbox. He doesn’t dare look at Bucky, nor does he want to risk saying anything until they’re safely concealed from the rest of the world. But the moment they’re inside, he presses her back against the front door. She smiles softly.

“Did that get your blood going?” she asks. “Getting shot at with your fingers inside me.”

He huffs. “Your mouth, I swear.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Do you want this?” He asks, working his knee between hers until she has to stand on her tip-toes. She nods breathlessly. “Out loud, or I stop.”

“I’ve heard you come,” she laughs. “In the shower. When you think you’re being quiet. I talk myself out of joining you every time, but I wanna see your face when you have an orgasm. I think you’ll be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Steve shivers. “Pretty, huh?” He lowers his mouth slowly to hers, but stops as she gasps. His hands find the globes of her ass, inching under the panties he’s going to destroy. He watches her eyes dilate with arousal. She smirks.

“You’re a pretty man, Rogers. ‘S why I married you.”

Steve gapes at her for just a minute. He shakes his head in disbelief, shrugging off the euphoria which rises in him at the thought of this woman truly being everything. Her fingers creep to his jaw.

“What?”

He sighs. “That’s all I want. To have this. All the time.”

“A wife, baby?”

“And babies, sweetheart.”

“You told Joe you wanted three… you were being serious.”

“I was.” His eyes flick back and forth to study her irises. They’re glassy.

“You’d want that with… me?”

“How long have you known me?” He asks, kissing her forehead.

Her hands wrap behind his head, stroking his nape. “That’s a big step. We’re not even together–”

“I’ve been telling anyone in a ten mile radius that you’re my wife for three straight weeks, and nothing has ever felt more right.” Steve levels his eyes with hers. “I want as much as you’re willing to give me.”

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “God. You take a girl’s breath away. I… I don’t know if I want kids, Steve–”

“But you want me.”

“Yes,” she sighs.

“Then I don’t care. You can think about it.”

“What if the answer is ‘no’? Could you be content with only me?”

“Only–sweetheart. You are everything.” Steve kisses her eyelids as they shut in relief. “We could always have dogs.”

She laughs in surprise, and it’s his favorite sound in the whole world. “Why don’t we start from the beginning, and see where we end up?”

“Where’s that?” He noses her cheek.

“Give each other orgasms for the first time. I mean, if I’m gonna think about having babies, don’t you think I should know how your dick feels?”

“You make a very good point,” he says with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. “In the spirit of investigation.”

“To make a truly informed decision.”

“Right… if we do this, we’re gonna have to tell Fury.”

She looks at him guiltily. “He… knows. I sorta forgot that the car is bugged.”

Steve freezes with wide eyes. “Shit.”

“...Yeah.”

“Well…”

“We have no reason to hide it, now.” She finds the hem of the shirt she likes so much and tickles her nails across his abdomen. “Besides, I gotta admit that I kinda found it, I dunno… hot? That people heard us.”

Steve locks the front door over her shoulder and walks backwards, tugging her towards the stairs. He spins her so her heels catch on the step, forcing her to sit down abruptly. Steve follows, latching his lips over hers hungrily. He probably should feel embarrassed, but how can he when this beautiful woman wants him? No man in his right mind would be ashamed of her.

He rends the gusset of her panties. For such a talkative person, she sure has nothing to say when his fingers find her clit again. Just incoherent moans. Steve has three fingers inside her by the time she comes, walls fluttering around his thrusting hand. Her head falls back in ecstasy as she soaks his fingers. He wastes no time working his pants down enough to free his dick; her hands urge his shirt off so she can run the tips of her nails down his chest, flicking against his nipples and making him buck. She’s bringing kinks out in him he didn’t even know he had.

She wraps one hand around him, making his head fall forward against her collar. He nips at her tendon in retaliation. She guides him until his dick is tucked between her folds, and rolls her hips to take him in. Steve obliges. He sinks into her fully, and groans.

“Fucking hell,” she breathes.

“You’re tight, sweets.” He teases the seam of her lips with his tongue, inviting her to lose herself completely. She’s still sensitive from her first orgasm, shivering when he brushes her clit, so Steve stays still. Buried deep in the woman of his dreams.

“Was it like this, in your dream?” he asks, stroking her cheek softly. She smiles blissfully.

“No. This is better than anything my brain made up. You gotta move.”

“What if I didn’t? And I made you sit with my dick inside you all day long.” Steve shimmies her dress up her torso until she arches her back enough to let him pull it over her head. But he fists the fabric at her wrists, capturing her hands so she can’t touch him. She whines.

“Jesus. Who knew you were so controlling?” Her inner muscles contract and he huffs.

“If I thought I could control you for one second, you’d know it by now,” he says, rolling his hips. “But you’re the one who’s got me wrapped around your finger.”

“Yeah?” she gasps. “You’ve got me tied up.”

“You don’t need your hands to have me right where you want me, sweetheart, and you know it.”

She kisses him hard. “Fuck me. So I have bruises from these stairs.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He snaps his hips forward to do just that, and he’s in heaven. He’s got little experience compared to some of the agents he hears bragging about their trysts in the gym, but by god, he’s never fucked a woman like this. Especially not someone he loves. His knees burn from the carpet, and his boots attempt to slide off his bracing step–hell, his pants aren’t even to his knees, but he fucks her like a desperate man, because that’s what he is. He wants her to come again, more than anything. Hard. Who cares if he doesn’t, as long as she finds pleasure?

Her hands slip free of their restraints easily, and she grasps his back for dear life. He’ll feel the marks from her nails in the shower, he’s sure of it. Steve doesn’t realize his eyes are closed until she gasps. His eyes snap open–she’s arching up, chasing her release. He reaches between their bodies to find her clit and rolls it as he thrusts. It’s enough to send her over the edge. She cries out, and it’s all he can do not to come at the sight of her. But he thrusts through her orgasm until she’s whining with sensitivity. She grips his ass.

“Baby–please. It hurts.”

Steve braces himself on his elbows and freezes, kissing her in apology. “Mmm. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You okay?” She nods, kissing him back slowly.

“You need to come.”

“I’m okay.”

“No!” She protests. “I want you to. I have to see it. Please–pull out, I’ll help you.”

The moment he rises up, she’s reaching for him… he can’t think with the way her fingers wrap around him, tugging him ever closer towards his own orgasm. He’s kneeling beside her on the stairs, watching her in rapt awe. She worships him, but she’s too gentle. He tightens her fingers with his to show her that she doesn’t need to be so careful with him. She’s a fast learner. She pumps him with as much care as he showed her, her eyes fixed to his face to catch every little expression of pleasure. When he’s close, he falls down onto his elbow, right at her side. She smiles, and he can’t help but smile back because god, he loves her. She’s everything. He’s never felt so good. He’s soaring. She coaxes him through his orgasm, painting her belly with his come. He turns his teeth into her shoulder to keep from bellowing, which makes her wince and laugh all at once. Then, he lets himself fall fully onto the stairs beside her, so they’re both staring up at the ceiling in awe.

He laughs.

“Yeah… you’re pretty, alright,” she breathes.

“I should’ve gotten you to bed.” He looks over at her. A faint sheen of sweat makes her glow like a goddess, and she shakes her head.

“I think this was as far as we were gonna make it.” She raises her hand to stroke his cheek but she’s shaking a little. Steve takes her hand and kisses it.

“What’s the verdict?” he whispers.

She giggles. “More research required.”

“Do you think the house is bugged?”

“...Not anymore.”

He can’t help but laugh at the innocent smile on her face. “Shit, sweets. You made me hungry. I could really go for those moon pies right about now.”

She beckons him to meet her in a kiss. “After that, baby? I’ll give you the whole moon.”

thanks for reading!

my masterlist - my marvel masterlist

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