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someplace-darker · 2 years

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Lingering | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: literally like none. Just a bunch of fluff and Matt taking care of you. This is entirely self indulgent.

Summary: You've been worked to the bone and slept a total of 3 hours, so Matt takes care of you during your burnout.

A/N: there will be a smutty part 2 to this 😌 This was made for ezra and i bc we're tired. Enjoy!

"Sweetheart," Matt whispers, knuckles brushing across your cheek as he pulls you back into consciousness as gently as possible. You had been working on his couch for hours on end, laptop screen now dimmed where it lay on your lap, forgotten as you slip in and out of sleep. His touch stirs you, dreams fading out into the background only to be replaced by the pleasant feeling of Matt’s touch.

Your eyes finally blink open enough that you can focus on him, smiling softly at the sight of your boyfriend kneeling in front of you, his hands warm on your cheeks. The billboard outside his window glows brighter now that the sun has dipped behind the skyline, reds and purples dancing across Matt’s face and you can’t help but wonder how he gets prettier each time you see him.

Then again, maybe it’s the lack of sleep getting to you, because the first words out of your mouth are “you look like a skittle, Matty.” He huffs out a laugh, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone, wiping away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye “care to explain?” You shake your head and lean further into his touch, fighting back against the urge to let your eyes slip shut again. “The candy, Matt. They come in rainbow colors, and the light outside is making your face purple. Need I say more?”

“No, I guess not,” Matt muses quietly, grin dimpling his cheeks, brushing back the hair that sticks to the side of your mouth from where you had leaned into your hand.

His touch drop from your face to take the laptop and move it to the coffee table, then gripping your waist so he can pull you to the edge of the couch. Your thighs press to his sides and you can feel each breath he takes, steady and a bit faster than your own sleepy breathing. “Sorry I fell asleep, I was trying to wait until you got home,” you mumble, leaning forward to place your forehead on his shoulder, cursing under your breath when your head thumps harder against him than anticipated. Damn your heavy head and sleep-deprived reflexes.

Matt hums in acknowledgment, tapping your arms until you get the gist and raise them to wrap around his shoulders. “You should’ve gone to bed sweetheart, especially if you’re this tired. Mind telling me how many hours you got last night?” He knows he has you when your breath hitches, face pressing further into his neck. You don’t want him to know just how late you had been up the night before while he was out deviling, finishing your notes for the day while you waited until you eventually passed out.

But you know that he’s just concerned, so you press a kiss to the junction of his neck and jaw in hopes that he won’t scold you when you tell him. “About three hours,” you whisper, stifling an obnoxiously timed yawn that almost seems like the universe picking Matt’s side. He sighs quietly, though there’s no real agitation behind it, just concern “let's get you to bed, then.” This time there’s no need for a tap before you wrap your legs around his hips, clinging to him as his hands slide under your thighs to lift.

Matt stands with no sign of strain, even as he holds your weight in his arms and carries you across the living room and into his bedroom, bending over to ease you onto the edge of the bed. The exhaustion that had seeped into your bones weighs heavier the second Matt steps back to rummage through the drawer that keeps your t-shirts, hands moving across each article of clothing to feel the fabric. He picks the one softest against his fingertips and plucks it from its spot, moving back to stand in front of you. He quickly picks up on the way that you’re swaying, eyelids moving slower with each passing second “c’mon angel, let’s at least change out of your clothes.”

Your stomach flutters with affection at the use of angel, a dopey smile finding its way on your lips. Matt reserved that name for you, the highest of praise coming from the catholic himself, love and adoration seeping through the two syllables. He loved listening to the way it made your heart leap to your throat, mapping the mental image of your blissed expression that his senses piece together, tucking it away for later examination.

Matt leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, placing the sleep shirt to the side so he could tug the one currently on you over your head, tossing it into the corner. You take the time to shimmy off your pants while he unfolds the replacement, placing it on top of your hair and tugging it down, placing yet another kiss to the tip of your nose the second the collar passes.

“Can you stay for a bit before you go out, Matty?” you speak in a hushed tone, letting your boyfriend maneuver your arms into the holes, limbs too tired to do much other than grab at him.

“Of course I can- lets get you under the blankets, baby,” Matt presses against your shoulder until you lay back, eyes already closing while he tugs the silk comforter up to your chest. There’s an attempt to open your gaze one more time so you can catch a glimpse of him to admire in all your sleep deprived glory before inevitably collapsing back into the arms of slumber, but you sorely underestimate the intensity of your fatigue, eyelids only twitching with the attempt.

Matt sheds his work clothes, head tilted just slightly to listen to the sound of you, breathing slowing until it evens out completely. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in beside you, reaching around to pull your body flush against his chest. Matt always needs to feel you in one way or another, needed to feel the heat of your form against his, smooth skin pressed to the marred flesh of his chest. You’d trace the scars late at night when it was just the two of you, curving your finger along them like his body was a canvas and you were the mastermind behind the art.

Your lips part, slow intakes of breath filling your lungs. “I love you so much,” you murmur against his neck, drifting away and leaving him to follow.

Matt holds you tighter “I love you too, sweetheart.”

—

Sometime around midnight is when you wake up again, hand thumping on the mattress beside you but finding no sign of Matt, only a lingering heat left behind from where he had laid next to you. You know he would probably resort to smothering you with a pillow if you attempted to stay up for him, so you decide against it, instead dragging his pillow to your chest and inhaling his scent, letting it envelop you as you close your eyes once again.

Somewhere on a rooftop, a few buildings away, Matt is listening to your breathing, pausing only momentarily to ensure that you get the rest you need before continuing on with his patrol. Slinking in and out of the shadows as fast as possible so he can get home to you.

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock #daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fluff #daredevil fic #daredevil fanfic #matt murdock fanfic #my writing #i just want him to take care of me... i am begging

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alcinadimitrescuwu · 3 years

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This Woman's Work Part IX (Alcina x Female Reader Fanfic)

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII

“You’re almost there, Maman. You’re doing great. Just a couple more steps.”

You take a deep breath in through your nose and blow it out through your mouth and push forward at your daughter’s coaxing, your arms gripping the railing that had been set up in your bedroom. The wound in your side is in agony but you take another step, biting the inside of your cheek hard to keep from crying out in pain.

It has been three weeks since that horrible night. You had already lost a lot of blood by the time Karl and Alcina arrived at Donna’s place. In an incredible stroke of luck, Donna had surgical thread in her sewing kit and at Salvatore’s instructions (he was having one of his good days) sewed up the place where Alcina’s claws had torn through. You were in and out of consciousness, but every time you opened your eyes Alcina was there by your side holding your hand.

Alcina is sitting nearby in her chair now, gently burping Ecaterina after her feeding. She looks up at you and you see concern in her golden eyes and another emotion that has been a mainstay for the past couple weeks: guilt.

Things had been...awkward between the two of you since that night. No matter how many times you assured her that all was well and you had forgiven her, she refused to forgive herself. You had only been intimate one time since that night and it ended quickly after Alcina had forgotten about the wound in your side as she cupped your hip and you couldn’t hold back the scream of pain that came out of your mouth. Alcina had immediately gotten out of the bed and as far away from you as she could, as if afraid touching you would cause any more damage.

She had sunk into the chair and began sobbing brokenly. You had wished to go to her, but your Bath chair was already on the other side of the room. You braced yourself against one of the bedposts as you said gently, “Darling, it was an accident. The pain’s already subsiding. Please come back to bed.”

Alcina covered her face with her hands, but you could see the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t even make love to my wife without causing her pain. What kind of wife does that make me?” The raw self-hatred in her voice broke your heart.

From that point on whenever you had settled down for the night, Alcina kissed your forehead and turned out the light and that was the end of it. She kept to her own side of the bed and you greatly missed the feeling of her muscular arms about you with your shoulder tucked under her chin, her curls kissing your cheekbones.You had the sense that if you tried to move closer she would move away so you didn’t even try.

You try to take another step and suddenly the room spins around you and you fall forward. Daniela, however, quickly grabs your arm and puts her arm around your shoulder before you hit the ground.

“I think that should be enough for today, Maman,” Bela says soothingly.

You set your jaw. You only have three more steps to go before you clear the railing. “No, girls, I can keep going.” But your ragged breathing and forehead shining with sweat give you away. You push your tongue to the inside of your cheek and taste coppery blood from where you had bitten into it.

Cassandra rolls your Bath chair over to you. “Maman, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. You’re not gonna be of any use to Ecaterina if you run yourself ragged.”

You smile at Cassandra’s brutal honesty as she helps you into your Bath chair. “You’re right, dearest.”

Alcina stands up, having finished burping Ecaterina. She looks affectionately over at her daughters taking care of you and you see one of the first genuine smiles from her that you’ve seen in weeks. “You’ve been so good to Maman these past few weeks, dears. She and I really appreciate all the help you’ve given to us and Ecaterina.” She rests the hand not holding Ecaterina on the back of your chair and you take her hand in yours, kissing her knuckles. Surprisingly, she doesn’t pull away this time. “It’s time for us to put Ecaterina down for her nap and for me to change Maman’s bandages. If you’ll excuse us, loves.”

The girls nod in agreement and vanish into their bug shrouds. Alcina turns around and settles Ecaterina into her cradle. Ecaterina gurgles, her eyes mirroring the gold in Alcina’s. Alcina gives her a tender kiss on the forehead before turning to you. She motions for you to stand up and you obey as she kneels down to your level and helps you take off your day dress. Standing there in your slip with her hands on you reminds you of how long it has been since you have last felt her touch.

Alcina lifts up your slip ever so lightly and peels off the gauze bandage wrapped around your waist. Alcina sets her jaw as she uncovers the gashes she herself had inflicted on you. She takes off her gloves, dips the pad of her thumb in a jar of salve and applies it to your wounds. There is an unreadable expression on her face.

You try to give her an encouraging smile. “I talked to Sal the other day,” you posit. “He says that even though the wound is deep,if I don’t expose it to too much sunlight it won’t leave a scar!”

“Not a physical one at least,” Alcina mutters.

Ok. You’ve had enough. You turn her head to face you. “Darling, we’ve been over this,” you say, rubbing her cheekbone with the pad of your thumb. “Are you going to keep punishing yourself forever?”

Almost despite herself, Alcina leans into your touch and interlaces her large fingers with yours. “I can’t imagine how much physical pain you must be in, my love,” Alcina whispers. “And all by my hand.” Tears begin forming in Alcina’s aureate eyes. “I nearly killed you.”

“You didn’t though, Alcina!” You move over to her lap and she gently almost tentatively wraps her arms around you and holds you close. You lean your head against her chest and resist the urge to sigh. It’s been so long since you’ve been held by your wife. “I know you were under Miranda’s control but something held you back from killing me outright. I know it.”

“You don’t know what it’s like being under someone else’s control.” You can almost feel Alcina’s body shudder as she recalls that night. “It was like I was outside my body watching myself. I was screaming at myself to stop when I kissed that woman.” The memory of your wife kissing Mother Miranda so passionately pops into your mind briefly but you shut it out as she goes on. “And when I stabbed you, I-” Her voice cracks. “I was practically begging myself to stop but my body just moved on its own.”

“Don’t you see, then, darling?” you ask. “You weren’t yourself when you were under Mother Miranda’s control. The person that kissed Mother Miranda, the person that stabbed me, that wasn’t you, so please.” You cradle Alcina’s face in your hands and stare into those beautiful discs of gold. “Please stop blaming yourself for this. Mother Miranda is dead. I’m alive. Our daughter is safe and healthy. That’s what matters now.”

Alcina kisses your forehead lovingly. “When did you get so wise?” she asks, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. You can see that you’ve finally gotten through to her. Her body posture is more relaxed, her jaw is loose, and her shoulders aren’t so tight. She carefully places the new bandage over your wound and you feel a pleasant tingle as you feel her bare fingers brush briefly over your tender skin.

She moves to pull your slip over your new bandage but you take her wrist before she can withdraw it. You hold her gaze as you take the strap of your slip off your shoulder and your slip coils in a pool of silk around your ankles. She takes you in her arms and brushes her lips against yours briefly. When she pulls aways, you see the same desire in her eyes. “Are you quite sure, ingeras?” Alcina asks, brushing the back of her knuckles against your cheekbones.

“Yes” you rasp. “Take me to the bed.”

Alcina picks you up as you wrap your legs around her waist, taking care not to touch your sensitive wound and carries you over to the bed. She gently, almost reverently lays you down on the bed. She lowers herself down to kiss you again and you bury your fingers in her curls. Alcina deepens the kiss, her tongue coaxing your mouth open as you unfasten the pearl buttons on the back of her dress. “I’ll go slow for you, draga,” Alcina murmurs against your lips.

“Alright, let’s see how our little patient is doing today- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK?”

It seems like Heisenberg has decided to check up on you today.

With a frustrated growl Alcina moves quickly in front of you while holding her own dress up. “Yes, Heisenberg, that is in fact what we were setting out to do before you arrived.” Alcina shakes her head at him derisively. “You seem to have impeccably bad timing, as always.”

Heisenberg’s face is beet red again, you note with amusement. “Well, excuse me for trying to check in on my sister-in-law and my goddaughter! Speaking of which, really Alcina? Getting down and dirty with the kid in the room?”

Alcina’s cheeks are also sporting a lovely red color. “Ecaterina was asleep.” Amidst all the commotion, Ecaterina has already woken up and is crying. “Well, she was until you came in.”

The girls suddenly materialize into the room. “Mother!” Cassandra chirps. “I thought I heard Uncle Karl in here and- JESUS CHRIST! What the FUCK!”

Alcina covers her face with her hands. Bela takes the book that Daniela is holding and holds it so it’s covering the image of you and your wife on the bed. “Really Mother,” Bela tuts to herself.

Daniela doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to the two of you, unperturbed by the state of your undress and asks, “Can Uncle Karl stay for dinner, Mother, Maman? Please? It’s been so long since we’ve all had dinner together!”

You smile indulgently at her over Alcina’s shoulder. “Of course he can, darling,” you say.

“Fine,” Alcina mutters. "Now if you please, will all of you kindly get out of our room?”

The daughters vanish into the bug shrouds, chattering excitedly about what Cook is making for dinner. Heisenberg leaves too, chuckling softly to himself.

You turn to your blushing bride and give her a chaste kiss on the lips before you both get dressed and join your daughters for dinner.

Together. As a family.

#alcina dimitrescu #lady alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x maiden #alcina x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #re8 fanfiction #re8 fanfic #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu x reader #karl heisenberg #mother miranda #re8 village #alcina x female reader #lady dimitrescu x maiden

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mmvalentine · 3 years

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You're Home | Jurdan

Canon divergent. Scene lift from TWK. The smut I wanted but was not given...

I slip into Cardan's room. Though it is not yet dawn, I am lucky. The room is empty of revelry. No courtiers doze on the cushions or in his bed. I walk to where he sleeps and press my hand over his mouth.

He wakes, fighting against my grip. I press down hard enough that I can feel his teeth against my skin. He grabs for my throat, and for a moment, I'm scared that I'm not strong enough, that my training isn't good enough. Then his body relaxes utterly, as though realising who I am.

He shouldn't relax like that. "He sent me to kill you," I whisper against his ear.

A shiver goes through his body, and his hand goes to my waist, but instead of pushing me away, he pulls me into the bed with him, rolling my body across him onto the heavily embroidered coverlets.

My hand slips from his mouth, and I am unnerved to find myself here, in the new High King's new bed- one I am still too human to lie in, beside someone who terrifies me the more I feel for him.

"Balekin and Orlagh are planning your murder," I say, flustered.

"Yes," he says lazily. "So why did I wake up at all?"

I am awkwardly conscious of his physicality, of the moment when he was half awake and pulled me against him. "Because I am difficult to charm," I say.

That makes him give a soft laugh. He reaches out and touches my hair, traces the hollow of my cheekbone. "I could have told my brother that," he says, with a softness in his voice that I am utterly unprepared for. "Where have you been?" he asks me. I don't know how to answer.

"Madoc says you've been ill," Cardan goes on, when I say nothing. His fingers still move lightly over my face. "Must you take your convalescence so far from me?"

"I must," I say stiffly, "since you've allowed Madoc to bar me from seeing you. I have information that cannot wait."

Cardan shakes his head. "I know not of what you speak. Madoc told me you were resting and that we should let you heal."

I frown. "I see. And in the interim, Madoc would no doubt take my place as your advisor," I tell Cardan. "He gave your guards orders to keep me out of the palace."

"I will give them different orders," Cardan says.

"See that you do," I say. "Now, I need to tell you about the plans from the Undersea."

But Cardan just tugs me closer, moves the cover over me so I am under it with him. "I don't care," he says.

"You need to care," I tell him. "Your life is in danger, and we need to make a plan."

"Later," Cardan says. "We have all the time in the world for planning. There's only one thing I've learned tonight that has been worthy of note."

"And, what, pray tell, is that?" I ask him impatiently. I am all too aware that the warmth now enveloping me is Cardan's own body heat, that I'm here in the cocoon of his sleep and his breath. That he is completely naked beneath the sheets, and is not at all shy about it.

"You're home," he says simply. "You're home and that's all that matters." And then he draws me into his arms, and just holds me to him, and I am so surprised that I don't move at all for a moment.

And then my arms are moving, quite without me telling them to, to wrap around his shoulders and to hug him back. His hands stroke at my back and my fingers curl in the hair at the back of his neck. He tangles his legs in mine.

I've been so focused on plotting and scheming and keeping ahead of the enemy, that it only now occurs to me what a relief it is to actually be here, with Cardan, in the silent hours of the early morning.

My arms tighten around his neck and before I know it I'm clinging onto him for dear life, and the horror of the days and weeks I spent under water figuring out how I was going to get back to him, if I was ever going to get back to him starts streaming in from whatever small corner of my mind I had crammed it into. I start shaking in Cardan's arms, and he just smooths circles between my shoulder blades and says "Shhh, you're home now." And that gentleness just freaks me out more, and it is minutes before I can relax.

When I am finally still again, Cardan pulls back just enough to study my face.

"What's this?" he asks gently, and wipes his thumbs across my face. They come away wet, and I realise I've been crying. I'm mortified, and I start to pull away from him, but Cardan put his hands on my face and stops me.

"I'm so sorry I let you get taken," he whispers. "I'm sorry I did not keep you safe." He leans forward and kisses the tears from my face. "And I've been wanting to tell you for so long now that I'm sorry I've always been unkind to you. I realised, when you were gone, truly gone beneath the waves and I hated myself as I never have before, that I've never apologised to you for that. For any of it."

He is so unlike himself in this moment that I cannot help but look for the trick in his words. I am aware that I am just gaping at him like an idiot, but I can't for the life of me conjure coherent words to say. Cardan laughs, his bed-warmed hand going to my shoulder.

"Either I've surprised you or you are as ill as Madoc claimed. Perhaps I am foolish, but I am not a fool. You like something about me," he says, mischief lighting his face, making its planes more familiar. "The challenge? My pretty eyes? No matter, because there is more you do not like and I know it."

And although this Cardan is the Cardan I know, I feel sorry to break the moment. So I shoot back at him, "Not your eyes. It's your lips. You have a cruel but lovely mouth. That's the reason I like you."

Cardan's eyes light. "So you admit you do like me," he says. His hand strokes down my side now. "If only for my beautiful features. I suppose I cannot blame you, for I am a sight to behold."

I go to smack his arm then, but he catches my hand and links his fingers through mine.

"Still," he murmurs, face only inches from mine. "Whatever you like me for. I'll take it. And if it's my lips you like, you can have them."

And then he leans in and presses his mouth to mine.

Desire floods instantly through me, and I am shocked by the strength of it. My lips part for him, and his tongue is hot and lush against mine. And as we kiss I realise that I've missed him, so much, and his kisses are like the piles of food I devoured after starving so long.

Cardan's hands slide beneath my shirt- his own doublet, it occurs to me, stolen only hours ago from his old bedroom. They find the shape of me, and tell my skin secret things that only our bodies know. Soon I'm sliding out of the jacket, and he's tugging off my hose, and although I am very warm in Cardan's bed, I shiver under his fingers.

Yet my skin knows his touch. I am still inexperienced, but we've been here before and this time, my body knows where to expect him. Arches up to meet him as he gets there. This time, my hands know better what to do.

This time, it is both of us breathing raggedly as we spin closer and closer together.

Kissing Cardan has always felt vaguely horrifying but he's right. I just don't care anymore. I'm home, and he's here, and all that's in my mind is chasing the pleasure that he's trailing along my lips, down my throat, across my belly, and between my legs. It's a molten heat that travels wherever Cardan's silvery skin touches mine.

And now his tongue is moving under my ear as he rolls to cage me in his long limbs. His lips descend down my sternum and his teeth catch under my navel. He kisses across my hips and I think I might die from the pleasure. I reach forward and run my hands through the curls of his hair, and he makes a pleased murmuring sounds that vibrates across my skin. I'm so comfortable here that I'm utterly unprepared when he dips his head and licks his tongue between my thighs.

My hips buck off the bed and stars burst before my eyes. I gasp, and see nothing, and my fingers tighten involuntarily against Cardan's scalp. He repeats the motion, over and over and I'm too overwhelmed to be self-conscious about the moans that he's pulling from my lips. Then he slides his fingers into me and I'm dead. I'm sure I'm dead because the world has ceased to exist and I float in boundless rapture. I couldn't say how long for.

Cardan moves back up my body like a wave of heat. He settles over me and his naked cock presses against me where his tongue was moments ago, and I still can't move.

"Jude," he whispers. I don't recognise my name. "Jude." He kisses my lips and still I float. "Are you alright?" I manage to nod. Cardan slides himself against me, wet from his mouth, and asks, "Do you want me to keep going?"

It's enough to bring me back, to meet his eyes as I nod again, and now he's nudging at my entrance. My legs slide up and curl around his hips. His tail coils around my lower leg, and my hands tangle in his hair once more. I can't stop touching it, it's soft like nothing else.

And then he's sliding inside me, incredibly slowly, and the world drops away once more.

In this moment, there's only me and Cardan and the sweetest ache between us, and he's whispering my name like a mantra. "Jude," he says, letting his head drop on my shoulder. "Jude," and this time it's a moan as his fingers interlace with mine and hold them against the mattress. "Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude..."

After that I stop hearing him, because blood is rushing in my ears as his hips start to speed up, and although I feel full to breaking with him inside me, I find all I want is more and more and more.

In that moment I wonder briefly if lust and power and love and hate might all be the same thing after all.

Cardan pulls out of me, and for a second I'm empty and dismayed. Then he's rolling me onto my side, curving his body around mine and pulling my hips back toward him. All I want is to have him back inside me, and I am gratified a second later when he pushes into me from behind.

Cardan has his mouth on my neck, and his hand is pulling my top leg over his hip so he can reach my clit with his fingers. Before I know it, I'm coming undone there in the High King's bed, my fingers grabbing at nothing.

I start to scream and Cardan leans up to cover my mouth with his, kissing me over and over until he, too, is shaking and coming and gripping my hip so hard I'm sure the marks of his fingers will be there for days to come.

We lie there, curled together in the dark and for the first time I'm not at all angry at the command he has over my body.

In fact I'm not angry at anything, and I don't know when else that has ever been true. I just have this bone-deep calm, and it's never, ever been like this with Cardan. It would scare me, if I wasn't so damn calm.

Cardan wipes my legs down and then kisses the back of my neck, and seems to settle back to sleep with ease.

I lie awake for a little longer, wondering what Cardan will be like in the morning, and how we will scheme ourselves out of the Undersea danger.

But Cardan is so warm around me that I do not scheme for long.

****

Soft jurdan, for once in their lives 🥺🥺🥺 My babies.

@asteria-of-mars and @swankii-art-teacher!

JURDAN MASTERLIST

#jurdan #jurdan fic #smut #mine #tfota #if i want to wrap them in fluff I will!

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vinciwolf · 3 years

Text

Steam

Pairing: Captain Rex x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, reader is afab, nsfw, fluff, nudity, unprotected sex, p in v

Summary: fem!reader surprises her clone lover with a sensual night in their refresher, which leads to some steamy bathtub erotica~

Notes: Dave, where is our Captain!? I need to see my boo already, please!

You giggle while pushing the large body in front of you forward.

“I know we’re going to the refresher,” Rex chuckles as he is carefully navigated through your apartment. “You didn’t have to put a blindfold on me, sweetheart.”

“It’s a surprise!”

Placing the captain in front of the refresher entrance, standing still with a grin and ready for his treat, you slide open the door and tell him to take his blindfold off.

“Oh, babe…” Rex sighs, physically relaxing at the comforting sight.

The room is warmly lit. With candles aesthetically placed around the tub, the tiny fires atop of the wax pillars illuminate the dim atmosphere. Rose petals float gently on top of a slowly dissolving layer of white froth. You made sure to fill the tub with hot water to insure that it would not be cold when your man arrived home.

Rex turns toward you and shoves you into his chest with a quick, grateful hug.

“I love it,” he murmurs into your hair.

Kissing the top of your head, the captain lets you go and walks into the beautifully decorated refresher, then starts to slip out of his boots. Leaning against the refresher threshold, you admire your man for a while. After he yanks his shirt over his head, your eyes cannot help but roam the striped and burned skin across his back. Rex then twists and throws you a foxy smile with a wink. Rolling your eyes with a good-humored scoff, cheeks flushed, you push yourself off the wall and spin around before saying, “Give me your dirty clothes when you’re done, m’kay?”

After a couple of minutes, dirty blacks are thrown past the doorway and the slosh of water is heard from within the refresher. You pick up the sweat stained clothes and throw them in the wash before returning to the refresher. Inside the softly lit room, the nape of Rex’s neck is leaned comfortably on the back of the tub with a damp washcloth over his tired eyes. A small indication of happiness tugs the edges of his mouth as he enjoys the comfort of the steam and heat. You patter lightly into the refresher and get on your knees. Some of your fingers ripple through the surface of the waterline as you admire the captain’s calm state.

“You enjoyin’ yourself?” you tease sweetly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he returns, slipping the washcloth away from his face. It disappears with a soggy plop as it is dropped into the water.

You stand up and hoist your shirt above your head before undressing the rest of your outfit from your body. Rex admires the women in front of him, from the weight of your breasts to the curve of your legs. He even whistles after you turn around showcasing your nude self with a shy smile. When you step carefully into the bath, Rex helps guide your body down onto his. He embraces your form tightly and rubs his fingers up and down your spine once you snuggle into his chest. Despite wanting this moment to last forever, it was time for a well needed scrubbing. You help the captain sponge all the grime and sweat from his body, making sure to lather his skin with flower scented body wash, then you suggest a massage for his sore limbs. Rex groans as your hands start to pull, press, and knead his shoulders and deltoids, slowly working your fingers downwards into bigger sections of muscle.

As you rub down his pecs, you get an idea. It was his time to relax and you wanted him to feel good tonight after never getting a change to see each other. Diving below the surface of the bubbly bath water, you take the head of the captain's member into your palm. This coerces a sharp inhale out of him and a twitch from his stomach. You clutch a little more firmly and glide down the base. His knee bends while hands grasp the rim of the bathtub with a low hiss. The captain wants you to go further by the way he whimpers and bites his bottom lip tightly, so you slowly give him what he wants and fist his cock along your palm. You can feel the shaft within your grasp pulsate against your skin. It was enticing. Leaning forward, you dip your head close to Rex’s mouth and use your own to brush along the edge of his lips.

“You’re so beautiful,” you exhale softly, nose trailing close to the captain’s skin as you gently kiss along his cheek… his eyebrow… his forehead… anywhere you could mark with your love and affection. Then you retreat and position your entrance over the main goal.

You lower your hips slowly down, down, down. In unison, a broken sigh croaks from Rex’s throat as he stretches his neck backwards against the edge of the tub. He can feel your walls engulf around him before the head of his cock is snuggled deep inside you. You are so soft and warm, and he is hard and straight. He wants to move but it feels too good being seated within you like this, with the radiating heat thumping against his weeping tip. The water sloshes as the captain moves his arms through the water. He takes the plump curve of your rear and holds your bottom still. His hips move downwards and his cock slides out, then he begins to penetrate you gently in rhythmic beats. Rex's eyebrows furrow. He loves the way your walls wrap around him, stretching open to fit his length. Or how the softness of your walls suddenly clamp around him when he hits your sweet spot just right. The beautiful sounds you make also turn his gears harder. You tip your head back and enjoy this sensation with repetitive cries...at the void being filled up... at your bottom being speared slowly. The waters continue to ripple against the tub as Rex's bounces you on his cock. His large fingers grip and squeeze your sides and you begin to whine louder from the pain tightening in your stomach. Rex sits up and wraps his arms around your lower half. He gives off a loud grunt into your breasts while he bucks his hips deeper. Steady hands holding your bottom tightly, he helps you ride him harder, faster, wilder despite the water protesting to spill over. It slaps along the rim of the tub violently.

Rex looks up from your chest and tilts your chin with his knuckles. His eyes wander over your face as his thumb brushes your bottom lip. His eyes lock with yours and your heart flutters. A spark of adrenaline licks up your spin and you cannot bare to look at the captain from the hot burn flushing your cheeks. You try to restrict your emotions but it is too late for control now. You furrow your eyebrows, head falling back again, with a helpless cry from how good the cock plowing you makes your body unravel. Despite being in water, Rex can feel how utterly drenched your walls have become. Just pure slick gliding along the head and shaft of his painfully tight cock, coating him in your arousal. Pride fills his chest as he knows he's the only man who can make your pussy this wet.

Your body shivers as your belly coils with tension and as Rex brushes his hand downwards until a palm rests on your breast. The captain gives you a firm squeeze, which prompts a light yelp from you. He travels downwards more before settling between your burning thighs. Rex gives your neck a hard spread of sensual kisses. He consumes your body, rocking in sync with you, as he pushes and massages your erected rose bud blooming along your folds. You whimper at his touch while finding purchase around the captain's back. Rex curses at this and the feeling of being buried inside you and your limbs encasing him and the energy flowing between your bodies entangled here in this exploding moment. Feeling his member tightly building up for release, Rex rams himself as far back as he can, making you cry out helplessly from the fullness. Your whole body spasms and finally everything floats away into a numbing orgasm. Hot ropes of cum flow through your walls.

Both of you are left breathless, slumping against each other while panting heavily. The captain moves first and locks eyes with you, scanning your face up and down. Your hands brush up his sides, his pecs, his neck, and finally rest beneath his ears. The pads of your thumbs rub across Rex's cheekbones as you admire the heaving man. Sweat drips from his temple and down his brow. He looks handsome with his eyes hazy and skin glowing with post-sex flushing his cheeks. You lean your head down and meet Rex's lips with a soft kiss.

As you shift your hips and brace your hands on his shoulders, the captain groans at the feeling of being pulled from your warmth. You too whimper at the absence and clench your pussy. Your legs ache as you stand up, the water tumbling from your body. Rex unplugs the tub and reaches for the refresher switch. He turns it on then directs his body towards you. Both of you share a sensual moment beneath the raining water running down your tired bodies. Rex rubs his hands up and down your back and through your damp hair while you are cradled inside his arms. Head resting against his shoulder, your fingertips running along his sides, you lightly hum in contentment. You love this man.

Rex sighs.

He is home.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex fanfiction #captain rex x you #captain rex fanfic #star wars fanfiction #the clone wars fanfiction #star wars #the clone wars #myart #mywriting

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lowkeyorloki · 4 years

Text

Glass Warrior

You’re so beautiful, and so breakable. Loki could never forgive himself if he hurt you.

( smut ! 18+ only please, and tbh, that goes for my whole blog )

Want is ebbing away at your core.

Loki’s mouth is over yours, robbing you of all your breath in a searing kiss. You’re completely wrapped up in him, fingers tangled in his black hair and eyes closed so you can meet him in the dark.

The room is heavy with lust, your back pressed against the armrest of your couch. Loki leans over you, and his body is heavy, and all you can think is, good. If you’re going to go out in any way, you want it to be hot and grandiose and because someone just loved you that much.

Neither you or Loki have shirts on, and his bare stomach and chest against yours feels so good it makes you dizzy, but it isn’t enough. Your hands slide from Loki’s shoulder blades, all the way down his muscled back until they reach the curve of his ass. You take note of every curve and divot under your palm, because you know time like this is limited. You have to make the most of it, commit any and everything to memory.

Your fingers have barely teased the hem of Loki’s pants when he sits up.

“Darling,” he says. Loki’s words are sweet, but his voice is sinful. It’s strained, and when you get a good look at Loki, you take in his reddened lips and lidded eyes. You probably don’t look much better, with all the attention hehey’’s been giving your neck. “We have to stop.”

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach, and you cross your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Loki sees this, and a look of horror passes over his face.

“No.” he unlaces your arms, pulls you back to him, and presses a chaste kiss on the top of your head. You’re confused, and hurt, but you can’t resist Loki. You accept his embrace, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder. “You’re beautiful.” he whispers in your ear.

“So then why don’t you want to...” you trail off, avoiding eye contact.

Loki runs his finger up and down your spine, his breath returning to a steady place. He sighs.

“I can’t risk you.”

“I don’t understand.” you unlace yourself from Loki’s arms. “I’m an adult, Loki.”

“But you aren’t like me.” you bite your lip. Loki’s words are like knives, lodging themselves deep in your heart. “Your body... we aren’t built the same.”

You reach forward, and when Loki doesn’t move away, you trace the definition of Loki’s chest. Abs. You run your finger over each rib, promising both yourself and Loki you won’t miss a single part of him.

Despite his recent protests, Loki’s eyes slide shut.

“You don’t seem so different to me.” you murmur. “You never did.”

Loki takes your hand. “I have to protect you, pet. Even against myself.”

“Protection isn’t paranoia.” you say. Loki looks... crestfallen. Like he’s fighting a war with himself. “You’re strong, Loki, but I can handle myself.” you lean in to kiss the base of Loki’s neck. A sound of pleasure escapes from his lips. You rake your teeth up Loki’s throat, and he cranes his head to give you more access. You can tell Loki wants this- the evidence is pressed against your leg, driving you damn near insane. And besides, he’s admitted under the cover of late nights and hushed tones what he fantasized about doing to you.

With you.

“You ask me all the time to trust you,” you say next to Loki’s ear. “So, just once, can you trust me?”

Loki pushes you back, but keeps a hold on you. His grip on your waist is tight, almost uncomfortable, but you don’t move. Loki brings your forehead to his.

“I can’t lose you.” he says, his lips brushing your own. You bring a hand up, running your thumb over Loki’s sharp cheekbone.

“You aren’t going to. We’re past that. We’re so far past that.” Loki looks at you with worried eyes, but there’s hunger there too, a thousand years’ worth. Loki looks down, then back up again, and suddenly all worry and stress is gone from his face.

He’s ravenous.

“Tell me to kiss you.” Loki’s tone is borderline abrasive after being so concerned. It catches you off guard, and your breath hitches. Loki attaches his lips to your sternum, sucking lightly and then biting down. You yelp, the action sending waves of arousal throughout your body. His lips travel to your breasts, his tongue swirling around your nipple. You hunch over him, your fingers returning to his hair and pulling. Loki groans.

“Tell me.” Loki's hands trace your back until they dip under the hem of your jeans. He cups your ass, your head falling back.

You pull yourself together for just long enough to do what Loki wants. You hold his chin, keeping his eyes trained on his own. The next words you say, you pour your desire, your reassurance, your desperation into.

“Kiss me.” the words come out between pants. “Please, Loki. Kiss me.”

Loki knocks you off balance, so you’re lying completely on the couch. It’s small, almost too small for this, and Loki looms over you, a hand on either side of your head, so close all you can see is him.

It’s a wonderful sight, but sight isn’t enough.

You bring your palm towards the tent in Loki’s pants, brushing it experimentally. He hums, pressing himself into your hand. He’s hard, and you whimper upon the realization it’s because of you. Loki is a god. A literal god, and he’s here with you, aching just as much as you are.

Loki catches your lips in a deep kiss, one that muffles any sound you might make. He reaches between the two of you, under your panties and towards your aching core. You’re wet, ready for his fingers as they slip between your folds. Loki’s thumb circles your clit, and you yelp, biting down on his shoulder to lessen the noise. Loki chuckles, pulling away.

“No hiding, sweet girl.” he tells you, his voice deeper than usual. “Let it out.”

Loki enters you with a finger, barely giving you time to adjust before he adds another. It feels electric, and you rake your nails down his biceps. You feel the best you ever have before, thighs trembling and needing less but wanting more. Loki touches you in steady, planned out strokes. He curls a finger inside you, hitting your g-spot, and you feel yourself nearing the edge-

Loki pulls away, leaving you shaking as release is stolen from you. He puts his palm flat against your stomach, caressing you in a soothing way. It does nothing to ease your arousal.

With a wave of Loki’s hand, both of your bottom layers are gone, leaving the two of you completely exposed. It’s slighter colder, but the feeling soon fades as Loki begins peppering kisses to the insides of your thighs. He backs off every time he nears your heat, causing you tremble under each and every touch.

“Loki.” you pant. He looks at you with blown-out eyes. You feel like you might explode. “Loki, I...”

“What is it?” his tongue flicks out against your lips, and your hips jolt. Loki looks pleased, smirking. You clench your fists.

“Take me, Loki.” you say. You look at Loki, all of him, and see his erection. Loki’s cock is throbbing, red with precum. Your mouth waters. “Please.”

Pure emotion flickers across Loki’s face, and he reaches forward to brush a strand of hair from your forehead.

He lowers himself between your legs, his head teasing your entrance. You grip Loki’s shoulders, leaving little impressions of half-moons on his skin. You hope they last, your chest filling with pride over the idea of leaving any type of mark on Loki.

Loki places soft kisses on the curve of your breast, murmuring against your skin. You can’t tell what he’s saying, but you respond to the light touch, goosebumps forming all over your body. Your heart hammers against your chest in anticipation as Loki teases you.

He thrusts his hips forward, entering you in one quick motion. You gasp, your back arching off the cushions. Loki takes the opportunity to wrap his arm under you, allowing for him to reach even deeper inside you.

Loki is unlike anyone else. You feel full, satisfied as your walls clench around Loki’s member. He occupies your whole being, moving in and out of you so gracefully one would think the two of you had done this many times before. Your sweat-sheened bodies seem to fit perfectly together, completely in sync and euphoric. Your vision blurs, and you see stars even though you swear your eyes are open.

The sounds of sex grow louder as the coils wound deep inside you and Loki threaten to snap. It’s you who orgasms first, brought on by Loki timing nips on your breasts with the movement of his hips. You come with a shout, clutching Loki while feeling too hot and cold at once.

Loki quickly follows suit, his body tensing and then going slack against you. He hides his face in your shoulder as he groans, spilling his seed inside you as you whisper praises in his ear.

Loki lays on top of you for a moment before he eases out of you. You feel hollow at his absence, but you can’t focus on the feeling long as aftershocks consume you.

Loki gathers you in his arms, coaxing you through them and pressing kisses into your hair, telling you how amazing you felt. You want to return the compliments, but Loki shushes you, tracing unknown shapes into your spine.

You let your eyes rest and breaths stabilize, but it doesn’t take you long to crave Loki’s attention once more. You bump your nose against his, earning a laugh.

“I told you.” you say, but there’s no conviction in your voice. Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the corners of Loki’s mouth forming a smile.

“Yes,” he says. “Perhaps I did underestimate you.” the air stills. “But...” Loki’s nimble fingers creep down your figure. “It may be better if we make sure this wasn’t a single occurrence.”

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foodieforthoughts · 3 years

Text

When the ball drops

Summary: It's your third year in the Big Apple and you still haven't found your midnight kiss for when the ball drops, until tonight.

Pairing: Henry x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff!!!

A/N: Happy New Year to everyone! ✨ Watching the ball drop on New Year's Eve in Times Square is my ultimate bucket list! Also not beta read, so don't mind the errors, just had to get done in time before @infinite-shite celebrates New Year's before the rest of us! This baby deserves all the love in the world ❤️

*divider by @firefly-graphics

Title: When the ball drops

The cackle of people's laughter ringed through the pub as the hours ticked by. In contrast to the cold winter air of New York, the inside of the enclosed space felt warm. You quickly pulled on your apron and slid behind the bar, relieving your co-worker from their shift. He hugged you for the New Year that was to ring in about an hour later, happily weaving through the crowd towards the staff exit.

You sighed, grabbing the dish cloth to clean some glasses.

The excitement of coming to the Big Apple had quickly died down for you. You had dreamed of living in the city like the various shows potrayed, feeding lies that everything is magical and full of opportunities in this concrete jungle. But you could disagree with all the contradictions between facts and fictions and align them in a PowerPoint presentation. Not only were you yet to secure your dream job, you lived in a mediocre place with little to look forward to everyday.

Another sigh left your lips, your shoulders slumping despite the merriment around.

"That would be the second time you sigh." The crisp accented voice of a stranger sounded from across you. "What's the matter, love?"

You knew who he was. You ogled at his pictures on a regular basis, especially when he became Superman. But he looked nothing like the Henry Cavill you saw on the red carpets. Clad in a plain blue shirt, jaw sprinkled with the hint of a stubble and hair combed to perfection, Henry titled his head at you with a smile. You looked around at the other patrons, unsure if he was talking to you indeed.

Henry chuckled at your look of confusion. He took a seat at the barstool and grabbed the menu from the stand. With a dish cloth still inside the glass tumbler, you stared at the Hollywood heartthrob. The pub you worked at was frequented with celebs on a regular basis, the only downside being you usually worked for the day shift which meant by the time you rolled out of work, the big shots were only just waking up.

"Can I get-"

"Guinness?" You interrupted him. You meant to say it in your head but the word left your mouth before you could control your lips.

But Henry didn't flinch. He just smiled widely, the dimples in his chin dipping charmingly and his eyes shining like the brightest star under the flickering strobe lights. He slid the menu back towards you and clasped his hands together.

You blinked your eyes several times to rid yourself of the flutter in you belly as Henry smiled at you softly. He watched as you got him a glass and filled it up with his beer. Your hands trembled so much with the nervousness of serving an A list actor, who not only was doing well in industry but was exceptionally sexier in person, that you were worried the foam gathered at the top would dribbled down the sides. Noticing your struggle, Henry extended his hands and placed them over yours to secure his glass.

Electricity. In the most clichéd scenarios of romance movies, you felt a jolt of electricity when your hands touched his, the sparks travelling down your spine to your toes. Sucking in a sharp breath you handed him the glass, chiding yourself over your hyper aware mind.

"What is a pretty lady like you working in a bar at this hour?" He asked, sipping his fermented pint of alcohol.

"Coworker has plans with his girlfriend, like everyone tonight." You shrugged your shoulder, going over to another customer ordering drinks. You could feel Henry's eyes on you as you readied the customer's order. The sound of giggling girls pulled your attention just as the man left with his drink.

You walked back to where Henry sat, nursing his beer. "Anything to go with that?" you enquired, rearranging the shot glasses under the bar counter.

"I am still wondering how, in the world, a pretty woman like you, is stuck here."

You scoffed, more to yourself than him. "Because this supposed pretty woman is single as fuck." The mirth in your voice hid the sense of self pity edging at the corners of your mind. It had been three years since you had first arrived in the city with a possibility of reaching for the stars in both personal and professional life. You had been left disappointed with the jerks and assholes you ended up with, ultimately sitting at home and questioning your choices in men.

You noted the softness creasing at the corners of Henry's eyes. The last thing you wanted was to be seen as a miserable bartender at the end of the year, so you cleared your throat and smiled at him. "What is superman doing at a bar, in New York, alone?"

Henry chuckled. His gravelly thick laughter ringing louder than the music in your ears. "I was just stopping by the city, thought I'll stay to understand what the big deal is with the ball drop."

"Oh my God. Watching the ball drop and kissing at midnight is the most romantic thing you can do with your partner. You should be at Times Square!" Your excitement over the whole New Year's Eve shenanigan was flowing through in your speech.

"Too crowded." He shook his head, groaning and sipping his beer.

You rolled your eyes. "As opposed to this cramped pub?"

Henry chuckled again, throwing a wink at you. You felt the familiar flutter in your belly. You peered at him under your lashes, Henry seemed to be having his eyes only for you tonight. The giggling ladies were desperately trying to grab his attention while sipping on their Margheritas wearing their embellished dresses with low cuts and frills. You glanced down at yourself and frowned. Over the faded blue jeans and white t-shirt, you wore the black apron with the pub's insignia on the left breast. You suddenly became profoundly aware of how 'basic' you might look in comparison to the other ladies.

Self doubt clouded your mind. You politely smiled at Henry and hurried to the other side of the bar to serve the other customers. Maybe Henry only wanted someone to play the horizontal hokey-pokey with him for the night, or maybe he was bored and since you were obligated to talk nicely with him, he had pitched a conversation. Whatever the reason, you did not like how the multiple scenarios would end. You knew your feeble, fragile heart. You would get hurt, one way or another.

"Hi," Henry appeared again in front of you. He had his beer in his hand, his other elbow resting on the counter. "Did I offend you in some way?"

"No. But you are pretty much making me realize, how miserable my life is." Your voice sounded bleak against the booming voices. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you watched the couples snuggle up to each other. It had been ages since you had felt the loving embrace of a man, even longer since you had shared a meaningful kiss with someone special.

"What would you have been doing instead?" Henry's voice pulled you out of your desolated reverie.

"I would be in Times Square, with my significant other, which I don't have. We would get some drinks while standing on the outskirts of the crowd and watch the countdown."

There was a stir of activity in the pub as someone announced that there were only 90 seconds to the ball drop. You hadn't even realized that time had passed so quickly whilst you had juggled your conversation with Henry.

"Well, you have the drinks," Henry reached forward to grab a glass and poured half of his beer in the empty tumbler. "We are at the outskirts of the crowd since everyone is huddled near the TV." You nodded as you watched the couples gather near the enormous flat screen mounted on the wall. "We aren't at the Times Square, but we are in New York."

The countdown read 60 seconds with the red numbers counting backwards. Henry stood up and leaned forward on the counter. You watched with bated breath as he grabbed the strap of your apron and pulled you towards him.

His hand rested lightly on your cheek, his thumb grazing your cheekbone. The smell of beer, his perfume and musk enveloped you, bundling you in everything that signified him. You gazed into his cerulean eyes, the fleck of brown going dark against the blue ocean. Your hands hung by your side, flabbergasted by the surprising turn of events.

"I might not be your significant other," His breath washed over your heated face, his eyes transfixed on yours. "But we can perhaps change that."

"Happy New Year!"

Like the fireworks going off on the One Times Square Building, when your lips collided with his, there was a burst of colorful sparks celebrating the union of two people from across the pond. Henry pulled your face closer to his by grabbing behind your head, his fingers threading through your hair. You finally could think straight as you moaned into the kiss, holding onto the collar of his shirt as the pub erupted with loud cheers. In that moment, everything seemed perfect in the world. You felt your legs turn to jelly as Henry pulled back, breathing through his mouth, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth.

The smug smile on his face returned as he sat back on his barstool. You grabbed onto the counter for support as you gulped lungful of air.

"Did that count as something for when the ball drops?" He asked, sipping his beer and watching you from the brim of his glass.

You nodded. The heat on your cheeks traveled down to your chest, a grin spreading on your lips. Biting your lip you reached for the other glass of beer Henry had poured. "Happy new year to me." You announced before clinking your glass with Henry's.

✨HAPPY NEW YEAR GUYS✨

#henry cavill #Henry Cavill fanfic #Henry Cavill rpf #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill x you #henry cavill fluff #Henry Cavill imagine #Foodie's new year fanfic #NYE 2020 #foodieforthoughts

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

#vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #hong cha young #I live for their tension #that flick scene undid me #when they kiss I might lose my shit #they'll hear me scream in Korea #and Italy #I love teasing #Chazenzo #that's what I've been calling them #joo sung is their deer #🥴🥴

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n3rdybird · 3 years

Text

Healing Touch

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s Hamilton Lyric challenge! This story went through so many re-writes and changes, god I hope this mangled mess is okay, haha. My prompt was the line “My name’s been through a lot. I can take it.”

Vikings

HeahmundxReader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Some blood, talk about Church, self-flagellation etc (referenced, not described in depth) suggestive language, oogling a man of the church (haha)

Gossip was always a funny thing in small villages. Perhaps you had not been thinking clear when you established your home on the edge of the holy town of Sherborn. Nestled in the woods near a stream, you were both close enough to the town to visit for supplies but far enough away that your arrival stirred up a bit of mystery.

As an unmarried woman with no known family, you already raised a few brows of the more prominent families. But it was your talent for herbalism that set most of the tongues wagging. The smallfolk were more pragmatic towards your skills. They could overlook your marital status if it meant well-made salves and tonic for their aches and illnesses. With their payments, usually traded goods that you could not make yourself, and the bounty of the forest, you rarely had any need to visit the town marketplace. Which only furthered the mystique around you.

When you did grace the town with your presence, most of the townsfolk gave you a wide berth, allowing you to shop in peace. Even the merchants seemed to deal in your favor, giving you more than was due for your wares. You heard the rumors. Half the town believed that you were a cunning woman and would bring misfortune to any who wronged you. The other half sang your praises, that you were even more skilled than the clergy.

So it was to your great surprise as you kneeled to rearrange your parcels in your basket that a shadow loomed over you. You glanced upward, schooling your features as you saw the Bishop of Sherborne himself, Heahmund, standing over you.

You nodded your head in greeting before standing, slinging your basket over your shoulder. The bishop was a popular man, known for his devotion to God as well as to the sword. And lesser-known, his propensity for women. Mostly gossip, but living as you had, you knew there was at least a kernel of truth to any rumor. His handsome face did not help, nor the way his stubble gave him a rakish air. He was a far cry from the average holy man, fat and week from a sedentary lifestyle.

“Your Grace,” you greeted and dipped into a shallow curtsey, giving the most powerful man in Sherborne due deference for his position.

“You know who I am?” he asked.

“Of course. One could scarcely live in Sherborne without knowing of its Bishop,” you answered.

He nodded in agreement, before gesturing for you to walk with him.

“Please allow me to escort you home if you are finished for the day,” he offered.

You had no intention of spending any considerable time with the church official, but you erred on the side of caution and walked in step next to him.

“I apologize for not making my acquaintance sooner, I meet most of my parishioners on Sundays for mass,” he said, keeping his eyes forward.

You hummed noncommittally, but inside, you blanched. Heahmund's statement seemed polite on the surface, but you knew he was angling for an answer to why you had yet to make an appearance in church. In all honesty, it wasn’t that you weren’t Christian. You were, in your own way. It was the idea that one had to go to church to be considered religious that you didn’t agree with. So you had to pick your words carefully.

“Well then I am pleased that I’ve had the chance to meet you today,” you said, avoiding the point about the church, focusing on his former words rather than the latter. Heahmund cut his eyes towards you, clearly noting your evasion.

“Quite.” His tone was sharp and you felt as if you failed an unknown test.

The conversation dwindled to Heahmund telling bits of history about the town or gesturing to points of interest as the two of you left town. You were glad when you walked past the boundary of Sherborne. You were used to the curious stares when you were alone, but with the Bishop as company, it seemed the gazes were amplified. The gossip mill would soon be in a frenzy. The path home took you past the open fields and into the shaded forest along a winding path.

“Living alone, so far from town, must worry you,” he noted.

“Why would I be worried?”

“Well a woman such as yourself, living alone. You would be far better protected living in town. Roaming bandits, animals, or even the occasional Viking incursion.”

“I worry as much as the next, I suppose, but living in town has never appealed to me. Not to mention it is easier to collect wild plants,” you explained.

“Yes, I’ve heard of your skills. Where did you learn?”

You paused your walk, noticing a crop of comfrey sprouting from the ground. You knelt in the dirt, brushing the purple buds with your fingertips. Too young. You’d have to wait a few more days to harvest. You stood up, wiping the dirt off your skirt. You glanced back at Heahmund who had stopped several paces away. He was watching you closely but looked away as soon as your gaze met his.

“Family mostly, I’ve never learned formally. I’ve found that there is much in nature that can help or hurt. It only takes a practiced hand to know the difference.”

Heahmund stiffened, his hand resting on his sword. His gaze turned to stone as he eyed you critically.

“And do you only heal? Or do you hurt? I admit this meeting was no coincidence. There have been rumors that reached my ears. Half the town believes you to be a cunning woman, a witch, and I do not suffer pagans under my watch.”

You swallowed. You shouldn’t have disregarded the gut feeling you had the moment he began speaking to you. If the Bishop found any fault in your words, he could kill you now and be firm in his belief that he was in the right in his duty as a man of God. There was no one around who could come to your aid, not that any would stand against the warrior.

“Do you deny it?”

“Perhaps you could tell me which rumors have graced your ears, so I may better defend myself.” The words you spoke were calm and confident, the complete opposite of how you were feeling. The sounds of the forest melted away and all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat as you tried to control your fear.

Heahmund tilted his head as if trying to suss out your guilt or innocence.

“‘Which’ rumors? You are aware of what people say about you?”

“My name’s been through a lot. I can take it. Women are always subjected to gossip, especially unmarried ones. I would be a fool to believe otherwise. I hardly see the point in trying to change someone’s opinion of me. People do not like to be wrong.”

“Lord Oswald has claimed that you hold dark influence over his daughter, causing her to act out and defy her father. And that you placed a curse upon him, causing illness.”

At the mention of the man, you clenched your fist. You had first met his daughter when she visited you, draped in a cloak to hide her face. The purple bruise that spread across her cheekbone like a wine stain caused your immediate hatred towards the man she called father. You may have let out a few choice curse words as you treated the abrasion and consoled the young woman.

“That man is a pig. I couldn't care less what he thought of me. As for his illness, perhaps he should be blaming his poor diet.”

“Lord Oswald is an upstanding and-”

“Upstanding? That man would sell his daughter to the vilest devil on earth if it meant he’d get more power!” You blurted the words out, angry that that man would be considered upstanding.

“His daughter is his by rights, and as such may marry her to a man of his choosing. That is the duty of daughters,” the Bishop intoned, repeating the words drilled into him by years of church teachings.

You scoffed at his words, biting back harsh curses. Duty, you’ve never cared for that word.

“Duty, what a hollow promise. Is it not a father’s duty to protect his daughter? And not to lay a hand on her in anger?”

Heahmund’s face softened at that particular bit of information.

“Did you place a curse on Oswald?” he asked again, his voice low and stern.

“I wouldn’t have to. That man will drink himself into an early grave,” you spat. You nodded to where his hand was still resting on the pommel of his sword.

“So what is your judgment? Is thinking a man worth less than a pile of shit enough to die? Or not congregating with hypocrites on Sunday who profess their goodness only to hit their wives or cheat on their husbands or sleep with clergymen? Are those my crimes?”

The last bit of course was aimed at the Bishop. He was taken aback by your words. He too knew the hypocrisy of humans, he had seen it firsthand in others and himself.

“Regardless of any sin committed, man can repent and ask forgiveness.” It was what he told himself every time he failed in his duty to God.

“But I am judged by the words of one man, and that’s enough to condemn me? And what of all the kind words said in my favor? Because they are from the smallfolk they aren’t as important? But as soon as someone with ‘prestige’ speaks horrible lies, you must come running to investigate. Like a trained hound set out by its masters.”

Dismissing the warrior bishop, you shook your head. Rigid, sanctimonious, and arrogant.

“If you are going to kill me, kill me. I do not wish to suffer your presence any longer.”

When Heahmund did not speak but removed his hand from his sword you gave him a terse nod.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, your Grace.”

Heahmund watched as you walked away, your skirts swishing behind you. You had spoken the truth. He had no interest in you until the upper echelon started their complaints. He was all but demanded to get to the bottom of it. As much as your words stung, you were correct. He could have denounced the hearsay as soon as they were spoken, owing to the fact that smallfolk all but revered you. So he bowed under the demands to keep his place secure.

You, however, were not what he expected. Young, unmarried, and striking. He thought you might be an older widow, with the talk of your skills. Instead he got you, a fiery, educated young woman, who wasn't afraid of speaking her mind. It was almost refreshing to have someone not fawn over him. Yes, you treated him with respect but did not trip over yourself to please him. You had no problem criticizing him.

He rubbed the pommel of his sword, worrying the raised designs with his thumb. You were interesting indeed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After you left the bishop to mull over your words, you had hurried home, half expecting him to come after you and take you in for your supposed crimes. When he did not follow, your steps became shaky and you found yourself stumbling into the small cottage you called home. You flung the latch closed and leaned against the door, trying to regain your wits.

You had been accused of crimes, as untrue as they were. The Bishop himself was sent to investigate. And you had thrown a tantrum, insulting him and his life. The next few days you did not venture far from your home, fearing retribution. You debated leaving your home, going to another area. But you tired of running away. As the days passed, you breathed a little easier. No one had come to take you away, and the smallfolk continued to do business with you.

After a particularly grueling morning over a cookfire, and setting a poor child’s broken arm, you were exhausted. With the hot sun overhead, you plucked at your tunic as it stuck to your skin. A dip in the water would do nicely.

Gathering your satchel and clad in a lightweight chemise, you began your trek to your preferred bathing spot. A small bend in the river where the water calmed and you could bathe in relative peace.

Placing your bag within reach of the water, you glance around before unlacing your chemise, letting it fall to your feet. The water was cool, refreshing on your overheated skin. You ducked under the water, brushing your wet locks away from your face. You wiped the water from your eyes before reaching for your soap to wash away the grime of the morning.

“Perhaps you are not a witch, but a water nymph from Greek stories,” a familiar voice called out. You spun and stared gobsmacked at the bishop sitting near the edge of the water. You bristled at the nerve of him openly staring as you bathed.

“Shouldn’t a man of the cloth look away when a woman is bathing?” you retorted, wishing for the first time that the water was not so clear.

“Ah, but you have already judged me a hypocrite, would that not be proving you wrong?” he replied but turned his head away from you.

You grumbled, a bit irritated that he had thrown your own words back in your face. Making your way to the shore, you all but snatched your chemise with outstretched fingertips, and dressed with haste.

“Is there something you need, your Grace?” you huffed out, irritated that he had spoiled your bath. You grabbed your satchel, swinging it wildly over your shoulder, hitting his chest with the soft leather. You immediately dropped your pack in alarm when he hissed in pain.

“I came to apologize,” he said between clenched teeth. “Would that be amiable, or would you prefer to hit me with your bag again?”

The weight of your bag should not have caused him any pain, especially if it caused him to grit his teeth. You peeled back his tunic and gasped at the sight of several scratches adorning his chest. Though most were superficial, a few deep welts drug across the expanse of his skin.

“What on earth happened?”

Heahmund jerked away from your grip.

“It’s nothing to worry about," he said, brushing off your concern.

“I’d ask you not to lie to me. Take off your shirt.”

When he didn’t follow your command you rolled your eyes.

“Lord save me from bullheaded men,” you muttered, reaching for his shirt.

“You can either take off your shirt, or I will cut it off. It matters not to me what you choose.”

Heahmund raised a brow at your demands and pulled his tunic over his head with a grunt of pain. Kneeling in front of him, you tried to not ogle the Bishop as you took in his wounds. Most were already scabbed over, others dark with crusted blood. You curled your lip in dismay. You traced your fingers over his skin, the newer cuts crossing over old scars. Some of the deeper gashes were warm to the touch, a sign of infection. You looked up, his eyes watching your hand as it moved across his chest before looking at you.

You pulled your hand away, clucking in a scolding manner. Rifling through your pouch, you pulled out a strip of cloth and some salve. You dipped the cloth into the cool water, wringing out the excess before blotting at the wounds.

“You would think someone with your knowledge would know to treat cuts, no matter how trivial,” you said, as you washed the crusted blood away. “You look like you got in a fight with a cat,” you joked.

“Thorns actually,” he amended. When you looked at him confused, he clarified.

“My self-penance, along with asking for your forgiveness.”

You paused in your ministrations, horrified at the thought.

“You believe God would want you to harm yourself to seek forgiveness?”

“It brings me clarity, to better understand what path God wishes me to take.”

You shook your head before reaching for the salve.

“What is there to understand? God gave us free will, for us to make the choices in our lives. Maybe making mistakes is part of his plan?” you said softly, applying the paste with deft fingers.

“I fear I make too many mistakes, stumble too often in my path,” Heahmund confessed.

“You were right. About Oswald and the rumors. His daughter confirmed it in confession. She was quite worried about you when she heard I came to visit you.”

You shook your head, sighing. The last thing you wanted was to cause more trouble for the young girl.

“I hope you told her she was not at fault. I can take care of myself. Please tell her not to worry.”

He took your hand in his, his calloused fingertips running along yours. Your hand was calloused, but not from holding a sword. You had burn scars from hot pots, tiny cuts from mishaps with knives. Your hand that he had accused of witchcraft and misdeeds was the hand that wiped away his blood and applied medicine, something he did not deserve. A healing hand.

“Choices and mistakes shape our lives, make us who we are. My life brought me here, to Sherborne. As your choices brought you to me. It was your choice to let, rather than kill or imprison me, something I am grateful for,” you said matter of fact.

Heahmund laughed.

“We shall see if that works in my favor. Provided you didn’t poison me,” he said, nodding towards his chest.

You rolled your eyes and licked your fingertip, still coated in salve. Heahmund’s eyebrows jumped in surprise at your action.

“Well if it were poison, now I would die as well. So fear not your Grace, you should be on the mend quickly,” you jested with a smile. Heahmund returned your smile with one of his own. You felt your stomach flutter at the expression on his face, and the threat of a blush warmed your neck.

He brought your hand up to his lips and planted a warm slow kiss on the back of your knuckles. The rough brush of his stubble sent a zip of desire down your spine. This was dangerous. This was a mistake in the making. But you found yourself caring little as you stared into his eyes.

“Please, allow me to repay you.”

#vikings fanfic #heahmund x reader #star's hamilfilm lyric challenge #heahmund fanfic #vikings fanfiction #bishop heahmund

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trashscenariihxh · 4 years

Text

Chrollo x Fem!Reader

Yet another commission! If you’re interested in commissioning something, please message me. Remember, no commissions are shared without your consent, and they are all made anonymous.

You received a text from Chrollo saying he’d be in town only minutes before you ran into him. It was late; you’d just finished closing up shop, counting the money left in the till and locking up before grabbing your coat and heading out into the autumn night. It had stormed earlier, but now it only drizzled. Damp leaves clung to your shoes as you walked down the slippery cobblestone street.

Had Chrollo not called your name out softly, you would have walked right by him, so preoccupied were you with keeping your umbrella from being blown inside out by a sudden gust of wind. You stopped the instant you heard your name, turning in the direction of the voice. Chrollo was dressed in normal clothes for once, casually leaning against the side of a building, washed in the gold of the streetlight.

“Hey!” You called, walking briskly towards him and promptly stepping into a puddle. You cursed, closing your umbrella as you futilely shook your foot. No point in trying to stay dry now. “What are you doing here?”

Chrollo smiled, that sweet, darkly angelic smile of his. “To see you, _____. Isn’t that obvious?”

You rolled your eyes. “I meant here. In the street.”

“Your shop was closed, it takes you twenty minutes to walk home. I guessed I’d find you here.” He chuckled. “It seems I was right.”

Snorting, you turned on your heel and strode off. “Come on then, I’m going home to get out of the rain. Stay in the street if you like.” You noticed that he didn’t even have an umbrella on him. Chrollo was a strange man, perhaps he enjoyed getting rained on. Sometimes you felt as though you couldn’t truly be sure of what he enjoyed.

Neither of you attempted conversation on the walk back to your apartment. Your mood was too foul after having been made to suffer the annoyance of wet socks, and the wind rustling the dried leaves as it blew through the trees was too loud to speak over.

“You could have just waited for me here.” You spoke finally as you reached you apartment, removing your shoes and switching on the light.

“I don’t have a key.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you.”

Chrollo arched an eyebrow. “You think I’ve broken into your home?”

“Well haven’t you?”

Another cryptic smile. A flash behind his eyes. “Perhaps.”

His lips were on yours an instant later. Chrollo might have taken great pains to appear ethereal and otherworldly, but there was something so refreshingly warm about his kisses that his humanity was undeniable. Soft lips drifted down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of even softer kisses in their wake along your throat.

“Right to the point, huh?” You chuckled, tilting your head to the side to give him better access.

“It’s been a long time.”

Had it? You had a hard time believing that Chrollo had spent the last several months pining away for you, such thoughts were an extravagance reserved only for those in relationships with normal people. Every time Chrollo left, you assumed that he’d either be killed or just lose interest in what you had; he’d slink through his life of shadows and remember you less and less until you became little more than a silhouette in his memory. A favorite character in a long-forgotten book.

Whether these were prophetic musings or purely melodramatic thoughts mattered little to you now, especially since Chrollo was urgently sliding your coat off your shoulders in an attempt to undress you.

“Hey!” You protested when his hands rested on your ass and squeezed through the fabric of your dress, but you melted into him when he pulled you close and murmured “I’ve missed you” against your lips.

That was all it took. You grabbed his wrist and led him to your bedroom, blushing at the light peal of amused laughter that ensued. You refused to be ashamed of your eagerness, so you cast a smirk over your shoulder as you began to shed your clothing. It was much more efficient than Chrollo’s earlier fumbling.

A smile spread across your face when Chrollo stood behind you, his half-hard cock obvious when his crotch pressed against your ass. You jumped in surprise when he began to rub against you.

“You like it?” Chrollo asked, helping you remove the last remnants of your clothes and dipping down to kiss your shoulder. “Feeling me like this?” He swept a lock of your hair away so he could lightly suck at your neck.

You hummed in contentment, reaching back behind you to lace your fingers in his thick dark hair. He’d forgone his usual severe slicked-back hairstyle in favor of leaving his hair down, something you greatly appreciated. Chrollo’s hands found their way to your now-exposed breasts; he palmed at them before lightly rubbing at and gently tweaking your nipples. The more he touched you, the more excited he became; Chrollo was rocking against you, his still-clothed erection stiffening by the second. One of his hands drifted down between your legs, his fingers beginning to stroke your clit.

“Chrollo…” His name fell from your lips in a barely audible whimper as you bucked against him, your eyes fluttering shut. After so long, his touch was enough to transport you away from your bedroom. You were lost. Totally, gloriously lost.

“_____.” Chrollo’s voice brought you back to the present. “Look.”

You opened your eyes, confused as to what exactly Chrollo wanted you to look at, until. Oh. Oh. In your earlier haste to get Chrollo into your bedroom, you’d failed to notice that you were standing almost directly in front of your full-length mirror.

“Look at me,” Chrollo ordered silkily, laughing lightly when you instinctively started to look back at him. “No. There.” He grabbed your chin and turned your head to face the mirror.

You’d seen yourself naked countless times, and you’d been intimate with Chrollo a comparable amount, but your cheeks burned with exhilaration and something almost like shame when you looked in the mirror. Here you were, naked and utterly exposed, while Chrollo was more or less fully clothed.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, dropping his hand from your chin and gently wrapping his fingers around your throat. He continued to stroke your sex; his fingers moved away from your clitoris to dip between your legs and rub against your slit. “Keep looking at me.” His large grey eyes locked onto yours as he slid a finger inside you.

“It’s okay,” he soothed when your breath hitched. “You can cry out if you want to. If you can.” He tightened his grip on your throat.

You gasped when your air supply was suddenly partially cut off, yet you kept looking in the mirror as instructed. Looking at him. With one hand around your neck and the other between your legs. It struck you then just how beautiful Chrollo was; his face, unreadable alabaster, remained supernaturally serene even as he choked you. Angelic. Seraphic, even.

Chrollo tightened his grip again, and for an instant you couldn’t breathe. Flashes of red and gold danced before your eyes, and just as your vision began to cloud, you came around Chrollo’s fingers.

“Lovely,” he breathed, relaxing his grip and kissing your neck again. There was something reverentially apologetic about the way he kissed you now, his full lips ghosting over the angry red marks his fingers had made. He withdrew his hand from between your legs. “Get on the bed.”

A jolt of anticipation shot down your spine at the calmly given order. You obeyed, walking over to your bed and lying down on your back, legs spread, body eagerly waiting.

Chrollo smiled softly. “No, not like that. On your hands and knees.” You bristled at the slight note of condescension you heard in his voice but obeyed just the same.

From behind you, you heard the rustle of fabric, the clinking of a belt buckle. For the second time that night you began to look back, and just like the first time, Chrollo stopped you.

“Don’t.”

You closed your eyes and let your head hang in frustration. He was certainly taking his time…

Cool hands began to caress your ass, making you shudder at the long-awaited touch. Your eyes shot open when Chrollo pulled his hand away and brought it down on your ass with an audible slap, and you moaned softly when he did it a second time. It stung, but not unpleasantly.

Surprisingly, Chrollo offered no commentary on your reaction; he was seemingly content with drawing little moans and gasps from you with each slap. When he was finally satisfied, he rubbed his hands soothingly over your now-sore backside before lining himself up with your entrance and sliding in.

Your eyes widened when he bottomed out; it became immediately clear that he had not bothered to get undressed, a situation that sent little tremors of delight over your skin. You felt so vulnerable like this, so used.

Chrollo, who had seemingly used up his supply of self-restraint, began to fuck you with fast, hard thrusts. He grabbed your hips, preventing you from wriggle away from him as he drove into your repeatedly, fast and deep.

You bit your lip as his cock hit your g-spot, your inner walls tightening around him. Chrollo’s soft grunts and gasps were music to your ears; each sound he made caused the proverbial coil within your core to tighten. With a rush of daring, you chanced a look at Chrollo over your shoulder and barely contained a gasp when you saw him.

Chrollo’s head was thrown back, his eyes closed, lush dark lashes pressed against his cheekbones. His cheeks had taken on a light pink flush, as had his lips, which were parted in a silent “O” of pleasure. The smallest, barely audible hint of a moan began to tinge each of Chrollo’s gasps; the picture before you was almost enough to make you come on the spot.

Chrollo’s eyes cracked open and you quickly looked away. Too late, evidently; you received a sharp smack on your ass for your disobedience.

“I… didn’t… say you could… look- oh!” Chrollo’s last shred of self-control evaporated; he reached forward, grabbing a handful of your hair and jerking your head back as he began to relentlessly fuck into you harder than you thought possible. Something had changed about the angle of his hips; he was no longer directly hitting your g-spot, but somewhere deeper, more sensual. You groaned as your walls spasmed around his cock as your second orgasm crashed into you.

Your clenching around his cock sent Chrollo reeling into orgasm as well; he grabbed your hips again with an almost bruising force and slammed into you, releasing deep inside you with a low grunt.

For all his exertion, Chrollo only trembled behind you for a few moments before pulling out and grabbing a tissue off the bedside table to clean himself up. You, however, collapsed onto the bed, having been exhausted by two orgasms.

“Tired?” Chrollo sat lightly on the foot of the bed, fully clothed again.

“What do you think?” You shut your eyes, willing your heartbeat to return to normal.

“I think you’re exhausted.”

“You’re correct. Well done.” You sighed and propped yourself up on your elbows. “Why are you still dressed?”

“I thought I’d take you out for dinner.”

You snorted incredulously. “Oh, now you tell me. While I’m all fucked out and exhausted.”

“Well?”

“It’s raining.”

“You have an umbrella, if memory serves.”

“All right, fine.” You yawned and sat up, grimacing at the soreness between your legs. It had been too long. “Let me get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Feeling Chrollo’s release begin to leak from you, you hastily dashed to the bathroom. You grabbed a towel and turned on the shower, delighting in the heat of the water.

As you stepped into the shower, eager for the water’s warmth, you heard the bathroom door creak open. “You need something?”

You were answered with a very naked Chrollo stepping into the shower with you. “I’ve been traveling for some time. Perhaps I ought to get cleaned up as well.”

You grinned to yourself as you squeezed bodywash onto a washcloth. Perhaps dinner out wasn’t in the cards for tonight after all.

#smuttastic #chrollo lucilfer

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owillofthewisps · 4 years

Text

unspoken

notes: shout-out to tumblr for not being functional - this was originally a response to an ask from an anon asking for eskel smut! hi anon!! i hope this was what you wanted/is something you find sexy!

i feel like you weren’t quite looking for 5k of smuff (smutty fluff) but it’s uh. what you’re getting. sorry about that. and i could have written a whole nother scene. that’s probably show up down the line.

i’ve never written eskel before and hooo it shows. sorry anon!!

pairing: eskel/fem reader

rating: explicit (warnings: fingering, oral (f receiving), brief handjob, slight overstimulation, some self-esteem issues referenced/briefly mentioned. i think that’s it.)

word count: 5.3k one day, you think, Eskel will be able to hear the words you’re already saying.

You hear the galloping hoof beats too late.

They’ve been obscured by the churning rhyme you’re humming, the slow, steady song of home.

“Lil’ Bleater, no!” Eskel calls, his deep voice edged with a hint of panic. From the sound of him, his rambunctious goat has left him behind in a quick burst of speed. She’s a nimble little thing, you know, liable to dance around the broad Witcher as he tries to corral her.

There’s no time to turn, and you shriek with laughter as the small goat butts against the back of your knees. Her horns catch in your skirts for a moment, tangling like river reeds caught in the current. It sends you stumbling forward. You catch yourself against the heavy churn, still giggling despite the small sting of her horns, blunt though they are.

“I thought we were friends, little thief,” you tell Lil’ Bleater, who merely bleats at you around the mouthful of verdant green alfalfa sprouts she’s knocked from the pocket of your apron.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel says, practically tumbling into the lean-to in his rush. The goat prances away, eyeing him warily as she continues to munch on her prize. “Don’t you - oh.”

“Well met, Eskel,” you say, turning to face him with a soft smile. You wipe at your brow with the back of your hand, knowing that you are likely shining with sweat from the heavy work of churning. “You were right, I shouldn’t have let her know I have alfalfa in my pockets.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, not meeting your eyes. You wish he would. You so often yearn for the sunlight of his gaze, the way his amber eyes go soft for you, like butter melting. His fingers flex. He scrubs a hand over his face, and you know his scars are pulsing. They’re vivid against his skin. It reminds you of the meadow near your birthplace, where the sorrel grew wild, leaves streaked with crimson veins. They are terrible scars, you know, but there is beauty in them too.

“Are you hurt?”

“Just a little sore,” you say. It’s a soft kiss of pain, something summery in it, the ache of slipping from a tree branch when you’ve climbed just a bit higher than you should have.

Eskel shifts, and you know the slight hunch of his shoulders. Before Eskel, you never thought a Witcher could look so small. You shake your skirts loose from their tangle and cross to him. His large hands flex, rising slightly as if to touch, and then he drops them back to his side. You catch your sigh between your teeth and swallow it down.

The Path takes him from you often, and you bear him no grudge for it, but sometimes he returns to you with unsure hands, as if he worries that you will fade away like a dream should he touch. It is still new, though, this thing between the two of you, a sprout unfolding into a stem, stretching closer to the sky. You are not patient, but for him, you will be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and he sounds oddly helpless. “You’re sure you aren’t harmed?”

You trace a hand over the bulk of his shoulder. It’s a light touch, a gentle summer breeze ruffling through the wildflowers, slipping over their petals like silk, and something in him eases.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” you say airily. “I’m hardier than you think. Though Lil’ Bleater may need to apologize to the chickens for stealing their treat.”

“I’ll get you more.”

You raise a brow. “I’ve a whole field of it,” you point out. “Besides, if you truly wish to make amends when none are needed, you can greet me with the kiss I’d like to have.”

That finally draws his gaze to you. In the light filtering into the lean-to, his eyes gleam amber, translucent like summer honey. His eyes always leave you greedy, feeling gold-drunk, a dragon coiled around her hoard.

“Only if you’d like,” you remind him, because you will take nothing that he does not wish to give.

Eskel cups your face in his large hands, draws you close, and drinks from your lips. You hum into the kiss, your eyes fluttering closed. His fingers gain surety, the rough pad of his thumb dragging over the sweep of your cheekbone, and you drape your arms around his neck. He’s so broad against you, steady and grounding, an ancient oak firmly rooted. You tease a sharp breath out of him with your tongue.

When you pull back, his eyes have darkened to the golden glow of a mostly-set sun. His hands slip to your waist, his fingers tight on the plush curve of your hips.

“I missed you,” you admit boldly. Sya often tells you that you have a brazen tongue. You aren’t quite sure of that, but you know you tend towards bluntness. A hammer instead of a blade, Sya tells you.

Eskel makes a soft noise that you can’t quite place. He slides the tips of his fingers into the small gap between your skirts and your bodice, his amber eyes tracing over you. You refuse to be embarrassed. It’s true, after all, and you will tell him until it is not. But you do not think it will ever be untrue.

He pulls you in for another kiss, and this time, you can sense the teeth in him. The hunger. Eskel kisses you breathless, the pads of his fingers slipping higher on your bare skin. He kisses you until the world fades around you, until it feels quiet despite the chirp of the birds and the rustle of the breeze.

You press closer still, tangling your fingers into his mahogany hair. He rumbles out a noise that arrows through you. You can feel his hand trailing up the ladder of your spine, leaving a blazing trail of heat behind it. Your bodice loosens as he tugs at the laces. The sweetly embroidered neckline dips low, catching on the thin fabric of the chemise, and you pull in a tight breath.

“Eskel,” you murmur. He dips his head to your neck, his breath whirling warm over your skin, and then - Lil’ Bleater makes herself known with a bleat and a headbutt. She mouths at your apron, trying to pull the pocket open for more alfalfa.

“Lil’ Bleater!” Eskel hisses as you laugh into his shoulder. He leans down as she butts against you again with another faint cry, dismayed to find your pocket ransacked and empty. She turns her attention to him, butting against his large hands, and even though Eskel is swearing under his breath, he is gentle as he shoos her away.

The goat squawks her displeasure and flounces out of the lean-to. You’ve no doubt that she’ll take her revenge against the rolling hills of your herb garden, particularly the large stalks of sweet fennel she favors, often gnawing them down to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Eskel says, looking sheepish, but at least there’s a smile lingering in the corner of his mouth.

You press a kiss against the skin peeking over the neckline of his shirt. He’d shed his armor before coming to find you, clearly, and you hope he went into the cottage this time instead of leaving them outside, too polite to enter without you there to let him in. “It’s for the best,” you say with a low laugh. You nip at his skin, taste the salt of him. “Been a while since I’ve been tumbled in the hay.”

“A shame, that,” he says, and you are glad to hear the tease of it, to hear him start settling back into familiarity. His fingers trail low on your hips as you step out of his grasp. You catch his hand as it falls, wind your fingers between his thick ones like tendrils on a trellis. He makes a perplexed little noise, almost too quiet to be heard, and you glance back at him.

Eskel is sun-drenched, the light streaming through the window to bathe him, to swallow him in its incandescent touch. His deep brown hair gleams dark under the light’s touch, a shadow of a crown, and sometimes you think you will never have words for the color of his eyes. They are too many things at once: the soft shimmer of coin glinting in low tavern light, the glory of a sun peeking over the horizon, the golden drip of a noblewoman’s necklace. He shares them with other Witchers, you suppose, but you think you would find his different still, a treasure all your own.

Many women would not call him handsome, you know, too distracted by the scars carving canyons across his face. It is not something you understand.

You find Eskel attractive always, but like this, touched by light, gilded by the sun, he is something else. Your breath catches in your throat.

Eskel doesn’t seem to notice, his golden eyes fixed on where your fingers twine around his. You realize then. The breath caught in you grows thicker, and you ache for this man.

You tighten your grip on his hand. When his eyes flit up to you, a darting little glance that reminds you of the nimble flutter of a hummingbird’s wings, you smile, soft and slow.

“Come,” you say. “As I said - I’ve missed you.”

His fingers tighten around yours, and then he follows you out into the warmth of the afternoon.

The short walk to your cottage takes longer than usual, the two of you swept up into each other’s current more and more, like shells caught spinning in the ocean’s waves. Eskel kisses the breath from you, pinning you against your front door, his knee between your thighs, tugging you close until your clothed cunt drags across the length of his muscled thigh, until you can feel the hard length of him against your hip.

You fumble with the latch as he palms your breast, slipping his large hand down the front of your chemise. He kneads at the flesh as he mouths at your neck, scraping his teeth against the column of your throat. You whimper as he strokes a thumb over your nipple until it pebbles, the barest hint of lightning starting to flicker down your spine, like a summer storm still sparking on the horizon.

The door unlatches, and you yelp as you go stumbling backwards. Eskel moves like water, his large form impossibly fluid, hooking an arm around your waist and steadying you.

“Careful now,” he says lowly, a grin flickering at the edges of his lips like hearthfire.

You swat at him, but lean up to kiss him with a laugh as he sets you back on your feet. He nudges the door shut and pulls you back to him. You’ve never known a man so steady. There are moments where he reminds you of the stalwart rocks of the coast, unmoving despite the ocean’s howling waves, standing firm against the water’s pull. Instead, though, he is more the tide, sweeping into your life and then out again, an ebb and flow always.

“Stop thinking,” Eskel says softly, and promptly kisses the thoughts right out of your head. You clutch at him in the haze of it. He enfolds your senses like fog, the taste of him sweet on your tongue, the prick of his teeth catching on your lower lip spreading through you. It’s the heat of his hand that brings you back to yourself, his large hand slipping under your skirt and between your thighs to cup your cunt.

“Fuck,” Eskel groans, because you’re already wet enough to soak through your smallclothes, the cloth clinging to your cunt as he presses up against you until your hips jolt forward, chasing the friction of his palm. You grasp at his hair as he ducks his head to suck at your nipple, mindless of the barrier of your chemise, his mouth closing wet and hot around the stiff peak. His cheeks hollow slightly, and you can feel the rasp of his stubble. The sensation arcs through you, spitting sparks like forgefire.

You wind your fingers into his thick hair and pull him tight against you with a quiet moan. Eskel rocks his palm against your cunt, the heel of his hand grinding against your clit. You clench, feeling your cunt pulse around nothing. “Off,” you say, tugging at his shirt, deeply grateful that he’d shed his jerkin earlier. You catch at the hem, start to lift it as best you can with him curved around you like a fern.

You can feel the smile on his lips as he tightens them around your nipple, his tongue tracing over the pebbled furl of it. He pulls back and the damp fabric goes chill without the warmth of his mouth. Gooseflesh rolls over you like a fogbank, skittering across your skin.

“Impatient,” he chides.

“Always,” you huff, because you have long demanded satisfaction in all aspects of life, and have long learned that sometimes you must push to get it. You shrug out of your loosened bodice, let it slip down you like a water drop slides across a leaf. Eskel pulls back to undress, his hand dragging across the length of your cunt, but you have greedy hands, and you don’t let him go far, slip your hands up the loose fabric. Your fingers skate against the defined planes of his stomach. The muscles jump beneath your fingertips, rippling, your touch a stone skipped over their surface.

Eskel’s thick fingers slip into the ties of your skirts. They give with one quick tug, puddling around your feet. You step out of the froth of them and into his arms, catching the hem of his chemise once more, urging it up until he finally strips it off.

He’s a sight, all coiled muscle, scars scattered across his torso like constellations. You corral him back towards your bed until he’s laid out on your linens, sprawled out like a feast.

You peel off your chemise and let it drop to the floor. Eskel pulls in a sharp breath, the sound like whistling wind. Heat rises into your cheeks as he gazes up at you with something perilously close to reverence, a supplicant at your altar.

“Beautiful,” he tells you, and you feel the same, gazing down at him, at the glow of his eyes and the carved sculpture of his body, and mostly - the tilt of his lips into something soft and sweet. You know better now, though, than to speak your thoughts aloud, at least for now. It turns something in him to stone.

“Oh?” you say instead, crawling over him and settling on the washboard of his abs, your wet smallclothes sticking to skin. “I think you’re too kind, good sir.”

“Nay,” Eskel says, and though he’s playing along, there’s a quiet solemnity glinting in his eyes. His scars burn bright against his skin, and gods, he is so lovely it makes something in you twist. “I only settle for beautiful as there are no adequate words.”

That shakes you. Oh, you think. Oh. You hide your fluster in his skin, leaning down to sink your teeth into the thick pillar of his neck. Eskel groans, his immense hands coming up to bracket your hips, and you push forward to suck marks into his tanned skin, to ruddy his skin like red wine lingering on lips. One hand slips down to palm your ass roughly, his blunt fingers squeezing and kneading. He rocks you forward with his grip, lets your cunt slide against the ridges of his muscled stomach.

The gasp spills from you like wine, and Eskel drinks it from your lips as he pulls your soaked smallclothes to the side. He swipes his thumb over your clit, sends sparks skipping through you, the pleasure going from strikepoint to strikepoint, lightning caught in your skin. He circles your hole with a blunt fingertip, teasing against the sensitive, wet silk of your skin, and you catch his lips once more as he sinks a thick finger into you.

You can’t muffle the whimper, and he moans against your lips at the sound of it, your voice thickened to slow honey. Your cunt pulses. Eskel kisses the curse off your tongue as he starts to thrust, each slide of his fingers rolling you against his hard muscles until you’re keening. The pressure of his abs against your clit makes you tremble, and then he sinks another finger into you, and then a third. You spasm around the fullness, dropping your head onto his chest to pant against him.

There’s sweat gleaming on your skin as you push back against Eskel’s fingers, driving them deeper in the clutch of your cunt.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck, that’s it.”

He scrapes his teeth against the ridge of your shoulder. He pulls you down against him, your breasts soft against the hard plane of his chest, and the change in position grinds his fingers against a spot in your cunt that makes lightning arc up your spine. You clench, dripping around his fingers spreading you wide.

“That’s it,” Eskel says again, his voice silk rasping against stone. “So pretty, sweetling.”

He twists his fingers in the way you like, deft despite the size of them, and his other hand drops down to slip against the slick of your clit. White heat streak through you, pleasure like a falling star in the sky of your body, plummeting through you to burn hot in your cunt.

Your voice breaks on Eskel’s name as you shake apart on top of him. He pets at your back as you tremble against him, slowing the thrust of his fingers as you pant. Vaguely, beneath the ringing in your ears, you can hear him muttering sweet things to you.

He pulls his fingers from you. It sends steel-edged pleasure cutting through you.

You can feel the heat of his cock radiating against your inner thigh. Eskel catches your wrist as you start to reach for him, wanting to feel the weight of his cock in the palm of your hand, to feel the velvet drag of his skin against yours.

“Not yet,” he tells you, and he tilts you off of him with a shift of his powerful hips.

The yelp spills from you as you topple over onto the mattress with a small bounce. Eskel rolls over on top of you, cages you in. The corner of his lips is soft with a secret, and you squirm beneath the silk of his eyes, the way they trace over your features as if you are art.

“I want your cock,” you say, at the edge of a whine.

Eskel grunts at that, his eyes going dark. “I want to see you cum again,” he tells you, and then his mahogany hair is brushing against your collarbone as he ducks lower, pressing a biting kiss between your breasts, his mouth hot and sharp with pleasure against your skin. He licks and kisses his way down your stomach before setting his teeth against your hip bone, finally peeling away your sopping smallclothes. Your nerves buzz under your skin.

“Eskel,” you sigh, and he dips his mouth to your cunt. His stubble scrapes across the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He shifts your legs wider with a nudge, the barest hint of the strength that lies just beneath the sweetness of him. The flat of his tongue sweeps through your soaked folds and you grab at his hair without thinking. The sizzle of sensation is sharp-toothed, digs into your bones, and when you buck, you can’t quite tell if you’re pushing forward or pulling back.

He swings a heavy arm over your hips, presses you down like a flower between the pages of a book. You know you cannot move him with anything but your words. He peers up at you over the curve of your stomach and the swell of your breasts. “Okay?” he asks, and his lips are reddened and shining in the sunlight leaking through your shutters.

“Yes,” you gasp, because you have never shied from keen edges.

You can feel him smile against the wet of you. He leans back down and then his mouth is tight around your clit, until the pleasure cuts into the marrow of you. Eskel works you with his talented mouth, licks and sucks at you like summer fruit, the smallest hint of teeth gentle against your cunt. You jerk against the anchor of his arm, hips thrusting up as you toss your head back, sweat slicking the hair at the nape of your neck.

“Please,” you babble, fingers fisting tight in his hair. “Eskel, Eskel, please.”

He hums against your dripping folds, and the way it resonates through you makes you think of how you’ve imagined the snap of magic against your skin, prickling and intoxicating. Your skin feels too small. The sensation of Eskel lapping at you, one thick finger deep in your cunt, rides the knife’s edge, half-pain, half-pleasure. He closes his mouth around your clit and sucks, hollowing his cheeks, and it snaps through you.

“Fuck!”

Your trembling thighs clamp around Eskel’s head as you cum, back arching as much as you can beneath his firm arm over your hips. He lets you ride your orgasm out, still gently licking at you, just enough to keep the sparks rolling over your spine.

He kisses the junction of your hip and thigh as you calm.

“Gods,” you gasp. “You are a menace.”

Eskel laughs into your skin, low and sweet.

“Come here,” you demand.

“Impatient.”

“Always.”

He slinks up your form. You lean up to catch his lips, taste the tang of yourself on his tongue. You cradle the back of his head as he sighs into the kiss. Some part of you wonders if all Witchers are soft at the core of them, or if it’s just Eskel, kind, giving Eskel, who thinks he has little to offer based on the map of scars scrawled across his face.

His cock is heavy in your palm, all hot, silken skin. You stroke the length of him, relearn the heft and girth of him. Eskel moans into your kiss, his voice a deep rumble of noise. You huff a laugh against his lips, delighted at the noise, and twist your hand before thumbing at the head of his cock, smearing the wetness there down his length.

You trace your tongue over the pulsepoint in his neck, feel the slow, lazy river current of his heartbeat. His cock twitches in your grip. You feather your fingertips under the ridge of the head before dragging your thumb against the same spot, relishing the soft hiss that flows from Eskel’s reddened lips.

“You’re so good,” you dare to say, giving a quick upward stroke.

Eskel moans, his thighs trembling.

“Look at you,” you murmur, pressing your lips against the blade of his collarbone. He stiffens, just slightly, and you catch yourself, change the words before they leave you. “Always make me feel so good,” you say, and his shoulders unwind, the muscles of them shifting.

You would like him to weigh heavy on your tongue, close your lips around the thickness of his cock, to gaze up at him from under your lashes until he gushes hot into your mouth. Eskel shies from it, though, and you are wary of pushing him too hard. You know that your bold mouth sometimes hammers where delicacy is needed.

You can feel his abs flexing against your knuckles each time you drag your hand up the length of his cock. When you nudge at him, Eskel sits back on his knees. His amber eyes gleam gemlike in the light, and you are again struck by the beauty of him, the strong sculpture of his features.

Eskel’s brow knits as you push to your knees as well, your legs quivering like a newborn fawn. “Are you sure?” he asks

You drape yourself over him like a silken cloak, settling just over his hips. “Yes,” you say, guiding his cock to your cunt. “I told you - I want your cock. I rarely change my mind.”

The way the head of his cock spreads you knocks the breath from your lungs. Your nerves sing with starsong, something bright and vast trickling through you, crackling just under your skin. Eskel steadies you as you sink down on him, as he splits you around his cock. He gazes up at you with his sungold eyes, so stark against the deep brown of his dark hair, and you think of how the sun gives life, how it shines on others to nourish them.

He closes his eyes as you lean down to press your forehead against his. His lips part slightly, and you drag your thumb over the curve of them. Eskel turns just enough to press a kiss against your palm. Your stomach twists with something you can’t quite think about as you are filled with him, as your cunt flutters around his cock.

“Eskel,” you say quietly, softly sweet, but you lose the rest of your words as he kisses you, his mouth fervent and consuming.

You shift your hips. His cock drags against your walls, warms your veins with that biting pleasure, and his hands tighten on your hips. You remember the girth of him well, but the memories pale compared to the feel of him spearing deep, until it feels like there is nothing but him. His cock pulses as you flutter around him, clenching down tight on the weight of his cock.

“Please,” you breathe, catching his lips in a kiss, rising onto your knees until just his tip is caught in your hole, the thick head stretching you wide. You drop back down onto his cock and you are already trembling. Lightning crackles beneath your skin. Eskel huffs a breath as you tighten around him, your cunt velvet around his length.

You lean forward and press your face into the junction of his shoulder and neck. The rhythm of your hips is a slow current, rising and falling like the ocean tide. Your breath is shaky against Eskel’s sweat-slick skin. His hand nestles into the hair at the nape of your neck, and he guides you back up so that you are looking down at him, a witness to his worship.

“Eskel.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, gazing up at you as if you are the stars, something vast and unknowable above him. His fingers tighten on your hips, the pads of them digging into the plush flesh, and with a flash of that intense strength, he moves you.

Eskel rocks up into you, fucks up hard into the clench of your cunt. His hips are steady with each hard push. He feels immense, as if you are molten metal in his forge of his desire, his to mold and reshape. You can feel each throb of his cock, feel him swell inside you. Hazily, beneath the fog of it all, you think that Eskel will always be under your skin, will line the edges of you for the rest of your life.

You set your teeth against the salt of his skin, some part of you desperate to see that you sink as deeply into his skin as he has into yours. He grits out a moan. You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you down into his thrusts, rolling his hips to catch the head of his cock on the spot deep inside your cunt that slides a knife of pleasure through you.

“So good,” you mumble breathily against him, tightening around him with each push of his hips. “Gods, Eskel, please.”

He whispers something you can’t quite hear, and then his hand is slipping between you both. You sob as he draws a tight circle over your clit, your nerves singed beneath the heat of his touch. Eskel presses a soft kiss against your lips as you clench viciously around him, the velvet of your cunt unrelenting, and you shatter.

“Fuck,” Eskel hisses, and underneath the lightning strike of your own consuming pleasure, you can feel the way his abs tighten against you. He pulses inside of you, each twitch of his cock searing through you. He spills hot and thick in you, your cunt fluttering around him, his thighs tense beneath you. His groan is long and heated, a bonfire of sound.

He catches your face in his hands, pulls you into a heated, messy kiss. There are little strikes of lightning still flickering across your skin. Eskel is throbbing in you, small spurts of cum still spilling into your cunt. The coiled muscles of his thighs flex and quiver beneath you.

The two of you spend a moment just breathing. He brushes his fingers against your jaw, his touch delicate.

“Menace,” you tell him, voice soft.

Eskel pulls you into another kiss to hide his smile.

It’s easy to get lost in him, to be carried off in the steady kindness of him. He kisses you sweetly, the corner of his mouth soft with something secret. You groan when he pulls out of you, the blade of sensation a true cut now.

Eskel coaxes you to curl up on the bed. He rises, and you only have enough energy to voice a wordless complaint, trying to catch him by the wrist and pull him back to you.

“Just a moment, sweetling,” he says, but you can hear the laugh lining his voice. You crack an eye open to glare at him.

You’d thought he would know, considering his enhanced senses, but you don’t think he’s expecting your gaze, considering the look on his face. Eskel is perhaps the most reverent lover you’ve had, but softness painted across his visage as he peers down at you steals your breath away. It’s something gossamer, a thin, shining spider’s thread woven into an intricate web of emotion that Witchers aren’t meant to feel.

He doesn’t seem to realize it, though, that he is laid bare to you for just a breath, and you close your eyes as he turns away. He returns to the bed with a cloth and you wipe each other as clean as you can.

You collapse back onto the bed, already aching, and peer up at him. Eskel slips into the bed and curls around you. His scars shine red in the afternoon light, and he is beautiful. You hope that one day, you can tell him that. But today, you cannot, so you simply say: “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Eskel says, his voice petal-soft.

You drowse in the patch of sunlight illuminating your bed, your fingers tracing soft circles on Eskel’s skin, feeling contentment settle over you like a blanket. It is quiet, and sweet, and in the silence of affection, the two of you are united.

At least until Lil’ Bleater expresses her annoyance with the front door being closed with a series of particularly loud bleats.

All you can do is laugh.

taglist: @witchernonsense @hina-chans-stuff @whitewolfandthefox @raspberrydreamclouds @riviawitch3r @tutuwho @restingnurseface @ambivertomnivore

#eskel x reader #eskel x you #eskel imagine #the witcher x reader #the witcher imagine #nsft

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sabineelectricheart · 4 years

Text

Work of Art

Summary: Cove has self-esteem problems, but Jamie is on the case.

Rating: K - Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Content should be free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 1700

Notes: If you have self-esteem issues, clap your hands. If you have self-esteem issues, clap your hands.

Jamie and Cove were curled up on the couch at the Last residence in the afternoon sun, his head in her inviting lap as she played with his seafoam coloured hair, twirling her fingers on the waves of it.

His eyes had drifted closed a few minutes before and his besotted girlfriend took the opportunity to take in his features. The way the sun streamed in from the window directly onto his face made everything more defined. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, straight nose, athletic frame and soft lips made the girl wonder why he was not a model.

Jamie smiled at the thought. Cove was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, especially with the delicate tip of his lips into that sweet, comfortable smile that she did not see often enough.

She felt herself laugh lightly. With such, her lower abdomen vibrated, disturbing the boy’s rest on her lap.

“What?” He asked with a sleepy voice, sitting up and opening his eyes.

“I was just laughing at myself, Cove, that’s all.” Jamie said, smiling.

He tipped his head to one side, his long hair falling over. “Why?”

She had found that he asked a lot of questions. It was his curious nature coming out whenever he would get comfortable with people, and she is quite sure that he is not more comfortable with anyone else other than her. She found it endearing, a cute childish habit that kept him jovial.

His serious and focused personality could seriously afford it.

Running her soft fingers through his hair again, she closed her sweet eyes and let her straight smile widen.

“You should really be a model, you know.” She said, opening one eye, as if spying his reaction.

He sat up, pulling away from her.

“Don’t be naïve. I can’t be a model.” He mumbled, curling into himself.

“Sure, you can. I mean, have you looked in a mirror lately?” She laughed.

The green haired boy watched her as if he was sure she was joking. “That’s why I know I can’t.”

Jamie snorted a laugh, but it put her in near physical pain knowing that he did not see what she did. Leaning forward, she placed her hand on his cheek.

“What’re you talking about?” She chirped.

He shook his head, hunching his shoulders so he looked smaller. “I have a funny pair of eyebrows. Even an idiot like Jeremy used to say so.”

She flinched. It is not as if this was any news to her, as he would complain often about his clothes and appearance, never satisfied with any positive change he achieved, and always fixated on whatever he could not improve, like the weird design of his eyebrows. In fact, she wonders if his Spartan workout routine was steaming from that self-esteem problem of his.

It was an absolute crime that he could not see what she saw in him.

“You’re absolutely handsome, Cove, magnificently so.” Jamie said, holding a sweet look on her round face. He refused to meet her eyes as he shook his head.

He pulled his knees to his chest and hunched up his shoulders, like he was afraid of she actually seeing him. For a moment, she cursed herself for ruining one of his rare moments of peace. She thought for a moment. Suddenly a thought hit her. She would just have to show him what she saw.

Popping up off the couch, she began to walk away. He raised an eyebrow in question, but she only offered a smile in return. She held up one finger and half jogged to her bedroom.

Just to the right of the door was an old full-length mirror. She plucked it from its spot and lugged it out to the couch where Cove was waiting with a puzzled expression. Still, he said nothing as she arranged it so he could see himself.

Reaching out, she motioned for him to give she his hand. Sometimes he was a little skittish with his hands, but she was a patient woman. He looked at her outstretched hand for a few moments. She knew that he had to think about it. That was okay.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he drew his eyes up to meet hers with an anxious expression. She tried her best to look encouraging. Eventually, he placed his sun kissed hand in hers.

Offering him a soft look, Jamie pulled him to his feet. He still stood the way he had when she had first met him when he was nervous: head down, hands tucked behind him, and shoulders hunched.

He was nervous.

The girl slipped behind him, nudging him a little closer to the large, oval mirror so his face was close.

“Do you want me to tell you what I see, Cove?” She asked quietly, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He nodded, just barely though.

“I see high cheekbones, an incredible jaw line, a straight nose, and soft lips. I see hair wavier than the sea, unlike any I’ve ever seen before, a colour that reflects light in extraordinary ways. I see some very cute, slightly pointed, ears. I see a pair of gentle and light green eyes so shiny that they’d belong on a jewellery store. I see a tanned, beautiful work of art.” She said, running her fingers through his hair again.

“Art.” He breathed, in awe of her statement.

She frowned at the surprise in his voice. “Yes, art.”

He tipped his head, looking at the mirror. Thinking. He always had to think about things.

“Art…” He repeated once more, sounding just as surprised as he had the first time. Now she was registering that he had begun to blush.

“A masterpiece, really.” Jamie reiterates. “I don’t know what you see, but that’s what I see.”

Blinking slowly, he stared at his own reflection.

“You really see all of that?” He asked, cautiously.

“I see so much more than that, honey.” She laughed. “Standing right in front of me is an unbelievably strong young man. A kind, gentle soul who strives to do better, to be better, so admirable. A person with cool scars and heart-wrenching stories that you will never tell and a valuable life. A life so bright and precious that is worth the whole world and back. There are so many good things about you, Cove, and if I have to show you all the mirrors in town until you believe me, then so be it.”

“Oh.”

Just one little word, but it said so much. The way his voice trembled when he spoke and how his breathing had shifted like he wanted to cry made she want to cry too.

She wished that she could find better words to express how wonderful she thought he was. He still stared into the mirror. Glossy eyes gave way to tears and she reeled back. She had not meant to upset him.

“I’m sorry, Cove. I shouldn’t have…” She trailed off.

Slowly, he turned around and looked at her. She wiped tears from his face with the pad of her thumb, beginning to cry as well. A single finger came up and tentatively brushed a tear away from her eye. He looked confused, but happy.

As much as she hated to see Cove cry, this time it did not seem so bad. Unlike any other time he cried, he seemed grounded. She smiled at him. He offered a shy one in return.

“Thank you, Jamie.” He whimpered. “It means a lot to me. You mean a lot to me.”

“Just telling the truth.” She said.

He shifted around for a moment, beginning to hold his arms out.

“Can… Am I allowed…?” He asked, arms twitching towards her.

“If you want a hug, Cove, just know that you’re always allowed to hug me. You don’t have to ask.” She chuckled, pulling him into her inviting arms. He clung to she like he had never been hugged before.

“Really?” He whimpered, as if he was surprised with her declaration, due to his badly defined hang-ups about physical intimacy.

She cut him off and clutched him a little tighter.

“If you want affection, just say so. I’ve got it in spades.” She giggled.

He pulled back, eyes shifting around from her face to the floor, flitting back and forth.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, observing carefully his tells as in to decipher the unsaid request.

His cheeks flushed red and he dipped his head down so his face came closer to hers. Finally, she understood, or she thought so.

“Um…” He mumbled.

“A kiss?” She asked.

Again, his eyes fluttered away and his cheeks flushed an even deeper red, but he nodded shyly.

Turning her face up, she pressed her lips to his lightly. It was no more than a soft brush, but it caused him to squeak.

She breathed a laugh.

Cove connected their lips as second time. Then a third. Then a fourth, staying longer this time. Smiling, she kissed him back. She let him get used to the feeling of her lips on his, glad to let him figure things out. Hesitantly, he put his hands on her waist; she could feel the roughness of them through her shirt. She was not sure how much time had passed when he pulled away.

“Will you hold me? Please?” He asked, stumbling on the word hold.

She smiled, gently pulling him back onto the couch so that he was laid next to her with his head on her chest.

Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed his hair. “Nothing would make me happier, sweetie.”

He snuggled into her, pressing his nose to her chest and his arms wrapped around her midsection as he made himself comfortable.

The late afternoon sun bathed both of them in a warm, golden glow and Jamie began to admire her boyfriend again. This time he was admiring her back.

There were still tear tracks on his face, but he was smiling at her. Just a soft tip of the lips. She sincerely hoped that he would keep that expression for the rest of his life.

Cove Holden, especially with that smile, was a true masterpiece.

*_*_*_*_*

Our Life Masterlist

#our life: beginnings & always #cove holden

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unabashegirl · 4 years

Text

#1 “Kings of Leon” HS

Author’s Note: First Harry Styles imagine! Hope you like it! Request are open!

He leans against the frame of the entrance of the living room. He was locked away in the office for a few hours, trying to write something down in his journal for the day. It was until he heard the faint sound of music playing that he decided to leave the room and investigate the source of the ruckus.

It was her. The music sounds too familiar to him as he walks down the hallway. Kings of Leon play loudly throughout the entire house. He had discovered that it was her favorite band after the first few dates. That day after lunch, they had decided to go for a walk. They ran into a small music store where Y/N bought a Kings of Leon vinyl. She then proceeded to invite Harry to her small apartment for some coffee and to listen to the record together.

Her appearance captivates him. She dances around the living room without a single care in the world. She only wears a simple t-shirt over her bikini. Her hair is down and still wet from her previous dip in the ocean. She is attempting to air-dry it. She also holds tightly to a tall glass of Pina colada and tries her best not to spill it on the hardwood floor of the house, but she is still not holding anything back. He can see the small bruise forming on the side of her thigh. Last night Y/N had turned off the lights before getting in bed and had walked into the corner of their bed. Harry had to turn the lights back on with the switch beside the bed to go tend her.

It is only their second day in the Caribbean, but they have both already managed to burn. Jamaica will always hold a very special place in Harry’s heart. He has enjoyed showing Y/N the best places to eat and loved her reaction after they had gone snorkeling. After being in Japan for so long, he had only desired to spend sometime under the sun and away from the real world especially with her. It also didn’t take much convincing to get Y/N on the plane.

In one of her twirls her eyes land on Harry, who is only staring at her while enjoying the view of her careless self.

“What are you doing?” She breathlessly asks as she stops moving while Pyro plays in the background. It was one of her favorites songs. Y/N pushes her hair away from her face, her cheeks are blushed which only entices him to approach and kiss each of them.

“Just heard the music” He honestly just wants her to go back to dancing. He relishes watching her when she isn’t looking. It is mesmerizing for him. He had even sneaked into her office once for a few hours before lunch just to watch her work. He would just tell her that he needed to finish some lyrics for a song and pretend to write in his journal. He loves seeing how she knits her eyebrows when she reads over her emails or how she fiddles with her pen as she tries to remember what she was about to write on a post-it.

“I am sorry if I interrupted you” She kinda feels bad and flustered. She knows how important writing time it’s for him. It wasn’t her intention to disturb him in his sacred time. It is his alone time and it helps him to put all his thoughts in one place whether they are bad or good. While Harry walks over to the small bar and pours himself a glass of whiskey, she turns down the music with her phone. When he chooses his drink, he heads back and sits on his usual seat. She just stands around.

“No need to apologize, kitten” Y/N has the habit of apologizing for things that aren’t her actual fault especially when she is around him. She is just terrified to piss him off and for him to send her off. After all, there is nothing binding them together. They have no commitment to one another. They weren’t even formally dating per se. Even though Harry whispers that she is his every time he makes love to her.

“Did you get to write anything tho?” She pulls on the back of her shirt, trying to cover some skin. He knows how nervous he makes her feel and he can only blame himself for it. They had met in a time when Harry was fragile due to his past relationship. It was a few weeks before his departure to Japan. He had already bought the tickets and his team had already organized everything for him. In the following weeks, they had multiple dates. She invited him to her hot yoga and spinning classes in the morning. They would usually go out for breakfast or lunch after. He grew accustomed to having her around. He asked her to accompany him to Japan three days before his departure.

“This is something you need to do on your own,” She said that day to him while she held him tightly. That was the day, Harry knew that she was so different from all the girls that he had even gone out with him. It wasn’t only because she wasn’t a model and she was just like any other person, but because she truly cared for his mental health. “You need to recover and I think this will do you good” Y/N said a few hours before his departure. He had stopped at her apartment before leaving. He wanted to tell her how much he liked her and to wait for him.

It wasn’t easy for Y/N. After all, he was leaving the country to write about his ex, who he was still in love with. She took a step back after his departure and let him do his own things. If it was meant to be, it would happen without her having anything to do with it. It certainly was because the first place that Harry went to when he arrived was her apartment.

“I did” He smiles as he reached out for her hand. It had been mostly about her and their long passionates nights on the island. “Are you hiding from me?” Harry asks as he pulls her on his lap. She nervously shakes her head as she settles each of legs on either side of him. “How was the water?” He runs his fingers over her skin noticing the little specks of salt on her brand new tan skin. Harry had stayed in for their usual sunset dip. He had fallen asleep after making love to her and devouring a giant bowl of fruit with her in bed.

“Warm and kinda lonely” She pouts, wrapping her free hand around his neck then leans over and places her drink on a table.

“We can’t have that can’t we?” Y/N smiles and shakes her head at him as she gently pulls on the curls at the back of his head. The skin of his cheekbones is slightly burned making him more irresistible. She had tried to apply sunscreen on his face, but he kept making faces. It only distracted her and she ended just laughing at him “I guess I won’t ever leave yeh again” Harry leans in and kisses her jawline gently. He can still smell the faint aroma of her carrot tanning lotion on her skin.

She enjoys the coolness of his rings pressed against her bare lower back. She runs her hands on his chest noticing the soft material of the shirt that he has on. The living room slide doors are opened allowing the sound of the waves crashing soothe them along with the faint sound of her favorite band.

“I need to tell yeh something” he mumbles against her the salty skin of her neck. She immediately tenses up and goes cold. A million thoughts run through her head. Harry pulls away wanting to see her reaction. He takes a sip out of his drink and leans back on his seat. He still grips her hip in place wanting to keep some kind of content with her.

“What is it?” She gulps, silently playing that he wasn’t dumping her or sending her away.

“I first have to confess something. I told you I liked you before I left for Japan, do yeh remember?” Y/N nods along too scared to say something. She also feels like she was about to be sick. It might have to do something about the amount of rum that it’s running through her veins. “I was actually not sure if I did. I was hesitant. We had just met and I was leaving for a long time. I didn’t want to lose you. I lied”

“Why are you tell me all of this now?” She frowns not comprehending where he is going with this or what he is trying to tell her.

“For us to have a healthy relationship. I have to be honest with yeh from starters. We can’t build a relationship based on lies” He explains hoping she would get what he is trying to say and catch up.

“In that case, I actually didn’t lose your sweater” she confesses, “It's actually in my closet at home. It just reminds me of you” Harry laughs lightly showing her his pearly whites.

“I know babe” A few days ago he had seen it in her closet. “I think that you are absolutely beautiful inside out. I love how much you worry about little things, how you sing in the shower, how much you take care of your plants and even how your lips still taste like pineapple when I kiss them” he jokes at the end. He tries to keep it short even though there are still a million things he can mention about her. “I guess I am trying t’ say is that you are worth having my heart broken a thousand times more if that means that I get to be around yeh” He watches as a wide smile appears across her face. She presses her lips against his.

“Would you be my girlfriend?” She doesn’t say much but just repeatedly pecks her lips. Y/N was starting to grow impatient. She was starting to believe that their relationship would never move forward and she would remain to be just a friend who he occasionally has sex with until he found a girlfriend.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, silly” she giggles then proceeds to peck the tip of his nose. “I thought you were going to send me home for a minute” Y/N admits as she presses a hand against her chest.

“No. You’re stuck with me now” He is so infatuated with her that it wouldn’t surprise him if he tells her he loves her before the trip ends, but that is another story.

#harry styles #harry #styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry x you #harry x y/n #harry x reader #harrystyles

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cchexmex · 4 years

Text

Inspiration and motivation is a strange animal. Kotalblack fluff, dorks in love being... all out dorks. Warning, it’s a long one.

inspired by a fic by @nevaryadl that involved some mulling over “spicy” literature

“Have you even opened this?” Turning the book over in his hands Erron reread the title, piquing a brow at the cover art.

“I read a few passages…” The response was soft and casual, Kotal undressing himself slowly at the foot of the bed. He easily did away with the forearm guards as he watched Erron, face placid yet lost in thought while Erron stretched out further on the bed and flipped through the book.

“Yeah…” Erron chuckled, lingering momentarily on any pages that caught his attention before continuing his search through the book. Purchased on their last foray in Earthrealm, hidden away and seemingly forgotten in his rucksack. “His seed… don’t tell me this is about actual plant sex…”

“I won’t tell you.”

Throwing himself back against the bed Erron snorted, settling the open book on top of his face to cover a crooked grin as he listened to Kotal’s rumbling laughter. “Is that why you picked it?” Voice muffled by the pages, Erron wondered out loud.

“No… the cover was intriguing. It did not even pass my mind that it would be literal…” Kotal murmured gently as he set aside his remaining gear before plopping himself onto the bed with a low moan. Erron laughed again, remembering the moment they had stood in the cluttered aisles of a small book store-pouring over the erotic literature section with shared grins and teasing laughter. He opened his eyes slowly, narrowing them slightly as he caught sight of Kotal’s face as he leaned close and picked the book up and off of his face. Thumbing through it Kotal sighed deeply, moving to put it away before Erron clicked his tongue and intercepted. He grabbed the book from Kotal’s hands, smirking at Kotal as a surprised smile pulled his features.

“Story time…”

Kotal laughed and covered his face with both hands, shoulders shaking lightly as Erron settled and pushed against his arms-motioning for Kotal to pull him in. Repeating Erron’s words, Kotal lifted his arm and grasped Erron’s shoulder, squeezing tightly as Erron feigned a pained groan and opened the book up to a random spot. Perfectly warm, Erron paused and stared at the page, feeling the jitters of laughter that left Kotal’s chest, feeling himself rocked and swayed by shifting muscle. Refocusing himself, Erron looked up at Kotal and pulled a face, urging him to settle down.

“He took hold of the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over his head… his hands, Alex noted, were shaking…” Licking his lips Erron finished the sentence, once again finding himself plainly staring. “Let’s try something else…”

“My yollotl…” Kotal groaned, cheeks flushing red as he grinned. He reached for the book, Erron flipping through the pages and moving the book out of Kotal’s reach as best as he could. “This is not the proper way…”

Erron gasped through a hiccup of laughter, brushing away Kotal’s hand and tutting as Kotal continued to half heartedly complain. “We’re doing it my way… talking ‘bout proper…” fixing a stern face, Erron craned his neck back and stared up at Kotal, noting how he tried to fight back a laugh, his efforts showing through how his face was now a dark shade of blush and his lower lip quivered. “What?”

“Don’t”

“I ain’t doing nothing, you're the one not letting me read...” Erron furrowed his brow deeper, now fighting back his own grin that threatened to erupt across his face, stomach shaking and tensing as he took in deep gulps of breath to stave off his laughter. He couldn’t help himself, forcing his face into a more tense mask of faux sternness, pouting his lips as Kotal groaned.

“Please…” Erron chuckled, setting the book against his stomach as Kotal pleaded through a rough laugh. He reached up, fingers grazing against Kotal’s neck as he dragged him down towards his face. A swift kiss, Erron smiled softly through it, feeling Kotal relax against his body before squeezing him tightly.

“We good?” Opening the book again Erron smirked, watching as Kotal rolled his eyes before nodding his head. “Good…” Erron found a new spot, clearing his throat before he began anew, Kotal resting his cheek against Erron’s temple and dropping his free hand onto his bare stomach, fingers scratching softly through rough hair.

“Alex moaned erotically…” Letting the words hang in the air, Erron shut his eyes tightly and pushed into Kotal’s chest. “What?” Erron sputtered out, more to himself than to Kotal. He repeated the word, glancing back at Kotal.

Kotal stared intently at the book, rubbing a hand up and down Erron’s shaking stomach. “He moaned erotically, Erron.”

“Erotically…”

Kotal pursed his lips together “Erotically…” he echoed Erron with a growing smile, dropping the natural candor of his voice.

A jump in his gut, Erron tossed aside the book and grasped his sides tightly-falling off into a pained coughing fit as Kotal propped himself up on elbow and smirked. Trying to regain his breath, Erron groaned and rolled onto his stomach, face stuffed into the sheets below him, listening to the self satisfied chuckles leaving Kotal and picturing the smirk that surely still lingered on his face. “Bubba…” Erron whined, taking in a gulp of air as he lifted himself up and sat on his knees “I ain’t reading no more…”

Kotal let himself fall back again, covering his face with his arms, chest rising and falling heavily. Erron reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes, a deep red flush patchy across his chest and neck. He looked at Kotal, watching with a soft smile as his stomach shook and hollowed with sharp breaths, a warmth billowing in his lower gut as he considered the sentence that left them like this. “Bubba…” Moving closer toward him, Erron hummed under his breath, lifting a leg and swinging it over Kotal’s waist. He kept himself off of Kotal, a slight strain in his hips as his legs spread wide. Hands, warm and strong-drifted and gently prodded along Erron’s thighs before coming to rest against his hips, directing him down.

“Hmm?”

Erron smiled back at Kotal, appreciating the wetness at the corners of his eyes and the tremble of laughter that was still present in his voice. He sank down further against Kotal, sitting on his lower abdomen, every so slightly lifted with each breath. Moving lower, he considered it but decided against it, instead leaning forward and placing both hands on either side of Kotal’s head. “An erotic moan… how about it? Give me one…” dipping his head down, he teased the promise of a kiss, drinking in how Kotal’s brow pinched before he slowly shut his eyes and parted his lips. Erron ghosted his mouth beside those wanting lips, kissing gently against hot cheeks before he leaned his head back and fixed his gaze. Kotal squeezed his hands tighter, making Erron tense his lips and roll his lower lip into his mouth, biting down lightly on it. He tipped his chin up, offering up a plaintive expression to Kotal.

“I…” Kotal started, the blush on his face deepening as he looked up at Erron. He parted his lips, letting slip a simple moan, short and high in his chest, a grin spreading across his face as Erron raised his brows, forehead wrinkling deeply.

“That… was not erotic. Sounded like you hit your funny bone…”

“Funny bone? I thought that was called the weenis…”

Erron dropped his head, short huffs of air leaving him, below him Kotal laughed and slapped his hands gently against Erron’s thighs. “No, that… that’s the skin…” Erron tried to explain through his laughter, brushing away Kotal’s hands as he picked up on the sneaky prods and pokes that were trailing up higher.

“Would you like me to try again? I’m not certain how erotic I can be…”

“Oh hush…” dropping his voice, Erron leaned forward again and drifting a thumb along the deep crease beside Kotal’s smile, dragging up to rub a small circle against his cheekbone. Kotal’s smile fell, replaced by soft contemplation, warm eyes drifting up and down Erron’s face. A low sigh escaped Erron, heart drumming away happily in his chest, he sank down further, cupping Kotal’s face with both hands and tipping his chin up. Lips met, hot and burning, exhaled breath fluttering around flushed skin-Erron parted his mouth and shut his eyes tightly as Kotal slipped his tongue inside and explored his mouth. Pulling back slightly, Erron dragged his knees further apart and slid back onto Kotal’s lap-breathing hard against Kotal’s thick lips as he tried to sit up. He smiled to himself, licking his lips before placing a soft kiss against those wanting lips, trailing another up, on Kotal’s nose and lastly onto his forehead. Half lidded blue, shining hot white irises tracked Erron’s movements as he slowly sat back. An ache in his chest, watching Kotal’s eyes burn into him, Erron placed his hands on his hips and lazily shook his head.

“What were we talking about…” Searching out the book again, Erron teased-ears a bright red and practically sizzling.

Kotal shrugged and resumed his slow pokes and prods into Erron’s thighs, a lopsided grin painting his features as his eyes barely opened.

“Are you going to moan for me?”

“Huh?” Erron’s brows jumped up, stomach flipping at the soft utterance of his question “oh… yeah…” a gentle laugh shook his belly, Kotal reaching a hand up and gripping loosely below Erron’s armpit. “I’ll give you a good one…” with a wink Erron leaned forward again, pushing aside the crumpled sheets that tickled against his bare knees. “Ready?”

“More than…”

Erron dragged in a breath, puffing out his chest before throwing his head back and letting loose a high pitched howl. Throwing his hands down, he steadied himself on Kotal’s chest-laughing in rough bursts as he felt Kotal’s chest rise harshly and a low whine of jumbled words and laughter erupted from the man. “Erron…” his name longly drawn out, Kotal scrunched his face and wrinkled his nose as he snorted through laughter. Clapping his hands together, Erron sat back further and proudly smirked down at Kotal, little chuckles now replacing the heaved out laughter.

“Oh I know that turned you on…” dropping himself back down, Erron pushed his arms under Kotal’s neck-hugging him loosely and pushing their chests together. He eagerly teased, laughing along with Kotal and kissing his cheeks.

#kotalblack #erron black #kotal kahn #ahhhhhh #incoherent noises about how much i love them

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meghanpage · 3 years

Text

To the Stars Ch. 5 - Dinner...

Words: 2681

Also on AO3

---

“I was right!” Lucía exclaimed. “You and I are just about the same size.”

They were in her rooms, where it felt to Juliana like the woman had taken out about half of her wardrobe and thrust it on her. She had begun holding different dresses in front of Juliana in the mirror, examining them critically before trying another.

Despite the abruptness of the situation, Juliana found herself enjoying a bit of dress-up with high class clothing. It was wonderful to see so many dresses up close, and it was apparent Lucía was pleased by the commentary she felt comfortable voicing.

Finally, they narrowed it down to one choice, and after comfortably lacing her into a corset, Lucía helped Juliana slip it on. She was right, it fit like a glove, and as Juliana looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but gawk at how sophisticated she looked.

The dress was black, coming off her shoulders across her chest in a vee. A sheer black sash wrapped around her middle, leaving a wide swath to hang down to the floor. The bodice was worked with delicate embroidery, all done in black so it was practically invisible except when it shimmered in the light. It was the type of design she loved to sketch.

Lucía had helped her pin her hair up in a simple but elegant style, and fine wisps curled over her temples.

“You shine up like a new penny,” Lucía told her with a laugh.

Juliana couldn’t help but laugh as well, giving her an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Ms. Borges.”

“Please, just Lucía,” she said, waving away the formality. She handed Juliana a pair of long black evening gloves. “Now, you ought to go meet Miss Carvajal by the fore grand staircase. I’ll meet you there.”

Apprehensively, Juliana left Lucía’s rooms and made her way through the halls, towards the staircase that was the epicenter of first class society. As she walked, she couldn’t help but marvel at her dress. It was easily the nicest thing she had ever worn in her life, and her designer mind couldn’t help but note the way the fabric shaped against her body, the way it moved around her legs. She would have to find some way to pay Lucía back for lending it to her.

As she neared the staircase Juliana slowed, feeling very much out of place. With Lucía’s help she looked much more the part, but she felt certain the real upper class passengers would see right through her.

But yet, as she approached the door, the doorman on the other side opened it to her with no hesitation, ushering her through. “Welcome, madam.”

She stepped past, glancing at him through the corner of her eye to see if he would notice she didn’t belong here. But he did nothing to stop her, so she continued onward.

Slowly, she made her way down the wide, curving staircase, doing her best not to gape at everything around her. The room was panelled entirely in rich, honey-colored wood, bathed in light from the huge glass dome above them. Ornate details drew the eye this way and that, from the floral scrolls of iron and copper that held up the railings, to the intricate carvings that framed the clock which served as a focal point for the room. A string quartet played airy waltz from somewhere out of sight, lending an extra air of decadence to the scene.

Once she reached the bottom of the staircase, Juliana leaned against a pillar, turning her attention to the people in the room. She may have looked like she belonged there, but she had no idea how to act.

She studied both the men and women, the way the men held themselves stiff and straight, how the women lay delicate hands on their men’s arms. Who should she imitate? Was she Valentina’s escort, or was Valentina hers?

She held her bent arm up, trying to subtly mimic the way a gentleman held his arm out for his date, until she caught sight of some familiar figures descending the staircase.

Lucho and Eva walked down arm and arm, and Juliana stepped forward to greet them. But as she held out her hand towards him, Lucho simply dipped his head at her and continued speaking to Eva, not recognizing her at all.

Juliana stared after them for a moment, befuddled, her hand still held out to shake. Did she really look that different?

She turned back towards the staircase, unsure what else to do, when her eyes landed on the person she most wanted to see, and her heart skipped a beat.

Valentina looked gorgeous, clad in a lustrous silver and black gown. The top layer of dark, translucent fabric spiraled around her, worked with beads and embroidery in an intricate design. Below it, the underdress shimmered with fine silver thread. Her hair was swept back from her face, highlighting her fine cheekbones and bright blue eyes.

Juliana’s fingers would have been itching to sketch her if she hadn’t been so transfixed in the moment.

---

Valentina stood frozen at the landing of the stairs, struck by the beautiful woman waiting for her at the foot.

Juliana was stunning.

The black dress highlighted her lovely tan skin, spreading across her chest and down her arms. Her arms were bare, though she held two long black evening gloves in her hand. The open slant of the neckline showed off her elegant collarbones and accentuated the slope of her shoulders. A black sash wrapped around her slim waist, and Valentina had to force her eyes back up to Juliana’s face. Fine strands of hair delicately framed her features, her full lips and deep brown eyes.

Finally getting herself to move, Valentina descended the rest of the staircase, unable to tear her eyes away from Juliana. When she was just a step above Juliana, Juliana took her hand, bringing it to her lips. She pressed a soft kiss to her fingers, looking up at her through her lashes, and Valentina’s heart beat an uneven tattoo against her ribs.

“I saw that in a nickelodeon once,” Juliana told her, her playful smile still so, so close to Valentina’s fingers, “and I always wanted to do it.”

When Valentina didn’t respond, her smile dropped a bit. “What’s the matter?”

Valentina shook herself, willing her heart to stop thrumming. “Nothing, I just -” She gave a self-deprecating laugh, stepping down off the last step so she was even with Juliana. “You look very pretty.”

Juliana’s smile grew back to a grin, and Valentina couldn’t stop herself from saying it again. “You look beautiful, Juls.”

As the nickname slipped out, two spots of color appeared high on Juliana’s cheek’s, corresponding to Valentina’s own heavy blush. But Juliana only laughed happily, thanking her for the compliment.

Quickly slipping on her own gloves, Juliana held out an elbow for Valentina to take, raising her chin high as she teasingly mimicked the stiff posture of the gentlemen around them. Valentina giggled, feeling a bit giddy.

The feeling quickly fizzled as they approached Lucho and her sister. Reaching out, Valentina tapped his arm to get his attention. "Cariño?"

He turned from his conversation with an expectant smile.

“Surely you remember Juliana Valdés?”

Lucho looked at Juliana in astonishment. With a disbelieving chuckle, he said, “Miss Valdés? Well, it’s amazing! You could almost pass for a lady.”

Juliana’s lips thinned, but she simply shrugged and replied, “Almost.”

“Extraordinary.” Lucho turned to go, offering his arm to Eva.

Valentina offered Juliana an apologetic smile, hoping to smooth over Lucho’s flippant attitude. Thankfully, Juliana returned the smile, and they stepped together after the others.

As they made their way through the rooms towards the dining saloon, Valentina kept up a running commentary of the important figures they passed, adding in little bits of juicy gossip she knew.

Eventually they came across Lucía, now dressed in her own evening finery.

“Care to escort a lady to dinner?” she asked Juliana warmly, pulling a laugh from her.

“Of course.” She held out her other elbow and sauntered forward, a woman now on each arm. Valentina had to smile.

“There’s nothing to it, is there, Juliana?” Lucía said conspiratorially, but still loud enough for Valentina to hear. “Remember, they love money. So just pretend like you have a gold mine and you’re in.”

With a chuckle, she stepped away to greet someone, leaving them to themselves again. As they navigated through the saloon to their table, Juliana held herself carefully, nodding politely to everyone they passed and making cordial conversation. Valentina could tell she must have been nervous by the way she held her arm close, but she never faltered. Those around them didn’t question her, probably assuming she was new money, but still part of the fold.

Of course, Eva could always been counted on to sour the mood.

“Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Miss Valdés,” she called across the table when they were all seated. “I hear they’re quite good on this ship.”

On the other side of Lucho, Valentina cringed. Juliana was seated across the table, so she couldn’t put an apologetic hand on her arm like she wanted to. Lucho had likely orchestrated that they not be seated by each other, although that didn’t help Valentina’s desire to stare.

Appearing unruffled, Juliana replied, “The best I’ve seen, señora, Hardly any rats.”

This raised a round of chuckles from the table, and Eva looked away with a frown.

“Miss Valdés is joining us from the third class,” Lucho elaborated. “She was of some assistance to my fiancée last night.”

Quickly trying to steer the conversation towards more positive waters, Valentina commented, “It turns out Miss Valdés is quite the fine designer and artist. She was kind enough to show me some of her work today.”

Her chest warmed at Juliana’s small but proud smile, though it quickly turned to a frown at Lucho’s words.

“Vale and I differ somewhat in our definition of fine art.” Not wanting to seem gauche to the others, he quickly added, “That’s nothing to say about your work, of course.”

Juliana raised a hand to wave his comment away, but her mouth was set in an unhappy line. Was it truly impossible for Eva and Lucho to just keep quiet and act polite?

Thankfully at that moment waiters approached the table, breaking the tension. Valentina caught Juliana’s attention with a cough, signaling to put her napkin in her lap. She felt guilty for not thinking to review the minutiae of formal dining manners, but Juliana leaned to whisper to Lucía, and it seemed like the other woman had things well in hand.

Johny Corona quickly took the opportunity to bring the conversation around to the ship. “I may be the owner, but in the eyes of God she belongs to Camilo Guerra. He knows every rivet in her, don’t you, Camilo?”

Camilo looked quietly pleased. Valentina, who had seen more than her fair share of the ship during her search for and walk with Juliana, turned to him. “Your ship is a wonder, truly.”

He smiled at her kindly, his gaze almost paternal. “Thank you, Valentina.” With a pang, Valentina thought that her father would have liked this man very much.

Before the dart of grief could pull her down, her attention was caught by Juliana eyeing a dish of caviar offered to her by a waiter with thinly veiled unease.

“No caviar for me, thanks. Never did like it much.”

Valentina had to hide a smile in her own bite of caviar on toast.

“And where do you live, Miss Valdés?” Eva spoke up again, turning the table’s attention to their guest once more.

“Well, right now my address is the RMS Titanic." Juliana answered with a shrug. “After that I’m on God’s good humor.”

Eva smirked. “And how is it you have the means to travel?”

Juliana returned her gaze evenly, and her tone was matter-of-fact as she answered, “I work my way from place to place - you know, tramp steamers and such. But I won my ticket on Titanic here in a lucky hand at poker.” She glanced at Valentina, a small smile on her lips. “A very lucky hand.”

“All life’s a game of luck!” said another man at the table.

Lucho shook his head. “A man makes his own luck, Sergio.” He shot a superior look at Juliana, which Eva followed.

“And you find that sort of rootless existence appealing, do you?” Eva monotoned, raising her champagne to her lips.

Juliana’s mouth set in a line for a moment before she smoothed her features. “Well, yes, señora, I do.”

Eva bristled slightly at being called señora again, which made Valentina suppress another smile.

Juliana continued, “I mean, I’ve got everything I need right here with me. Got air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper.” Now she smiled, and Valentina couldn’t help but hang on every word. “I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what's going to happen or who I'm going to meet, where I'm going to wind up. Just the other night, I was sleeping under a bridge, and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people.”

She lifted her glass to the table as those around it laughed once more.

“I figure life's a gift, and I don't intend on wasting it. You never know what hand you're going to get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you. To make each day count.”

“Well said, Miss Valdés,” Lucía remarked, nodding warmly to her.

The same gentleman who had spoken before, Sergio, called out, “Hear, hear!”

Not taking her eyes off of Juliana, Valentina raised her glass in a toast. “To making it count.”

The rest of the table echoed her, raising their own glasses. Eva and Lucho followed more slowly, and Valentina noted a sour look on Lucho’s face as he sipped his champagne.

It didn’t matter. Valentina felt almost giddy, in awe of the way Juliana had managed to skirt around Eva and Lucho’s barbed comments and win over the rest of the table. The others must have been able to see, as she did, how genuine, how real Juliana was.

Dinner continued much more pleasantly after that, as Eva sensed she could get no further with her snubs, and therefore stayed quiet. Lucía, whom Valentina respected more and more with each passing moment, regaled them all with humorous tales of her husband, until dinner began to wind down.

Valentina leaned over the table a bit, whispering to Juliana, “Next it’ll be brandies in the smoking room.”

As if on cue, Sergio stood. “Well, join me in a brandy, gentleman?”

With a smirk, Valentina said, “Now they’ll retreat into a cloud of smoke and congratulate themselves on being masters of the universe.”

Then men all got to their feet, gathering to move into the next room. Lucho leaned over the back of the chair, offering to escort her back to her room. Valentina declined, wanting to spend more time near Juliana, but her heart sank as she saw her rise as well.

“I’ve got to be heading back,” she said, coming next to Valentina’s seat.

Unable to help herself, Valentina asked, “Juls, must you go?”

Juliana gave her a wry smile. “Time for me to go row with the other slaves.”

Valentina laughed and took Juliana’s offered hand, allowing her to bring it to her lips once more. “Goodnight, Val.”

Valentina froze as Juliana used a nickname of her own, her cheeks tinging pink. Juliana smiled and turned to go, but not before shooting her a significant look.

It was only then that Valentina felt something in her hand - a piece of paper, left there by Juliana? As discreetly as possible, Valentina brought the paper to her lap and unfolded it, reading the words penciled there.

“Make it count. Meet me at the clock.”

#amar a muerte #juliantina #juliana valdes #valentina carvajal #fanfiction #my work #titanic au

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all-things-fic · 5 years

Note

first kisses pleeaaaaseeeee

First kisses: Hesitant and nervous. Lips hover inches from each other for afew seconds before they just barely brush. It’s just a soft press, but itignites their entire bodies. Pinkies link afterwards, still wanting to beclose, and each looks down, smiling softly.

Based off these prompts

***

You wanted to kiss him.

You didn’t have any idea what he wastalking about as you were holed up in the hidden jewel of a pub under LondonBridge that looked like it had walked straight out of a Charles Dickens novel.All you were aware of was that his lips were incredibly pink, and mesmerisingand he had some of the best teeth you’d ever seen, straight but still so fullof character. And whatever it was that he was saying had you laughing, headthrown back as your hand clutched at your pewter tankard of beer in thecharacterful bar, which was so quintessentially British with its genuinesurroundings that it had you filled with an indescribable warmth and comfort.

It was when he repeated the punchline of the joke around a chuckle of his own, almost in disbelief that both youand he found it so funny, that you prayed somewhere within you that he’d beensaving it just for you. That part of him wanted to impress you just as much asyou did him.

And honestly, this wasn’t meant tohappen was it? You weren’t meant to standing in the corner of the pub,sheltered from the hustle and bustle of millennials also enjoying a cosy night,by Harry Styles who stood in front of you dressed every inch the soft boyfriendyou didn’t even realise that you had been longing for. Because the night you’doriginally met him hadn’t meant to have happened. That night you’d been draggedout to Shoreditch, almost kicking and screaming because you didn’t want to goand meet your friend’s latest conquest who went by the name of Johnny.

But Johnny’s friend Harry had beenevery inch kind and funny, never mind intelligent and quick witted to match.He’d taken interest in you, his eyes letting you know he was just as much awarethat both he and you were the wingmen for the evening, both willing to sufferto aid a friend. But no suffering took place. He’d somehow manage to coaxstories out of you that evening, over your Gin and Tonic and his glass of tequila,that even your eldest friends didn’t know in as much detail. And somewherebetween buying you a double Hendricks and slimline tonic – without the cucumber– he’d taken to enjoying the way you said his name and wrinkled your nose inhis direction when he became a bit too laddie with his jibing. And sure, youwere easy on the eye, but he knew he wanted more than to just shag you,especially the minute he’d seen the way you’d heatedly knocked back the rest ofyour drink the minute you’d overheard the mention of Brexit on the table nextto you.

As you thought back to that night, alittle over three weeks ago, while you stared into his twinkling eyes from thebar lights behind you, what you didn’t realise was he was thinking the exactsame thing. Harry was conscious that he was beaming, from ear to ear, eyesglassy with pure adoration and he was giggling. Giggling. He wasnervous, palms sweaty, being rubbed against the back of his jeans several timesthat evening in fear that his glass would indeed slip from his grip with hisfumbling and shaky fingers and he would make an absolute tit of himself.

“That was awful,” you giggled,pressing your lips to the cool exterior of your tankard, watching the way heplayfully raised his eyebrows at you and your complete lack of confidence inhow you tried to play it like you hadn’t loved his Dad joke after all.

“It was, wasn’t it?” he scrunched hisface up at you in agreement, dropping his head and shaking it quickly beforelooking back at you.

When his eyes met yours instantly ashe raised his head, you watched the way he wiped his palm down his lightlystubbled face and found yourself wondering if he had a made a consciousdecision to come out looking more unkempt than the last time you’d shared hiscompany as a way to go incognito.

Cause you were conscious about theway you were stood, wedged into the corner. So close to each other that if heor you were to take a step forward your chests would be pressed together. Andall it took was the swipe of a phone screen to snap a picture and the wholecarefree aspects of the Sunday evening rendezvous would change. Especiallygiven the way that his body was angled towards yours.

“Wha’s wrong? Have I got summat onm’face?”

The apples of your cheeks warmed, asyou watched him wiped along his jaw before you could even respond to hisquestion. His thumb and forefinger wiped along the outline of his lips,pinching delicately at his bottom lip for the shortest time but long enough foryou to see.

“Just a poor excuse for facial hair,”you joked, a smile creeping onto your lips as you saw the way his jaw moved from side to side, before herolled his lips into his mouth, trying to fight smiling at your joke at hisexpense. You were surprised he hadn’t gone with the age old drop of his jaw inmock offence at your jibe.

“I’ll remember you said that,” hereplied, enjoying the way you nudged your chin up at him in a fashion that toldhim you were more than ready when he was to get into a friendly exchange full of teasing remarks. He cleared his throat, as he kept hiseyes on you, nervously biting at the inside of his cheek to hold back hisdimples from forming and giving away just how soft he was from simply admiringyou.

“‘M sure you will,” you sipped youdrink, keeping your eyes trained on the way his dropped to your lips as youlicked them following swallowing your beer. “You’re thinking something.”

“Might be,” he shot back, noddinglightly as his eyes trailed over your face, lingering on your lips as he sawthe way you nervously pulled your bottom lip into his mouth. And he knew hischeeks were flushing pink, he knew because he saw the softest smile pulllopsidedly onto your lips. “Is it me, or is it hot in ‘ere?”

That caused you to laugh, headdropping backwards and lightly hitting the stone wall, which was painted white,behind you.

And before he could stop himself, hewas dropping his head forward, resting the tip is his nose into your tiltedback jawline as he tittered breathily against your chin.

“‘M thinking a lot of things,” hemumbled as he felt the way your chest stopped shaking while your laughter dieddown. He was all to aware the compromising position he found himself in now,but he didn’t care because the way your perfume pulled him in made him know hedidn’t want to smell another scent in his entire life but instead find outwhich one he would be buying your for the rest of yours. “Can’t believe I jus’said tha’-“

“Like what?” your question was light,choosing to ignore his follow up comment, as he hummed and relieved your hand of thetankard glass, placing it messily against the wooden bar to his left.

“Things like kissing you,” heanswered truthfully, his nose nudging against your skin silently coaxing you todrop your face down to his.

“Really?” you asked, a mixturebetween a surprised squeak and dreamy sigh. How was someone so attractive andself-assured suddenly adorably diffident.

“Oh yea’,” he hummed, nodding andletting his eyes fall over your face, taking note of your fluttery lashes andthe light freckles that dotted the bridge of your nose and cheekbones.

He thought you were beautiful before,but up this close and personal he was without doubt about to become the biggestfool for you.

“What are you waiting for?” Youasked, hand now free from your drink make it so it could clasp gently at the cableknit jumper and pull him just that little bit closer to you.

He cast his eyes from you, downwardto see the pleasing way your red nails looked against the grey fabric of hisjumper. “Can’t,” he clasped, “Not in ‘ere, doll.”

Someone surely had to have recognisedhim by now and while it killed him to not simply cup your jaw and devour youuntil neither of you could breathe, he didn’t want to put you under scrutiny soearly on.

Regardless of the way you wereplayfully close to him, cheekily nudging your nose to the side of his andlooking into his eyes so deeply, he knew he couldn’t give in and hang you out todry. You were already too special to him for that.

Lips hovering so close and over eachother, they barely brushed as your eyes sparkled back at him. “‘M in so muchtrouble wi’you,” he admitted, as his chuckle bounced against your lips and heshuffled closer.

You tutted, shaking your head at him and his actions as he almost rubbed histop lip over your bottom and went against his word; dipping down and creating a gap between the two ofyou that had him reaching for your hand trying desperately to keep you closeto.

Next his lips were against your skinof you hand, lips soft and enticing as he mumbled, “Where are you off to?”

Looking at him over your shoulder,you tugged on his hand, “To find a dark corner we can snog in.”

It was simple and almost teenage-likeas he fell over his feet and crashed his chest to your back, tripping overthe leg of someone’s chair as they sat in the bar and laughing out a “sorry,mate” as you giggled in front of him and hastily found your way to the pubentrance, tugging him behind you as you went.

God, you were anxious, a nervousnessbubble running through you like no other you had felt. His fingers fitted so easilynext to yours as he slotted his still clammy - there was no way around it -hand, that he once again brought up to his lips.

You didn’t know where you were goingas you exited the pub, head turning to the left as Harry ushered you with anudge of his chest to your shoulder to just go with it. Andyou stumbled a little, both wanting to stay close to each other as you zigzagged the tiny path underneath the bridge talking about mindless nonsense andadmitting out-loud that you felt “a little bit pissed” now that the cold nightair had hit you.

With his thumb stroking yourknuckles, he chuckled and desperately hoped you weren’t too pissed that you’dregret this the next morning because all he could think about was how he wasplanning your second date. And your third. Even your fourth and fifth.

“Strangely nice down here,” youwhispered as the sound of Londoners and the city seemed the fade the furtheryou walked. Save the clicking of your boots, or was it his? “S’it hidden enoughfor you?” You teased, taking to turning and walking backwards as you looked athim and felt him reach from your second hand, lacing your fingers together.

He shushed you, playfully, trying toget you to come closer to him but noticing the way you stubbornly planted yourfeet against the cobble stone beneath you, making it more of a challenge to getyou to come back him. “S’tha’ how it’s gonna be, wan’ me to come to youinstead?”

He hummed, tugging on your hand againto give it another shot. You budged, even if only slightly, as he hummed,“Thanks for comin’ out wi’me-“

“Thanks for asking,” you responded,shyly letting your feet take you to him to close the short distance between thetwo of you.

Then it fell silent and a heavinesslingered between you both as he admired you in the dim moonlight. “I’d quitelike to do this again, t’be ‘onest,” he admitted, brushing some of your hairoff your shoulder and cupping his hand gently against your neck. “If you’ll‘ave me, that is.”

Humming you whispered, “I’d quitelike that too.”

“Would ya?” He asked, dropping hisforehead to yours and seeing the way your eyes drooped as nervous and breathypants bounced against his lips. “And again,” he nudged his nose against yoursas he lifted to slide it to the other side, lips barely brushing, “and again,and again, and-“

You pushed up onto your tip toes,only slightly in your heels to cut off his husky voice and hesitantly took hislip top lip in between yours. Hand gripping to the back of his neck, you desperatelywishing he hadn’t opted for a beanie as you sought to push your hands throughhis hair and anchor his lips to you.

Nails delicately dug into the skin onthe back of his neck as you felt him smile against your lips, slightly pleasedthat you’d been the first to cave into your urges because you were just thatinto him too.

Harry was quick to change the way youdesperately squashed your faces together, letting out a tiny breath when hebrushed his lips and tilted your faces just the way he wanted it to firmlypress your lips together. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip, and hefelt you shuffle a little bit closer to him as he widened his stance andpressed his hand firmly against the small of your back to help your chests meldtogether and for you to feel secure in his hold.

You hand clung to the fabric of hisjumper at the top of his shoulder blades as he coaxed your mouth to open widerfor him with a smooth of his thumb along your chin and jawline. And he smiled,what you knew even without seeing was the dreamiest smile, as vibrations ofprotests fell from your lips when he ever so slightly lifts his lips away fromyours longer than before to test whether you were ready for him to mouth hisway along your jawline and below.

How was this better than you hadimagined and how had he not fucked it up? You were good, so good at this,together. Soft sighs and quiet hums, gentle flicks of your tongue, warm and wetin the best way possible and gripping as his hands cupped your neck so gentlyrunning soothing circles along your exposed neck and enjoying the way your freehand held his forearm leaving occasional light scratches against the fabric ofhis jumper.

You tasted like he thought. Sweet andsatisfying. And when you parted, mainly because you couldn’t ignore the burningof your chest and the way he was panting through his nose, Harry pressedpanting pecks to your lips, chasing after you when you fell down from your tiptoes and back to your normal height. He was definitely a goner.

You were just as giddy, especiallywhen you felt his toothy grin against the apple of your cheek, which was justas prominent and round due to the smile that was held upon your lips. The feelof him shaking his head, his nose squashing into your skin as he heard yourthroaty laugh, head tilting back, made his heart soar.

“Any good for you?” he hummed,deeply, body falling forward as yours bent back and he clung to you. Hisquestioning wasn’t bashful, it wasn’t even him needing an answer. He knew thekiss the two of your shared was good. He knew by the girly giggle that yoursquealed at the end of the sexiest laugh he’d heard from you that evening, andhe knew because your fingers were desperately trying to tangle into his hairunderneath his beanie.

But he knew mainly from the way your lipstrembled, ever so slightly as he lingered at the corner of your mouth knowinghe wouldn’t need to be asked twice if you wanted to go again.

“‘M not sure, try me again,” youpurred, feeling the way he melted against you.

“Be my fuckin’ pleasure.”

#harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fanfic #harry prompt #harry fluff #harry styles one shot #harry one shot #my writing #kissing prompts

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