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katebishopsbow · 8 months

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HEAT EXHAUSTION • OSCAR PIASTRI

pairing: oscar piastri x driver!reader

summary: the heat was unbearable in the qatar gp, and after completing 57 dreadful laps you ended up fainting on broadcast television. knowing that the media was going to exploit your little incident and turn this into an issue of why women do not belong in motorsports, you were engulfed by guilt and self-hatred, and oscar was there to comfort you.

tags: enemies to lovers (kind of), angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of misogyny

word count: 2.6k

(image is not mine)

─────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────

“That’s P3 and the third podium of the season. Great work out there today.”

Coming into the Qatar Grand Prix - with the sweltering heat and the suffocating humidity of the desert - you had already known it was bound to be a difficult race, but nothing could have prepared you for how grueling it actually was.

Feeling as if your entire body was engulfed in flames as you sat in the cockpit, sweat dripping down your face while your body overworked itself to withstand the g-forces at every high-speed turn. It was utterly torturous, and with each passing second during the race you felt like you were getting closer and closer to collapsing.

When you finally completed all 57 of those dreadful laps, you just barely managed to pull yourself out of the car with your wobbly arms and trembling legs. Your entire race suit and fireproofs were soaked in sweat, and each breath you took was like inhaling fiery hot air. Your chest hurt from the deep breaths you were struggling to take, every muscle and joint screamed in pain, and your brain felt completely fried by the scorching heat.

Glancing around the circuit, the world suddenly seemed to be made of squiggly lines and distorted shapes, and you had to lean on your car for support as you desperately attempted to recompose yourself. You absolutely could not faint right now, you told yourself. Not when all your fellow drivers were beside you, and especially not when the media would be scrutinizing your every move, dying to see you make a mistake so that they could exploit your vulnerability and convince the world that women were too weak to be in motorsports.

So you forced yourself to straighten up, kept your head high – at least as high as you could with how lightheaded you were feeling – and tried your hardest to put on a victorious smile. In your peripheral vision, you could see a figure slowly approaching you, and your smile immediately disappeared when you turned to see the one and only Oscar Piastri.

The man was just as drenched in sweat as you were, sandy hair all messy and disheveled from his helmet as he said to you, “Congratulations on getting P3, y/n.” You scanned his expression skeptically, finding his sudden friendliness rather unusual considering the fact that all the previous exchanges between you two were always snarky remarks and backhanded compliments. You were about to answer him with a quick “thank you” before he cut you off and continued on with a smirk, “Too bad you still finished below me.”

Ah – there was the Oscar you knew and the lame, dry-humored insults you were used to. The smug grin that tugged on his lips made you wish you could just punch it straight off his handsome face. No wait – he wasn’t handsome, this was simply your overheating brain speaking.

You normally would retort with a couple of witty insults and take a few jabs back at him, but with how nauseated you were as well as the pulsating ache wrecking through your brain, you just didn’t have the energy to deal with his antics right now. When you simply walked away from him in silence, Oscar’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, and he wondered if he had accidentally stepped over the line with his teasing and made you genuinely upset.

Lando, who was standing nearby and watching the whole interaction between you two, side-eyed his McLaren teammate as he failed to suppress his loud chuckle, “You finally pissed her off, mate?” Oscar shrugged his shoulders, putting on the most nonchalant expression he could manage and replied briskly, “Whatever, man.” He didn’t care if he pissed you off or made you upset. He didn’t care about you, period.

At least that’s what he tried to tell himself, anyway.

Upon walking away from the two papaya drivers, you stumbled to the table and grabbed yourself a bottle of iced water, finishing the whole thing in a couple of seconds. It did make you feel refreshed and slightly better, but then all you could feel were waves of nausea when the liquid settled into your stomach.

Panic surged through you, you felt worse by the second and nothing seemed to be making you feel better. The loud music and boisterous cheers of the celebrating spectators around you did nothing to help with your situation, and the deafening cacophony was making you feel severely overstimulated.

That’s when David Coulthard showed up with a microphone in his hand, ready to interview the podium sitters and get some insights on today’s race. You tried to subtly dodge the cheery man, hoping to hold off being on camera for as long as you could. To no avail, the man sauntered straight toward you with the biggest smile on his face and all of a sudden, a microphone was handed to you and you were being broadcast on the big screens.

“Congratulations on getting on the podium today! What’s it like getting your third podium in only your first season in F1? Do you feel excited, overwhelmed, or pressured to perform well? And what are your expectations for future races?” The bombarding questions were too much for your overworked body to handle, and the words falling from his lips sounded more like incoherent nonsense than actual words with meaning.

“I – I, uh,” you wracked your brain to come up with an answer, you really tried, but nothing came out of your mouth apart from the constant stuttering. “Umm, you okay there?” David asked with a worried smile, clearly noticing your distressed state – bless his heart – but his question only managed to attract people’s attention to the two of you. As if things couldn’t get any worse, you could feel so many pairs of eyes on you. All the other drivers, journalists, crew members, spectators, everybody was staring at you.

Oscar’s eyes never left you since the second you had walked away from him quietly. He never seemed to be able to take his eyes off you anyway, albeit he would never admit it out loud. And it didn’t take long for him to notice that something was clearly wrong with you. From your indifference to his teasing, your fatigued body stumbling around the pit, to the way your face gradually became paler and paler underneath the flashing lights of the camera.

There was an unfathomable feeling gnawing at his chest as he studied you cautiously, one he couldn’t pinpoint, but this unpleasant feeling propelled him to walk towards you two and interrupt the post-race interview.

“I’m really… thankful for…” your slurred words came to a halt when Oscar leaned into your microphone and said with an apologetic smile, “I think she needs some rest now, perhaps we can continue this later.” David nodded understandingly, knowing just how physically demanding F1 races could be. But right before the cameraman could pan the shot to the next driver, your vision became consumed by black spots and your body felt like it was sinking into quicksand.

You tried staying upright, but you failed to fight the darkness that engulfed you and the next second your limp body was collapsing into the embrace of the boy next to you. Right before you slipped into unconsciousness, you could hear the worried callings of your name and a pair of strangely comforting arms wrapping themselves around you.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, trying to blink away the disorientation as you glanced up at the blinding ceiling lights. Every fiber of your being still ached with exhaustion, but the previously unbearable throbbing in your head seemed to fade into a dull pain instead. “Look who’s finally awake.” You turned toward the voice and your tired eyes landed on your fellow driver, sitting beside your bed in his papaya race suit. “Why are you even here, Oscar?” you sighed exasperatedly, and your headache was already starting to return when you slowly recalled what had happened to you on broadcasted television.

The Australian driver shrugged again, feigning nonchalance while he mumbled something under his breath. You didn’t bother asking him what he had said because your mind was already preoccupied with something else – something that could potentially jeopardize your career in F1 and women’s positions in motorsports.

You were so angry, so disappointed in yourself for fainting in front of the crowd while a camera was pointing directly at your face. You could already imagine all the patronizing headlines about you tomorrow, chastising you and taunting you for fainting after the race.

“F1 female driver fainting – Is it the weather conditions or a sign of women’s physical limitations in motorsports?”

“Y/n L/n passes out after Qatar GP: Do women have what it takes to handle the harsh conditions of being an F1 driver?”

It didn’t matter if the heat was torturous or the humidity was unbearable, it didn’t matter even if you finished P3, because all the world could see was that you, a female driver, fainted. The only conclusion they would be able to draw from this incident was that you did not have what it takes to be in F1. You were too weak, too physically incapable, and you never deserved your seat nor the opportunity your team had given you despite the effort and sacrifices you had made to be here.

Before you even noticed it, your eyes were beginning to sting from the unshed tears of frustration, self-deprecation, and guilt. “I should have known better… If only I had stayed awake for a little longer or fainted in a hidden corner somewhere.”

Oscar’s head snapped up instantly, shocked at the sheer vulnerability lacing through your shaky voice. You were never one to show much emotions as a racer, always keeping a cold exterior in all circumstances, so when he saw your glassy eyes he found himself speechless. He had no clue what to say or how to react, and so he just sat there with the most clueless look on his face.

His face was so meme-worthy that you almost wanted to laugh at him if it wasn’t for how shitty the current situation was. The ever-so-stoic and level-headed Oscar Piastri was at a loss for words because you were crying in front of him. But the humor was quick to fade and replaced by the self-blame and guilt for disappointing your supporters and your team, and the damned tears were biting at your eyes again.

You hurriedly covered your eyes with your palm, rubbing at your eyelids as if doing so could somehow force the tears back into your eyes instead of having to cry like an idiot in front of Oscar. You felt so stupid, so embarrassed, so pathetic – and all of a sudden all your thoughts became blank because you could feel a hand wrapping around your wrist.

Oscar’s fingers were delicate, his gentle feather-like touch causing the slightest flurry of tingle to blossom on your skin when he slowly pulled your hand away from your face. “Don’t rub your eyes. They’ll get swollen,” he whispered ever so softly and released his grip on your wrist, only to reach for your cheek and wipe away a stray tear that cascaded down.

The way your heart quickened its pace at his slightest touch is a secret you will never mention to anyone, one you will take to your grave. The clueless, confused expression on his face had long disappeared, and his eyes were instead clouded with a mixture of emotions you struggled to decipher.

Perhaps the heat had really messed your head up, because suddenly you found yourself wanting to lean into his touch and give into his comforting warmth. There was something about the way Oscar was gazing into you, watching you with such sincerity and tenderness that it made your resolve break, and you couldn’t help but allow yourself to open up to him for the first time ever.

“You don’t understand… they’d give me so much shit for this. They’ll take every chance they get to make me seem weak and undeserving of my place here. I worked so hard to be in my position now, to perform well in races and get on podiums, but my effort will never be good enough for the world.”

Oscar knew what you had meant. It was a cruel sport where people could only remember your last race and every little mistake could cost you your career. Every driver is under constant pressure and scrutiny, especially for women fighting for their places in a male-dominated field.

“Perhaps I’ll never be able to understand your struggles, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that you deserve to be here more than anyone,” he said to you with so much certainty that it made all those awful thoughts in your head fade away momentarily, and you watched him in silence as you awaited for him to continue.

“I know that you trained harder than any drivers on the grid to get your seat here. You keep a smile on your face despite people’s constant doubt and judgment about you, and you fight hard to prove them wrong. You carry the weight of the entire world on your shoulders, but you don’t have to be perfect to be deserving of the things you have.”

You wondered if Oscar somehow was gifted with mind-reading abilities because there was no way he could have said all that you had needed to hear so badly without reading your mind.

The constant pressure to be perfect, to excel in each and every way, or else you would be seen as inadequate for the sport. All the sleepless nights you spent reliving your mistakes again and again, wondering what you could have done differently to avoid it because you knew the media was going to have a field day with your errors. And the smiles you forced on your face despite facing the criticism of others as you pretended to be unaffected by their words, but then you go back to your hotel room in tears because a part of you was beginning to believe in their words – you would never be good enough no matter how hard you tried.

“You are worthy of the things you worked hard for,” Oscar whispered hushedly, just loud enough for you to hear and for you to remember. He was unsure where all those words came from – all he knew was that he looked into your crestfallen eyes and just spoke his mind, pouring his entire heart out while wishing he would never have to see you cry again.

It was the first time you had seen Oscar acting like this, without his annoyingly funny teases and inside jokes that only you two seemed to understand. It was the first time Oscar had seen you like this, not putting up that tough facade that only Oscar seemed to be able to look through. You two were simply being you, no lies, no fronts, just you. The silence that hung between you and Oscar was strangely comforting – no words needed to be said.

Oscar would never admit it out loud how much he had wanted to kiss you at the moment, and you would never admit out loud how much you had wanted him to kiss you. He pretended that he wasn’t looking at you with such fondness, and you pretended not to notice the adoration swimming in his eyes. He acted like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest when you reached for his hand, and you acted like your head wasn’t fuzzy with tingles when he silently intertwined your fingers together.

“Don’t get all sappy with me now, Piastri.” “Oh please, you know I would never.”

#f1 x reader #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 #formula 1

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frostbitebakery · 3 months

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Loud.

part one two three

“You’re impossible!”

Obi-Wan harrumphs back at Cody with feeling. The way they’re running it’s equally impossible to sign or code tap. He engages the lights on his gloves, squeezes his fingers in a rhythm and the code appears in short and long lines on the back of his hand. Which he gladly shows to Cody. “You’re one to talk.”

“Dogpiling Grievous was a calculated move,” Cody huffs back, skids to a halt at a maintenance door that Obi-Wan almost missed. While Cody types in the emergency sequence, he carefully gets his message ready.

“You’re bad at math,” Cody reads blandly when he turns around. “Very funny.”

“Careful,” he signs, fingers stiff and unwieldy as the nervousness crawls through him. Setting in his knees, making them weak. A clump in his stomach. Stiff, clumsy hands.

“You know you can change your mind any moment,” Cody says, catches his eyes and Obi-Wan sinks into the warmth. “We can stop whenever you need.”

“No.”

Cody waits for him to continue but he can’t even nod or move. The gap between their fingers feels insurmountable.

But he wants this. Needs this, on a level deeper than the trust he has in Cody.

“Shadows don’t trust easily,” he wants to say. “I do even less.” His trust is forged in pain and loss and bittersweet victories. And faith.

“I like hugging,” his fingers confess and he feels stupid for the brief moment until Cody’s face lights up.

The mask digs into his face where it’s smashed against Cody’s shoulder. Cody’s arms feel safe and unhesitating and so sure it unlocks Obi-Wan’s knees and stomach and fingers and he’s hugging back with eyes closed.

For the first time in a long, long while he wants his voice back. He doesn’t know what he’d say. And perhaps it doesn’t matter. Just the urge to pull off the mask and move his mouth—

soft lips press against his temple just over the edge of the mask, gentle fingers tap on his hand in code, “I hear you.”

You really do, don’t you, Obi-Wan thinks, watches his own hand tap in the same rushed rhythm. One short, one long, two short.

“I hear you,” Cody signs back, forehead against Obi-Wan’s brow.

Three long.

Obi-Wan never lost his voice.

Three short, one long.

Not with the people that matter.

One short.

“Me too,” Cody whispers. “Ready?”

The catches on the mask hiss as they open.

“You’re impossible!”

“You’re bad at math,” Cody reads blandly when he turns around. “Very funny.”

Obi-Wan squeezes out another message.

“It was also very hot,” Cody reads. And pauses.

Obi-Wan imagines the blush hidden by the helmet vividly and smiles.

He’s ushered with no further comment into the maintenance closet which bears entrance to some shortcuts across the Malvolence. He looks at Cody in question who shrugs.

“I briefly saw the holoprints in one of the war rooms.”

Yes. One of the many reasons this infatuation is turning into something warm and bright and unbearably sweet. Cody is making himself a place in Obi-Wan’s heart like he’s coming back home.

“We’re almost there, Sir,” Cody says suddenly, relief palpable in his voice. Master Windu must have finally reached him on comms. “Understood, Sir. No more shenanigans, Sir.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders shake with laughter.

“The mask helps me breathe,” Obi-Wan explains, head held high under Cody’s gaze. Getting out of breath could possibly suffocate him. Too dry or humid air is painful. With the exact parameters of what his body is able to handle, the healers had settled on a mask to protect him when he runs too fast. “Or other strenuous activities,” he adds with a slight smirk.

Cody shakes his head at him with a fond smile that tingles in Obi-Wan’s chest pleasantly. His thumb caresses the web of scars going from Obi-Wan’s bottom lip. “Can you feel that?”

“A little bit.” Not much at all, when it comes down to it. Kissing has become unimportant to him out of necessity. Few people had wanted to kiss him in the first place when the scars had still looked fresh. He’s lucky his jaw hadn’t needed to be replaced, so he’s not complaining.

It had been difficult nonetheless. To work around the muteness, the way his body had been changed. He’s learned to put more importance into other gestures than kissing on the mouth.

Cody’s forehead rests against his once more, catching his hand and slowly stroking the palm, up to the fingertips. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Gestures like Cody’s.

“I didn’t expect to see you there,” Cody says as they settle into the rescue shuttle. “General Windu said we had reliable intel to do a hit and run on the Malvolence.”

Obi-Wan waves his hand, palm empty before a flick of his fingers reveals the data stick.

“Information retrieval,” Cody asks, voice changing from vocoder to his usual timbre as he lifts his helmet. “I imagine there was a lot of useful data to harvest.” The shuttle is rocked as the warship explodes. “I should’ve saved my sweets ration,” Cody murmurs, eyes reflecting fire and bone-deep satisfaction.

“You’re dying for a fabricated war,” Obi-Wan doesn’t sign. The intel he managed to get his hands on is enough to connect the missing senate funds with Serenno’s newly acquired wealth from another angle and make it waterproof.

Destabilizing a whole galaxy for— for shits and giggles. Obi-Wan sits on his hands, shuts himself up so he can think.

“The Dark Side has clouded their vision. Hundreds of senators are now under the influence of a Sith lord called Darth Sidious,” Dooku’s voice grates through his memory. Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to tell him just where he could store his lightsaber for safekeeping so his erstwhile grandmaster had taunted him with the truth, in hindsight.

Anakin.

The signs rush out of his hands, too fast for Cody at first. He repeats himself, trusts that Cody, brilliant, brilliantly fast Cody, will get it.

The helmet is back on Cody’s head, lights flickering on, antennas adjusting their angle.

“General Windu, this is Commander Cody using emergency frequency 2-Esk-5-0. Immediate contact with General Bilaba required. Immediate removal from battle of General Skywalker required. Use of force strongly encouraged should he resist.”

Obi-Wan crosses the small distance, waving his hands before using the quick battle sign for “deliver message”.

“General, Master Shadow Kenobi has a message,” Cody says, doesn’t pause as he translates to voice even though his back goes ramrod straight. “Chancellor is the Sith. I have proof. Ani must be kept away from him.”

“Some call them traitors,” Cody whispers, “but I’d rather turn a blind eye and let them run than watch them step into blaster fire because they don’t want to fight with every fiber of their being.”

“You’re a good man,” Obi-Wan signs, hands held up a bit so Cody can see. He hadn’t wanted to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes for the confession, had chosen to press him close under his chin instead. “You’re a good man,” Obi-Wan taps out on Cody’s chest so he can feel his words, too.

#loud au #codywan #obi wan kenobi #jedi shadow!obi wan #mute!obi wan #commander cody #star wars #sw tcw #my art #frostbitebakery art

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katiexpunk · 8 months

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Heat Wave | Pairing Javier Peña X fem!Reader

Summary: In the sweltering haze of a Colombian heatwave, everyone's on edge, including you, your nerves fried crispier than plantains in a hot skillet. Even Javi is not immune - his nights spent tossing and turning, the relentless heat driving him mad. Imagine his surprise - and yours - when he knocks on your door late one night, a little buzzed and sweaty, craving a distraction. What's a generous soul to do but let him in and share some cool, sweet cholado? As the night unfurls, the heat outside might be unbearable, but inside, things are just starting to warm up.

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI. I say this with love -- GTFO.

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Javi wasn't super nice to reader and has to gravel a bit, female masturbation, references to the cartels, use of pet names (Hermosa, Cariño), emotions, reader cries, sweat, fingering, female stimulation, face-fucking, blowjob, praise kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up, don't lead by my written example), direct p in v, pussy slap, somewhat rough sex, sensual sex, creampie, and cum eating.

Authors Note: Eek! This is my first time writing for Javi, so be kind to be hunnie bunnies. Joel will always have my smutty heart, but damn, Javi can fucking get it. Special thanks to @sydneyinacoma for being my personal hype woman on this one, and to @josephquinnswhore for telling me this premise wasn't total trash. Ily bbs.

Also I often edit after I post (hello typos) so if you saw one originally sorry 🫣

The window is wide open, but the curtains aren’t moving; only offering a slight flutter now and again, offering a deceptive promise of a breeze that you know will never come. You lay there, restlessly, the cotton sheets sticking to your damp skin. The eerie silence of the room was punctuated by the whirring fan overhead, its blades churning the stale, hot air in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. It’s nearly midnight, hours since you’d gone to bed, but yet, you find yourself staring at the ceiling, cursing why you ever decided to move to Colombia. Had you known it would be the hottest summer on record, you might have thought differently and denied the job.

You turn to your side, annoyed at the hair clinging to the back of your neck and forehead like velcro. You stare at the alarm clock on your nightstand, watching the numbers slowly change, like a shitty version of trying to count sheep, but there’s no point. You’re wide awake, and there doesn’t seem to be anything that can change that.

You roll onto your back to splay out like a starfish, hoping the gap between your limbs will somehow offer you some reprieve from your burning core, and you stare at the ceiling. You wonder if you’ll actually get any sleep tonight. The heat was enough to keep you awake, but there were other things that would probably prevent you from dozing off if the heat weren’t a factor.

Outside of the thud of your own pulse, it’s completely quiet in your apartment. You’re sure people are awake, but no sound comes from Steve and Connie’s apartment next door; nor from Javi’s. Odd, you think, considering work has been slow as of late and most of Colombia, even the cartels have hidden themselves away from the relenting sun and suffocating humidity, too tired to do anything substantial.

In your haze, eyes transfixed on the ceiling panels above you, you try your best to think about something else, anything but him, but your last conversation replays in your brain like a bad rerun.

You knew he wasn’t really the type to settle down, and you were more than aware of his reputation, yet you let yourself hope that this situation might be different, that you might be the one to change him.

He had insisted that it was for the best and that he wasn’t the right guy for you; that it should be simple for you to move forward and erase any trace of your connection, and that he should do the same. Perhaps that was the reality of it; maybe it was only you who had experienced a heightened sense of joy during those countless nights he held you close. When wrapped in his embrace, the burden of your conscience seemed to lighten, and you couldn't help but wonder if he had ever found comfort in your presence as well.

Your mind begins to drift to the ways he made you feel like you were the most precious thing in the world. You can still feel his pillowy lips leaving a soft trail of kisses up your neck and across your jaw, cock buried deep inside of you. The memory of it sits low in your belly, adding to the stickiness between your thighs, now a cruel mixture of sweat and arousal.

Your mind swirls with thoughts of him, and you decide that there might be one thing you’ve yet to try that might be able to help you fall asleep. You lay there, trying to focus, to let your mind sink into better days, better nights, ones you had spent wrapped around him in every way possible.

You tease your fingertips along the thin fabric of your tank top, trying to ignore the way the sweat that’s seeped into its fibers causes it to bunch up as you stroke your hand down your sternum. You circle your nipples through the fabric, trying to call forward any sense of arousal or sensuality. You slide your hand under the waistband of your linen shorts and place your hand between your legs, resting it atop your lace underwear, already wet, courtesy of Colombia and your incessant thoughts of Javi.

Your fingers are quite delicate compared to his, and you miss the thickness only he can seem to provide. You slide your underwear to the slide, and drag your index finger through your folds, bringing your slick up to your clit. Your hips lift at the sensation, and you let out a little moan.

You begin to slowly draw small circles, eventually increasing your pace enough to provide a nice mix of movement and pressure. Your restless thoughts of him have you so keyed up, already so close to the cliff of your orgasm you can practically taste it. Your body heats even more as you chase your high, desperate for a release, practically begging for an escape from this inferno. Like a cord about to snap, you swear you’re starting to see stars when you hear it – knock, knock – and the distraction cruelly pulls you back from the edge, your pressure gauge falls, and your orgasm retreats back inside you like you scared it.

No! Fuck.

Now hot, tired, and sexually frustrated, you let out a long sigh. You slide your underwear back in place and withdraw your hand from your shorts. You wipe your wet fingers on the fabric beneath you, gaze at the clock once more, and wonder who the hell would be at your door at this hour. You rise, legs still a little shaky from your would-be orgasm, and walk over to answer it.

Your aggravation at the disruption vanishes the moment you clock his face through the peephole. You unlock the top and bottom lock and release the chain from the door, opening it to completely see him.

He looks like he’s been chewed up and spat out, his hair a disheveled mess of thick, dark, damp curls, small beads of perspiration collecting on his lush, tan skin. You’ve seen him like this before, a look of affliction, hiding behind soft brown eyes. But there’s something else flickering in his eyes – some kind of yearning. For what? You haven’t got a clue. He’s made his stance on your relationship very clear, or at least, the parade of women filing in and out of his apartment speaks volumes.

You lean up against the door frame, waiting for him to speak, to give some sort of explanation as to why he’s on your doorstep.

“Hey,” is all he says, eyeing you up and down, eyes lingering a little too long on your exposed stomach.

You’re positive you must look like a mess right now, but you don’t really care, you feel like one.

“Javi – is everything okay? It’s late,” you answer quietly.

He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them, then shifts the weight from one hip to another, unsure of himself, obviously uncomfortable.

“I know, ‘m really sorry to bother you. Can I come in?” he asks, looking at you with his big puppy dog eyes, and you can’t turn him down. You step aside so he can enter your small living room, hoping he can’t smell your arousal on you, hoping that he’ll assume the musk lingering in the air was just from the cracked window, the outside world seeping in.

Your apartment was rather small to begin with, but with his presence, it seemed to shrink before your eyes. He walks over to the center of the room, and pauses once he sees the couch; a memory of him railing you on it flashes through his brain.

No.

No, he won’t let himself think about that. He swallows the thought, and palms at his jeans to adjust himself. He’s not here for that, he’s here to gravel.

You let out a sigh, and walk over to him. You come to stand right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to commit the sight of you like this to memory – all pretty, skin clammy, cheeks a darker shade of pink than normal. You pause before saying anything, still unsure why he’s here in the first place.

“Can I get you some water, whiskey, anything?” you ask, cringing at how awkward it feels to play hostess with him now, considering he’s explored every inch of your body with his tongue.

Javier shakes his head and runs a hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat collecting there as if he’s deciding what to say.

“Mmm, no. Probably shouldn’t have any more whiskey tonight,” he admits. “Some water would be good. You don’t happen to have anything cold by chance, do you? This heat is fucking killing me,” he says.

“Actually, yeah, I do,” you say, your voice an octave too high, remembering your creation earlier this evening. You nod to Javi to take a seat on the couch, giving him a perfect view to watch as you saunter over to the kitchen. You open the freezer and reveal a container with a kaleidoscope of colors. It closes with a thud, and you open the fridge next, pulling from it a bowl of fresh fruit – juicy chunks of mango, sweet pineapple, zesty oranges – and a can of whipped cream. Javier watches intently as you gather it all neatly onto a little tray, glide over to the end of the tiny kitchen to grab two spoons from a drawer, and close it with a quick thrust of your hip.

You place the tray on the coffee table. The couch lets out a little squeak as you find your seat next to his.

“Fresh cholado – made it tonight,” you say, offering him a spoon.

You neatly assemble the fruit on top of the colorful slushy mixture. The sound of the whipped cream releasing its contents onto the top of the fruit causes the hair on the back of his neck to rise to stand.

“Go ahead, dig in,” you say, offering him a kind smile. God, you’re always so sweet and nice to him, even when he doesn’t deserve it.

Both with a spoon in hand now, you delve into the sensory masterpiece, pausing in silence as you savor the blend of textures and tastes, a welcomed escape from the heat.

Javier closes his eyes and lets out a small hum in delight.

“This is so good, holy shit,” he praises, not even finishing with his latest bite before he’s digging in for another.

“I’m glad you like it,” you say, and you really mean it.

The elephant in the room becomes harder and harder to ignore.

“Why are you here, Javier?” you ask, voice a little unsure.

His eyes hold your gaze for a moment, and he swallows his last bite and then places the metal spoon onto the tray in front of you both. He doesn’t say anything, instead, he holds out his hand, his eyes pleading with you to take it. You hesitate, before deciding to place your palm in his, allowing his fingers to wrap around yours. He stares at it, the pad of his thumb tracing over the back of it, and he inches closer to you.

Neither of you says anything, but your brows furrow and you look at him, hoping he can see the pain – the hurt he inflicted on you – in your eyes.

“Cariño,” he whispers softly, and you sense the obvious change in his tone. His hand releases yours, and he brings his palm up to land on your cheek. Maybe it was just the heat playing tricks with your emotions, but the simple action causes tears to well up in your eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he admits.

Oh god, he already broke your heart once, was he here to just do it all over again? The thought causes your already battered heart to sink into your stomach.

“I can’t pretend like I don’t need you anymore,” he continues, “like you’re not the only thing - the only person - in Colombia preventing me from losing myself,” he adds.

The sudden truth bomb he’s dropped leaves you speechless.

“I —” you start to say, but the broken silence is all it takes before Javi pulls you in closer, hugging your waist, dragging you up onto his lap, your knees straddling him. You try to ignore the uncomfortable press of his DEA badge digging into your inner thigh but secretly hope it leaves a mark.

Fuck, it feels so good to be on him like this again. You shouldn’t feel this way, but you do. You rest one hand on his shoulder and instinctively run the other hand’s fingers through his hair. Old habits die hard. For the first time in a while, you feel a bit of relief; you wager he must feel the same by the hefty sigh that escapes his lips.

“Javi – I don’t,” you pause, your words trembling, “I don’t want to get hurt again,” you say, allowing your hands to wrap around his torso and your head to fall into the crook of his neck. Hot tears begin to spill from your eyes and fall to the fabric of his shirt, the weight of your confession compounding with all of your other frustrations from the evening.

“I know, baby. I just…fuck, I don’t know how to do this. I suck at the emotional,” he admits, gently patting the back of your hair and holding you close to him. He pauses before guiding your face up to look at him and continues, “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I was just scared; didn’t want to get hurt, or even worse, hurt you, but I realize now that I did, and I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. Shit. I just… I need you, I need you more than I need air in my lungs,” he adds, and you hear the break in his voice.

“You do?” you ask, hating how pathetic you must sound, your eyes puffy and cheeks wet from your crying.

“I’ll always be here for you, cariño, if you’ll let me. I know I don’t deserve it, but do you think you can forgive me?” he softly mutters. Seeing you trying to blink away the silent years trailing down your cheeks, he reaches up and swipes away at them with his thumb, and his hand stays there, cupping your face.

You nod yes in response.

Just like that, it’s almost as if everything were still the same; as if it were just you and him against it all. A thought of doubt crosses your mind, one saying this might just be temporary, your heart still unsure if you can trust him, but you allow yourself to cave into the feeling all the same.

He holds you quietly against his chest, the pressure of his strong arm around you is soothing. You feel his cock begin to stiffen under you, and it causes something to stir in your lower belly. God, you want him. It was less than half an hour ago that you were coaxing yourself to orgasm with just the thought of him inside you.

Your chest begins to flush, and the heat your bodies generate together mingles with the warm air in the room around you. You slightly press off of him to find some reprieve from the burning surface of his chest and place your hand on it, his shirt slightly clinging to it as you do.

You lean forward and press a soft, breathless kiss on his lips, one laced with the taste of tears. It’s delicate at first, as if to test the waters of your reunification after so much time apart, but it’s not before long that it deepens; his tongue exploring the recesses of your mouth, your mutual lust boiling to the surface. His hands glide down from your waist to your hips and he grips onto the delicious flesh there, inviting you to grind against him.

Your hips roll on him, and you feel a sudden disdain for the clothing that clings to your skin like a second skin. The fabric is damp and heavy, and with each roll of your hips, it chafes against you. Your eyes tell you that you’re not the only one who’s uncomfortable, Javier’s face in a slight twist, one that screams both pleasure and pain.

“You know, Colombia’s hot enough without the two of us making more of it,” you say, letting a little giggle out as you do, tilting your head back, letting your hair fall behind. Javier trails kisses down the side of your neck and then darts his tongue out to lick the hollow of your throat. The action causes your breath to hitch.

“You’re right, Cariño, we really should do something about these layers, hmm,” he purrs, and you catch his drift.

He releases both of his hands from your hips and helps you lift your tanktop over your head, your perky tits bounce in response and the friction of the fabric on your nipples causes them to stiffen. One of his hands finds its home on your hip, and the other comes to grab your breast. He rolls your nipple between his fingers, the feeling sending a tiny zap through you as he does. His mouth finds your chest and his tongue trails the valley of your breasts before slowly making its way over to the stiff peak of your other exposed nipple. A low, hungry growl leaves his chest, it’s a needy and desperate sound that goes straight to your cunt.

“Javi –” you moan, “clothes,” It’s not a question, but a request, one he’s happy to oblige.

He begins to undo the buttons of his linen shirt, and you watch in anticipation, his stiff cock under you making you impatient. His shirt joins yours on the floor, and you trail your hand down the expanse of his chest, noting the little freckles that pepper it; the small detail drives you to another level of impatience.

You swing your leg over him, feet coming to the floor; a temporary but necessary adjustment so you can step out of your shorts and panties. You stand there before him, happily naked, pleased to be free of your cloth prison. The air is thick and hot, but it feels good to have so much exposed skin for the first time tonight. With his eyes dragging over every inch of your body, you eagerly watch back as his hands come to his waistline and he undoes his metal belt buckle.

You look down and notice his boots are still on; you drop to your knees in front of him and you swear you hear his heart thump in excitement at what you might do. You look back up to lock eyes with him, and you reach down to his shoes and begin to undo the laces of his boots. Fuck, that’s definitely not what he thought you were going to do. With his feet free, his fingers fumble for the button and zipper of his denim jeans, and he slowly undoes them, lifting his hips slightly to let them over his ass as he drags them down, taking his briefs with them, until everything is off his body.

Now both totally naked, you rise to take a seat on him, but his hand darts out to your shoulder as if to hold you in place on your knees. He spits into his free palm, and takes his heavy cock in hand, slowly gripping the length of it up and down. You salivate at the sight, the tip of him is red and weepy with pre-cum.

“I think you look pretty good where you are, Hermosa,” he says, “always so pretty, especially like this,” he adds, still stroking himself.

You love when he uses his Spanish on you, his words sending a surge of desire through you like a bolt of lightning, your body responding with intensity as the sticky tread of arousal pools between your legs.

You inch closer to him, your hands finding his knees, and you gently pry them apart, creating just enough space for you between them. You look at him as if to say let me, and he releases his grip on himself, and you take over stroking his length. You lick your lips and position him at the entrance of your mouth. You place a soft kiss on the head of his cock, and smear the precum that’s gathered there on your lips like chapstick.

You hum in delight as you sink down onto him, letting your jaw relax so you can take him deeper, savoring the salty taste of his skin. He gathers your sweaty hair into a makeshift ponytail and holds it back from your face, allowing you to work him without distraction. And god, you’re into it – the sounds are filthy, but your delighted little moans have Javier unraveling like a runaway spool of thread. You look up at him through your wet lashes and let out a little wink, an innocent act considering your practically sucking his sanity out through his dick and having fun with it.

“Fuck, baby. Gonna have to stop or you’re gonna make me cum,” he says, holding the hair on your head taught as if to warn you to slow down, letting his head fall to the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling as if to think about something other than how good you’re making him feel. You let out a satisfied mew, and release him, a little pop sound fills the air as you do.

“C’mere –,” he says, a little breathless and sweaty. You rise to stand, your knees pink and sore from the ground, and he stands to join you. At full height, you have to look up to see his face, and you feel him grab both of your hips and twist you around onto all fours, your upper body resting on the couch for support. “My turn to taste you, Cariño,” he says, using his knee to nudge you, and encourage you to spread your legs open for him.

With your tummy flat on the couch cushions, your ass is on full display, and he fucking loves it. Using his middle finger, he inserts it into your needy cunt, gently curling it to sweetly abuse your g-spot. The moans that escape your lips only encourage him further, a light chuckle follows when he reminds you that he’s only using one finger and that he’s just getting started with you. He uses his other hand and pushes your hips and ass deeper into the couch, while his one finger stays in place, gently rubbing the spongey texture of your g-spot without breaking, making you squirm under the bare minimum he’s providing you.

You’re already wet, but once he thinks it’s enough, he extracts his finger, and uses his hands to lift your hips up, making you arch your back for him. He crouches down further to plant a tender kiss on your ass, biting into it very dimly, eliciting a little yelp from you in response. He slowly begins to move lower and lower, kissing the lines where your ass meets your thighs. He taps your cunt a few times with his thick fingers, each time getting a bit rougher, sending a stinging sensation through your whole body. The rough taps eventually become a full-on slap, and you move your hips in desperation, a mellow whimper escapes your lips begging him to give you what you need. He flattens his tongue, and moves it across the expanse of your dripping folds, lapping at you like you’re the cold refreshment he needs.

The tip of his tongue finds your clit, and he stays there momentarily to give it a little suck before moving it upwards, licking the whole length of your pussy. He continues to do this a few more times, before finally stopping and focusing his attention on your now swollen clit. You’re barely breathing as his tongue relentlessly pleasures your needy little clit. He brings his forearms onto the back of your ass, and uses his thumbs to spread your outer lips open completely for him.

“Javi – holy fuck,” you moan as he slides his greedy tongue inside you, moving it in and out as breathless moans continue to leave your lungs.

“Taste so good, sweeter than the fuckin’ cholado,” he praises, and you’re nearly gone at his words.

He continues to eat at you, but releases a hand and then brings it back up, under you this time, as his fingers begin to circle smooth circles over your clit once more; your whole body begins to shake, it’s so much. You’re moaning and whimpering at the feeling of both his hands and his mouth on you.

“Come for me – want you to soak my face,” he says, his encouragement is all you need and you snap. Your vision goes white, and your whole body tenses under his attention. He rides out your orgasm with you, ensuring no drop of your sweet juices goes to waste. Once your shaking has subsided, he lifts his chest and you readjust, bringing your weight to your forearms on the couch.

“Javi, need you, god, please,” you’re all but practically begging for him.

‘I’ve got you baby,” he coos, “gonna give you what you need,” he says as he strokes his cock a few times, and then places the tip at your slick and waiting hole. Both of his hands come to your hips, surely leaving little bruises under his strong grip. Your slick makes it easy for him to bury himself in you to the hilt, your greedy cunt taking every inch of him like it was your fucking job, like it was made for him.

He begins a relentless pace, thrusting his cock deep inside of you, the obscene sounds of the clapping noises, a song made as a result of your wetness and his thighs, spurs you on. He reaches out and grips the back of your neck, and jerks you backward into him, forcing you to arch your back against him. The new position lets him take you deeper, harder. Holding you against his chest, he snakes a free hand around and his fingers find your clit once more. He makes soft circles on your clit, working you with each thrust until he once again has you climbing the ladder to your climax.

“Just like that, you’re so perfect, Cariño, taking me so perfectly,” he praises, voice low.

You squirm and babble something of the likes of gonna come under him, and he holds in place as you begin to unravel once more for him. Your hole contracts around him, your perky tits bouncing as he continues to fuck you through it. You’re so tight, your sweet sounds have his own orgasm not far off.

Suddenly, without warning he stops fucking you and pulls out. You look back at him, brow creased, wondering why he stopped.

The sight is one you’ll remember till the day you die, Javi all sweaty curls, ragged breaths, hard and throbbing cock in hand, shiny with your slick, looking at you through needy brown doe eyes.

“Why – why’d you stop,” you ask, breathless.

“Turn around, Hermosa. Lay on the couch. Want to look you in the eyes as I cum,” he rasps.

You do as he says, and spread your legs open for him. Within seconds, he’s back on you, filling you up to the base of him. The dark hairs at the base of him tickle your swollen clit as he rolls his hips into you. A tingling warmth pools in his belly and surges through every sensitive nerve on his body, accompanied by the surge of blood that rushes to every corner of his flesh, his response making it obvious that his release is imminent.

His hips slow, and he lets out a rough moan, spilling inside of you. He pauses there, and you feel him gently pulsate and twitch as your walls drain every last bit of cum inside him.

He collapses on top of you, working to catch his breath, an exhausted mix of sex, heat, and general tiredness from the restless night. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, and intertwine your fingers around his now full-on wet locks and trace small patterns onto his back. You stay there like that, in your sticky embrace of sex and emotion, until your heart rates return to normal and your breaths find a manageable pattern.

He slips out, bringing with him a glob of cum that pools on the cushion beneath you. He leans back on the other arm of the small couch and watches as he slowly pools out of you. “Mmm, sure do love watching me drip out of you,” his gaze doesn’t move from the filthy sight of it.

He leans forward to drag his pointer finger through your folds, causing your body to twitch at the unexpected sensation on your tender clit. He slightly presses the tip of his finger into you, and his cock twitches and begins to swell like it’s ready to go again. He drags his finger out, now coated with a mix of you and him, and he brings it up to your lips.

“Taste us,” he says. You open your mouth to welcome the cum-coated finger onto your tongue. You savor the taste of the mix of you, an overly salty, heady mix of sweat and semen.

Once satisfied, he removes his finger and leans back once more.

In your fucked out state, you tilt your head toward the coffee table, noticing that the remaining cholado has turned into a sticky, syrupy mess.

“Sad that’s melted, I could really use something cold right about now,” you say as you reach your arms up and try to secure your wet hair into a little bun on the top of your head.

“How about a cold shower,” Javi offers, a smile on his face. He stands and offers his palm to you for the second time tonight.

Without saying anything, and without hesitation this time, you place your hand in his, and he pulls you off the couch and into his arms. His chest firm against yours, he brings both of his palms to cup your face in an embrace. He pauses momentarily before leaning down to place his lips against yours.

“And then maybe some breakfast?” He says, tilting his head to the side, signaling to the window.

The sun is now rising, bringing with it what you can only imagine is going to be another tortuous day.

Well, almost as torturous.

At least now you have each other.

Although you’re pretty confident you won’t be getting any sleep tomorrow night, either.

END

Tagging some moots: @darkheartgatita @elegantduckturtle @alltheglitterandtheroar @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @reddedmiller @morallyinept @theywhowriteandknowthings @beefrobeefcal @secretelephanttattoo @ruinmepedro @papipascalispunk @dins-riduur-anthe @untamedheart81 @planet-marz1 @pascalpvnk @elvinaa @joeldjarin @javiscigarette @cavillscurls @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @endlessthxxghts

Oh hey! You made it to the end. Cool. Thanks for reading. Since you're here, I'll pass on a reminder that I'm just a horny little wannabe fic writer trying to make her way on this hell site and write things that make people turned on happy. Likes and comments are wonderful and much appreciated, but reblogs are really what counts in making people see this, especially for smaller blogs like mine. If you like this, please consider reblogging.

#javier pena narcos #javier pena smut #pedrohub #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi pena #javier pena fanfiction #narcos #javier pena x you

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singularattitudeofasafetypin · 2 years

Text

Meet Me in the Pouring Rain

Masterlist

Summary: Hawkins has had a heatwave for weeks on end, when it finally rains, Eddie and reader dance in the storm.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: none.

A/N: I think this is a drabble? I'm not actually sure what constitutes one but it's fairly short and there's little to no plot. Also, if you squint, I was vaguely influenced by this scene from The West Wing. Idk I just really like thunderstorms and got this idea in my head, so I wrote it! I hope you enjoy!

Please don't copy my work!

The sun beat down on Hawkins. Exhausted residents cowered in their homes; windows flung open in a futile attempt to cool them down. The streets were deserted, shops closed early, not a single car on the roads, even the local pool was all but empty. After almost a month of muggy, baking heat, no one had any energy for anything!

It could have been a ghost town.

Nowhere was safe from the merciless temperatures. Far away on the outskirts of town, the dilapidated trailer park wasn’t much different. The earth was parched and cracked and the grass was a sickly straw colour.

While everyone else could take refuge inside, Eddie’s trailer trapped heat like a furnace. The two of you lay sprawled in the meagre shade of the picnic shelter on either side of the bench. Eyes closed, not talking, your fingertips brushing.

Eddie had finally shed his leather jacket, a sure sign the scorch was unbearable. He was clad only in a light t-shirt and ripped jeans, hair pushed off his neck and falling over the side of the bench. Both of you had kicked off your shoes long ago hoping it would lend relief but nothing seemed to. There was only heavy, humid heat.

Conversation forgotten; your brains were soup. ‘It’s too hot,’ and ‘When, please, when will it end,’ were the only thoughts you could form.

At least you were going to suffocate together. You stroked your fingers against the back of Eddie’s hand and pictured the small smile that graced his lips. He groaned softly, which you took to mean either, ‘I love you,’ or ‘Make it stop!’ You went with the former.

People always said Hell was coming to Hawkins and if the temperature was anything to go by, you believed them. What you wouldn't give for even a breeze!

In that moment, or perhaps it was centuries later, something changed. You couldn’t exactly explain it. A feeling? A buzz in the air? A taste in the back of your mouth? You sat bolt upright.

‘Eddie?’

He groaned again. ‘Eddie, it’s going to rain!’

‘No, it’s not!’ he slurred, shifting to get comfortable, ‘They’ve been saying that for weeks! It’s a cold-hearted lie!’

‘I’m serious!’ the feeling had filled you with a new sense of vigour. You climbed over the table and him and started wandering about, staring at the sky with your hands outstretched

‘Come back!’ he complained, ‘I want to die in this sweltering wasteland together!’

‘I can sense it!’ you insisted.

Eddie squinted at the sky, there was maybe one cloud, two if you counted that weird pale whisp of nothing! ‘You’re delusional!’ he retorted; you paid him no heed. ‘At least put your shoes back on! You’re gonna get glass in your feet or something!’ he tossed your sandals in your direction, covering his eyes with his arm and turning over.

‘Come on! Come on!’ you muttered, ‘Ha! I felt it!’

‘It’s a mirage!’ he teased half-heartedly.

‘Come on!’ you went on.

‘Lie back down!’

‘Any second…’

He grumbled your name.

‘Now!’

A crash of thunder split the silence and the sky opened. Eddie nearly fell off the bench, spinning to see your wet grinning face.

‘Woah! What else can you do?’ he scrambled to his feet.

‘I didn’t even know I could do that!’ you giggled at your hands as though they held magical power.

Cool, refreshing rain hammered down on you, splattering when it hit your skin. ‘Come on!’ The two of you scrambled to put your shoes on and raced out into the downpour.

Rolling grey clouds had materialised from nowhere, darkening the landscape; it felt like a whole ocean was falling on the dry, brittle town. You ran through the shower, feet splashing, laughing at the top of your lungs. The scent of petrichor filled your nose. You were wet through in seconds and Eddie wasn’t far behind. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his shirt clinging to his chest. He was laughing too.

An especially loud crack of thunder made you scream, then convulse into a fit of giggles. Eddie caught up to you, grabbing you from behind and spinning you around to shrieks of delight. You were flying, drunk on excitement.

He set you down and pulled you round to face him. Nose to nose, water streamed down your faces. Staring into each-other’s eyes, he cupped your cheeks in both hands and kissed you. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed Eddie by any stretch, but every time managed to feel different. This one was invigorating, full of relief after so long being forced apart by the heat. It felt just like a movie. Everything was right again, the earth quenched and your love replenished.

The wind began to pick up, tossing spray into your eyes while you danced and jumped in puddles like little children. He kissed you again and again between euphoric giggles.

You were drenched to the bone when a brilliant flash of lightning split the sky. You yelped in surprise and Eddie grabbed your hand, dragging you, still laughing, inside.

He shut the door but the rainstorm drummed on the roof of the trailer so hard it might have broken through. Though the wind rushed and whipped the fragile walls, making the battered trailer creak and groan under the buffet, you never doubted your safety.

Leading you down the hall Eddie pulled open a draw, handing you some dry clothes and starting to change himself. You pulled on his warm, dry t-shirt breathing in its comforting smell. You took turns squeezing your water-logged hair over his bathroom sink, drying it carefully with a towel. Eddie pulled you into bed, finally able to wrap you in his arms and sleep soundly.

The window was cracked keeping the rain out but letting in the fresh, rejuvenating air in. You closed your eyes, Eddie’s warmth a comforting embrace. Raindrops plinked over the roof, gurgled along the ground, and dripped off of ledges, soothing and guiding you to sleep. Thunder rumbled a million miles away and lightning still flashed but you snuggled into Eddie’s chest, safe and sound from the storm.

***

Thank you so much for reading! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! I really hope you enjoyed it!

Masterlist

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson drabble #amber writes

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dameronology · 2 years

Note

if ur looking for writing ideas… from the list u reblogged how about "It's kinda hot when you're frustrated” w/ Poe ??? no pressure tho <3

absolutely my darling i hope u enjoy

The heat of Ajan Kloss was, for the most-part, pretty unbearable.

It did have its moments, though.

Like right now, for example; the midday sun was hanging high in the sky, casting a suffocating warmth across the airstrip. It was quite possibly the worst time of day for Poe Dameron to decide to start repairing his X-Wing, but as it usually went, there wasn't a single thing in the galaxy that could stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted. You'd been concerned for your boyfriend's well-being at first, but then he'd started to undress and suddenly, the thought left your mind.

Okay, so it wasn't undressing undressing but hell, you weren't complaining. Poe had started the day with his famous orange jumpsuit -- it was now tied around his waist, torso now only covered by a white vest. It was stained with engine oil from an hour's work, but that wasn't where you were looking. Rather, you had your sights set on his arms, and the way they flexed underneath the jet. His hair was curlier than usual too from the humidity, pushed back off his forehead.

Now would have been a really good time for a cold shower.

"Jesus FUCKING-"

"- Poe!" you tossed aside your magazine, hopping off the wing of your own jet and crossing the runway to him. "You're gonna hurt yourself if you keep trying to lift that damn engine."

"I have to get it done today," the pilot grunted, words slightly muffled by the spanner in his mouth. "Finn said he'd help me but he fell asleep."

"So you figured you'd just try to do it yourself?"

"Time is of the essence, my love," he murmured. His brown eyes flickered back to the engine, so you put your hands on his shoulders and tried to pull him back.

"Let the boy sleep for a few hours and then ask for his help, yeah?" you forced him to face you. "You'll put your own back out otherwise. You're not as young as you used to be."

Poe thinned his eyes at you. "You're mean."

"And you're a dumbass," you winked. "You're also kinda hot when you're frustrated, but I cannot sit here and watch you hurt yourself."

"So what do you propose we do?"

"I say we go back to our quarters and sleep off this afternoon heat," you ran a hand down his arm. "And then this evening when it's cool, I'll come and help you and Finn fix this engine so it's done even quicker. How's that sound?"

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. "Sounds like a dream."

#asks #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fluff #poe dameron imagines #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac characters x reader #star wars x reader #star wars imagines

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shirophantomvox · 3 years

Text

Chrollo, Hisoka, and Illumi Headcanons

Chrollo, Hisoka, Illumi, and Leorio headcanons

Hello, anon! I am so sorry for taking longer than usual to respond to this post. I have been so busy with A LOT lately but I have time now! I don’t know if you want N/SFW, romantic or non so I’ll go based on what comes to mind! I know many Tumblr users have made these types of assumptions for them a lot but I wanted to join in. I started writing this last night so forgive me if there are any unbearable grammar errors. I hope you like it anon, I tried my best. I have to work on my headcanons for them because I try to keep them in character. Since we don’t have much background info on ⅔, I have to keep it as realistic as possible. FYI N/SFW content is mentioned.

Discord for Voltron and HxH fans

Let’s start with Chrollo.

Chrollo (SFW)

I’ve seen on here that a lot of you headcanon Chrollo to be an understanding man when it comes to feelings for his significant other. Given his soft voice and calm demeanor, I’m sure that is somewhat true.

It seems like Chrollo isn’t on board with over-the-top PDA meaning he would agree to hand-holding and his arm around you but nothing more. He saves the...other stuff for when you two are alone. Because of Chrollo’s past, it seems like he wouldn’t want to be seen in public that much because that can cause him to get caught by the authorities.

He takes your safety very seriously. You understand that when he is with the Phantom Troupe that you are not to interrupt until the business is over. He doesn’t allow you to get involved with the missions because of how dangerous they can be (example: the auction). He knows you can handle it, he prefers for you not to be involved. Feelings and work can make things difficult.

Although Chrollo hides in the shadows, I imagine he lives in a penthouse with expensive furniture, white and black color pattern, and large windows that have an astonishing view of Yorknew.

After you both have worked long and hard, you open the door just to see the lights dimmed so dark that it matches the night atmosphere. There are rose petals leading to the bathroom where a bubble bath is waiting. As you enter the bathroom, your boyfriend is waiting there, submerged in bubbles sticking his arms out. Candles light up the tiny room casting a romantic shadow from your body. You grab his hand and gently sit in the tub. The warm water felt amazing; it helped your aching muscles (from exercising) feel better. Chrollo gently grabbed your arm and pulled you into a warm, loving embrace. He wrapped his toned arms around your body and rested his chin on your shoulder. He didn’t say a word but instead breathed heavily, kissed your shoulder, and leaned back against the wall. On days like this, he didn’t say much but his actions spoke louder than words.

Chrollo NSFW

I think Chrollo is a passionate lover. This assumption comes from his calm demeanor. He seems to be incredibly patient so if you aren’t positioning yourself the right way or something, he’ll work with you to make sure you get it and you are comfortable.

He is touchy. That means during the nitty-gritty, he likes to touch your face, chin, lips, and your torso as a way to show more affection.

When he is in the mood, he moves slowly then very fast. He cannot resist the urges and feelings he has for you.

He loves to do this while the drapes are open although you have expressed that you like your privacy. It’s ironic. He doesn’t like extreme PDA but is ok with sleeping with you while the lights from the city shine near your penthouse window. Ah, guys are confusing.

After the climax, he lays flat on the bed and pulls you close. He leaves about an inch in between because heat is still radiating off your bodies and it’s summertime.

Hisoka (SFW) If his significant other was shy.

People have mixed feelings about Hisoka, feelings, and whether or not if he is gentle or not. I don’t think that Hisoka is gentle but begins to lay off the harsh jokes or pranks as he sees that you both have fought before and you’re not as weak as he thought.

Unlike Chrollo, he is all for PDA. This ranges from hand holding to playful kisses to passionate kisses. When I saw Hisoka for the first time, I immediately thought he was a fuck boy. A fuck boy is a boy that is only interested in sleeping with someone and doesn’t intend on pursuing a relationship.

He’d take the pleasure of appreciating your presence as well as testing your patience. If you are shy and are easily flustered, he will change that. He’ll do things like kissing you, calling you affectionate names, or anything that will cause you to respond. You hit him jokingly. Still not getting the message, he continues and you hit him harder. This is where he releases a medium moan which causes everyone to look in your direction. You freeze; face flushed and he’s laughing his ass off.

“What’s the matter,” he asks, covering his mouth. “You look flushed~♥.”

“You’re doing too much. Stop playing around! People are staring~💯.” You cover the side of your face. True enough you were a little mortified but in a good way. You knew he did this because he liked you but sometimes he played too much.

This is when he pulls you closer to his face, your ear next to his mouth, and whispers something in your ear that sent chills down your spine that made you blush more than before. He nearly puckered his lips as he spoke. He took his index finger and thumb to caress your cheek.

“Raising your voice at me? That simply won’t do. Aren’t you aware of the consequences~♥?”

You knew better than to not say anything because he would cup your cheeks and pull you into a deep kiss, and wouldn’t let go until he was sure that everyone was looking.

Both of you enjoy red, white, and rose wine. To him, wine equals classiness and sophistication. After fighting each other for hours (which he considers training for you and exercise for him) drinking wine and watching Lifetime (television for idiots) is a great way to end the night.

NSFW

As stated above, I originally thought that Hisoka was a fuck boy, so I am going to roll with that thought. This man has the potential of being rough and if he is too rough this is the time where you can speak up and say so. He’ll listen to you. Similar to Chrollo, he can be very romantic if he wants to. The rose petals gimmick was played out.

Instead, he hides in the darkest part of the living room waiting for you.

You turn on the lights and immediately head to the kitchen to drink a bottle of ice-cold water. Summer nights in Yorknew were hot and humid, almost unbearable. It felt like you were being suffocated. Becoming impatient, Hisoka clears his throat loudly causing you to nearly jump out of your skin; choking on the water you were drinking. He released a sexy chuckle. When you turned around, there stood your chiseled buff boyfriend bare with a ribbon tied in various directions around his body. Your birthday was two days ago and he was your gift. Although you have seen him like this before, for some reason you were too flustered to make a move. He already knew that you were tired from work, so he carried you in his arms to the Exercise Room and laid you gently on the floor. You smiled as a rush or passion took over your body resulting in you tearing off the ribbon tightly wrapped around his body. Since this was your birthday gift, he made it a night you’d remember forever! Surprisingly, no roughhousing, just soft and gentle. This proves that Hisoka has the capability of being humane. His strokes were to your liking and the gazes that you both exchanged were mind-blowing. Why couldn’t he be this way all the time? After it all, you fell asleep at her quickly. You were on the floor but now on top of your king-sized bed, with the message control on high. He stayed awake, watching TV, and thought about how he was going to pick a fight with you at the crack of dawn.

Hisoka’s ability to flirt and send the intended person swooning is a talent of itself. Lots of people do not possess this talent. Sometimes it's intentional and sometimes it's not. He speaks softly and smoothly, are he has to do is ask and it shall be done.

Illumi SFW

Illumi gives the impression that he is a “quiet” freak. This means that true enough he is focused on his job but if the moment comes along he will give in. He isn’t into PDA at all and if he does feel like showing some affection it will be done in private. Even though he appears to be a zombie, laying on or even cuddling with his significant other will help him relax for once. Imagine having to complete many missions in a day, exhausted, and have a wonderful person waiting to act as a human pillow for your weary head. Even Illumi can’t resist that.

If he likes you and plans to marry you, he will make that known to everyone to avoid confusion. Illumi represents the stereotypical shy boy; he is anti-social, prefers to only be around people he knows and trusts, and carries out the duties of his job.

After everything has been completed for the day, he wouldn’t mind ( and secretly begs) for silent cuddles with his significant other and to just fall asleep. At this point, you are used to it so this is all you want and you are satisfied. When he does talk, it’s usually about something he found out from work that he knows should be kept quiet but he tells you anyway. Late nights are the time of day where Illumi vents for a few hours. The details of these vent sessions could range anywhere from “I wish you were there to see it” to “No, it would be too much”. As quiet and reserve as he is, his love is shown in a unique way that you have grown accustomed to.

NSFW

When the urge slaps him across the face like a sack of rocks, he cannot resist. Usually, he fights off the urge by exercising (mainly because you are out of the house or sleep) but this time he couldn’t shake it.

Before he gets started with anything, he styles his long hair in the shape of a bun so it doesn’t get in the way of action.

Although he is portrayed to be an emotionless zombie, he has some feeling deep inside him that he unleashes just for you. This is shown by gentle moist kisses being placed along your neck and once he reaches your shoulder that is when you wake up. Halfway through your sleepy eyes, you see a man with a devilish smile painted across his face. Who is this man? This couldn’t be your boyfriend. No way, no how.

Once he sees your sleepy smile, he just releases so many kisses that you throw the blanket off and he pulls you in closer.

Illumi will allow you both to switch the roles meaning he is in charge one time and you are on another day. Since you were still asleep, he decided to take on the role. He is surprisingly gentle in the beginning but as soon as it takes off, your ride him like a donkey. It ironic; he releases more noises than you! You have to remind him that noise travels! Great, you’re doing your job well! While it is important to take your job seriously, you need to have time to release that stress.

He uses his large eyes to stare into yours; you always found yourself lost in his gaze.

After it all, you lay back down waiting for your boyfriend to return from the kitchen. Illumi craves food like crazy after a good session. What’s better than donuts at 3 AM? COMFORT FOOD!!

These urges also come when you two are training together. Several times he’s had to guide you from behind on how to aim his needles. This time you noticed the packing of his pants which surprised you.

“Any questions,” he asked in a monotone voice.

“Yes. Why did you wear jogging pants? You’re giving yourself away.”

It was at this moment, he knew he fucked up. But let’s be honest, ok? He is standing behind the most beautiful person in the world, nostrils full of perfume, hair tied up, and has his left hand placed loosely on your thigh?! What was he thinking by wearing jogging pants when he was with you? He acted as if he didn’t know what you were talking about.

“You really don’t know?”

You kicked your backside out against him causing him to fall to the ground.

“Wow! Your legs are like jelly!”

“Why tease me,” He asked breaking out a small smile.

“You’re the one denying it.”

“Just get to it. I can’t wait any longer or else I’ll explode.”

The quiet ones are always the freakiest.

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mandwhore · 3 years

Text

(you drive me) crazy

pairing: ellaria sand x f!reader/afab!reader

summary: none. just straight up porn.

rating: explicit. 18+

words: 2.5k

warnings: soft!dom! ellaria, d/s undertones (¡¿maybe!?), one clothed one naked, oral (mutual f recieving) face sitting, 69-ing, fingering, spitting, one pussy slap, overstimulation & edging (mentions of some slight pain/discomfort that is consensual was agreed prior to the fic is not mentioned), waxing poetic about bodily fluids (sweat, spit, and pussy slick), imagery about burning and falling and drowning and suffocation (there is none of this, it is just to for metaphors about intensity), aftercare

a/n: lmao i don’t even go here (got and never will) but fuck ellaria makes me buffer brain. she is so hot and gorgeous and also the way she and oberyn are interracial desi and latine supremacy makes me very happy

part of @malewife-hansolo ‘s redefining sex challenge. AND part of @the-purity-pen ‘s kinktober day one using face-sitting as the prompt. (a two for one, if you will)

—

A whimper escapes you. You can’t help it. She seems so far away, it’s just not fair.

Her eyebrows raise, the skin around her mouth dimples, pulling her lips taut; her teeth visible through her nearly wicked smirk. Amusement dances in her eyes as she brings a finger up to her plush lips and very gently sucks on the tip of it.

You can’t stop yourself from whimpering again. Your heart catches in your throat, eyes widening as she does nothing but removes her fingertip from her mouth, catching the deep v of her flowy dress neckline, to lathe her collarbone in the small trickle of spit, as if wiping away nonexistent smudges of dirt.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, dear.” She coos, still too far away.

It’s utterly unfair, the way you feel completely debauched.

You’re completely overheated; chest heaving as you greedily pant, a thin sheen of sweat condensing on your warm skin. You’re uncomfortably warm, the cloying smell of pussy; your pussy, making you feel lust-drunk. You feel another wave of wetness seep from your cunt at the thought that you made the room reek of sex. Your thighs are unbearably sticky, your slick smearing to the crease of where your thigh meets the plush of your mound and lower abdomen; the slight pudge there shiny with evidence of your want.

You must be a sight, because she chuckles again. It’s unfair how her laugh is so beautiful. It’s almost embarrassing how her laugh makes you fall in love with her more and how it makes your pussy clench around nothing. It makes you more aware that she is still so. Far. Away.

You ache so much, it burns. It should be shameful, the way her beautiful and mocking laugh makes you feel that much more gone. That much more needy.

You don’t think she’s actually laughing at how your chest is heaving that much more, at how your tongue is swiping over your lips in an attempt to combat the dryness of your mouth, despite the electric tingle of the humidity in the room.

It’s insane, the curls of her hair, the slope of her neck, the elegance of her fingers. Fingers that have brought you to wonderful, maddening, inelegant pleasure. Fingers that have broken you and made you writhe, whimper, wrecked.

It really gets to you; the air she carries. It makes your pussy tingle uncomfortably, as you unconsciously squirm to provide your neglected clit some friction. It is the way that she seems wholly unaffected by the way she’s making you feel; aching and needy.

It makes slick leak from you to think about how if anyone else were to see the lack of tension in her shoulders and her composed smirk, juxtaposed with the way your thighs are rubbing together, your pulsing cunt reducing you to a pile of taught muscles and jelly limps whimpering for her.

It’s not that you want anyone looking in right now. It’s the fact that you’re writhing for her, and she’s so composed, so seemingly unaffected. But you know better—the lust in her eyes, the flicker of her tongue wetting her lips, followed by the sharp bite of her teeth sinking into the plushness of her lower lip, the way the curls at her mound have begun to frizz slightly matching the frizzy curls atop her head, the slightest glaze of shininess on her thighs—they all betray her equal want for you.

It’s the intimacy that makes your cunt painfully clench around nothing. The knowing that she is aching for you too.

“Ellaria.” You plead, your brain clouded with need. It doesn’t even matter that there is a pool of wetness beneath you, soaking the sheets. Or that you can feel your pulse quivering in your clit. All that matters is that she is so far away and it is making your heart and body, ache and yearn.

"Ellaria.” You don’t know what you want her to do, you just need her closer.

It seems as if the gods are listening because she takes the few blessed steps closer. It manages to soothe the yearning in your heart; her coming closer, a soothing balm for the wound of your frantic heart. It does nothing to soothe the burning of your skin, the tingling anticipation coursing through your body. In fact, it worsens the burning ache deep in the marrow of your bones as she proceeds to straddle your naked torso, your body trying to soak in the warmth of her body and the heat of her cunt.

Her fingers, her fucking fingers, lazily trail up the curve of your body, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Despite the whispering of her touch, her fingers leave you feeling the roaring of fire in their wake—as if you could individually point out where she touched you as clearly as a scar; as if you could feel her touch branded into you.

Her fingers—the key to your demise. In the wake of their gentle trail, you burn. You feel ran ragged.

How do you always feel so weak to her charms when she is looking at you with such admiration? When she is cupping your face so gently? When she is treating you as her most prized possession?

When her face is slowly moving down to yours?

You quietly gulp, heavy eyelids fluttering shut.

How can you feel so exhausted and still feel your nerves flare with the spark of static electricity? The tingling shocks running through your body seem to make your lungs feel punched empty. You silently pant, your chest heaving as you greedily try to gulp down air. Your pants still sound too heavy, your heart still beats too loudly and rapidly. Your lips tingle, as they wait to feel the plushness of hers.

You’re burning. Her soft breath tickling over your lips, so close to your own. You whimper pathetically as you realize she’s teasing. She just holds there chuckling at you, her warm breath puffing softly over your face. It’s nearly cruel, the way she is still too far away.

Your eyes flutter open, your mouth hanging slightly open while tears pool in your eyes, attempting to gather your words to ask why the hell she hasn’t kissed you yet. Why she wants you to burn and writhe that much longer.

You burn in a different way as she spits harshly into your mouth, a pang of arousal-driven love rushing through your body as she follows with a gentle kiss, her gentle fingers running through the hair at the nape of your neck.

You feel a hazy driven high at the feeling of being so coveted by her, so treasured; the way all of her filthy actions end in her gentle worship of you.

“Good girl,” She murmurs, pulling her lips from yours. Her soft chuckle is so melodious and full of love as you whine and your head raises slightly to follow hers. “Can I sit on your face?”

You whine, nodding, wriggling as your pussy aches, wanting her to just sit on your face already.

“Words, baby.” She gently admonishes. “Will you let me sit on your face and eat your perfect pussy?” Her voice grows deeper and harsher, thick with heady arousal.

It’s hard to form words; you have to open your mouth and close it to swallow the dryness away, before being able to let out a whispered and croaky, “Please.”

Ellaria looks down at you, considering making you beg more, but your glazed-over eyes and open mouth break her resolve. She fumbles quickly, moving to pull her skirt up while turning around her body to sit on your face, facing your body.

You moan at her flavor, arms moving of their own accord to wrap around her hips to pull her down further onto your face. It’s difficult to make the choice between drowning in her or allowing the smallest amount of space to allow room for your fingers to slip into her wet heat.

But you can’t bring yourself to move your hands from where they are gripping at the dimple of flesh of where her ass meets her hips because it’s your only tether to the world right now. If you move you would be lost and in between worlds, and why would you want to leave this one where she is.

Your mouth widens more, nearly uncomfortable as if trying to unhinge your jaw, attempting to cover as much of her pussy as you could. It’s messy; it’s impossible to not be, but you make sure that in your eagerness to fuck into her with your tongue, to drink her from the innermost source.

It’s not even necessarily for either of your pleasure, it’s more to soak in as much of her as possible, as if to reach the innermost part of her to attempt to mark her in the way she has branded you. And to renew her hold on you—to drink her in; to succumb to her. To be hers.

You didn’t anticipate the burst of energy the taste of her cum gives you; the way her writing and gushing of her orgasm on your mouth, causes a bolt of electricity to run through your nerves. The way it makes you ache with want and need and life; the way your thighs fell open for her, silently begging for her perfect tongue and fingers to be buried in your cunt.

You cry into her pussy as she spits onto your clit, your body trashing as her spit moves through your folds towards your hole.

You yelp as she swats at your pussy, smacking the flesh hard as she growls out, “Did I say you could stop licking me?”

You burn as you feel another wave of your slickness coat your pussy; you hadn’t realized you had stopped licking her clit when she spat on you.

“Oh, you liked that? Your cunt is just clenching, dear. Do you think I should give her something to clench around? Hear what your little pussy has to say?”

Your hips trash, whining at her words, aching for her perfect fingers to devastate you. She moans above you, her hips grinding back onto your face.

You can barely hear anything but the blood roaring in your ears; the moaning and squelch of arousal sound muffled, and garbled, too difficult for you to discern its origin. If you could think, you would assume it’s you.

You can’t hear the slurping of her tongue sucking on her fingers, so pussy drunk with the salty-sweet essence of her. The taste of wet flesh with some underlying flavor that is just her; drank straight from the source.

Your pussy clamped down, a devastating moan ripping through you, vibrating through her pussy. It’s blissful torture, the way she moans while sucking on your pulsing clit, your velvety walls fluttering around two of her fingers, grazing against that spongey spot.

Your abs burn, the coil that has been winding in your stomach so tightly, ready to snap.

“Don’t cum yet, baby.” She snarls into your pussy, gently grazing her teeth along the puffy outer folds of your pussy.

It’s hard. It hurts. The way your body clenches everywhere, purposefully and painfully, to lock the muscles of your pussy, to trick your own body to not snap just yet.

Your head falls away from her pussy; you have to, to bring the oxygen into your empty lungs to allow yourself the strength to hold taught, to not fall, to not crumble into the throes of pleasure.

“Please!” You whine, unaware of the tears on your face.

“Soon, baby,” she purrs into you, tongue ghosting over your cunt, as if attempting to soothe the blistering heat while being unable to part, as if leaving your cunt will hurt her.

She laps gently, murmuring words that make no sense to you but soothe over you like a salve, limbs too limp to realize the way she has maneuvered your legs up, to rest on the sides of your body, prevented from moving by the anchors of her arms to bare yourself even more to her. Her neck curls to pant gently onto your quivering cunt.

“Mmh!” Your moan is muffled, your lips flattened, nearly curling into your mouth, serving as padding from keeping your teeth from chipping with the force of which your jaw is welded shut.

“Cum for me, baby.” She speaks before spitting onto your clit and diving into your pussy.

The coil finally snaps, and you feel as if you’re thrown into a never-ending ravine. It’s maddening. It burns. It’s exhausting, and your lungs feel punched empty of air with every tremor of your pussy.

It’s suffocating, the way your pleasure is prolonged by the way she continues lapping.

You must whine or whimper, the overstimulation making the hazy, dizzy, lightness in your chest feel that much more soothing and balmy, satisfaction and exhaustion settling in your bones.

“How do you feel, darling?” She whispers to you, pressing kisses to your face, her perfect fingers running up and down your body, soothing the last of the adrenaline away from your body.

“Hmmmm.” You let out pleasantly, a dopey smile spreading across your face, all of your muscles relaxing.

You whine as her comfortable weight leaves you, a shiver of pleasure and the sudden chilliness of the room wracking your body as your eyes slowly flutter open, to look for her.

You would have whined for her again, had you not found her standing by the closet with her back to you, grabbing a small washcloth. A small and goofy smile fluttered across your face, the lightness in your chest, the airiness and warmth spreading through your whole body.

“What are you smiling about?” She asked, a similar smile fluttering across her face, her eyes softening and any residual tension leaving her body.

“You.” Your grin widened as her gaze moved bashfully past yours to slightly behind you, as she gently made her way back to you. “So good at takin’ care of me.” You slurred slightly, happiness and exhaustion settling in your voice.

“Love you.” You whispered as your eyes fluttered shut, as her face came into view, washcloth carefully gliding over your body.

You felt her fingers remove the washcloth, and she slowly adjusts your body to place a towel onto the sheets beneath you. You hummed drowsily, on the edge of sleep, feeling her body crawl back into the bed, gently grabbing your arms to curl them around her waist, snuggling back into your body.

She stilled, before gently grabbing your hand atop her waist, pulling it up to her lips to place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “I love you too.”

#ellaria sand #ellaria sand x reader #got #(you drive me) crazy #redefining sex challenge #tppkinktober2021 #ami writes #yes i said ellaria spits and slaps pussy and then is the little spoon #can't believe i'm out here writing fic for a show i've never seen

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Heatwave

Summary: It’s a heatwave in the UK and Henry is making things much worse by walking about half-naked.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x ofc (First-person POV)

Word count: 645

Warnings: Suggestive, teasing, ice-play.

A/N: Not edited or beta’d. It’s hot, I am horny, time to drag you down to hell with me.

Feedback, comment, reblog. 💖

Title: Heatwave

The last couple of days at the country-side have been so unbearably hot and humid, that wearing clothes was clearly not an option anymore, especially for Henry. The beastly, bear of a man had a body temperature of a human furnace.

While I was still modest in my undergarment, the toned hulk didn't bother with his trunks and strolled around the house completely bare.

Watching him walkabout with his ginormous cock dangling between his sweat-glistening thighs wouldn't have been a dilemma if it wasn't too hot to touch skin. The thought itself made salty drops of sweat roll down the course of my hairline, but the heat was suffocating.

Henry, of course, was a tease; displaying the epitome of his virility like some predator during mating season. His muscles purposefully flexing and twitching as he stood, while every minute of the day was spent making suggestive remarks.

I knew that he could have me if he wanted to. It was too easy for him to scoop me up and do as he pleased, except Henry's possessiveness extended beyond the physical form.

He loved to see me frustrated.

Defeated by the heat, I laid on the sofa, letting the fan cool me off. Lurking around, Henry decided to join, landing on the armchair with a small bowl in his hand. His furry chest sticky with opaline pearls of sweat.

"What's that?" I lifted an eyebrow with suspicion.

Henry beamed, flashing his dimples as he took a cube of ice and began rolling it onto his chest slowly, releasing a long guttural groan as the cold ice broke on his warm chest.

Water trickled down the valley of his torso, slithering onto rigid terrain of muscles, bulging tendons, and the dark hair that peppered his abdomen. My eyes followed the trail of water as it streamed down to his semi-hardening cock.

"Bloody hell, that's good," he moaned with an animalistic tone on his voice, "you want some?"

"Give me that!" I demanded, reaching desperate grabby fingers, to which he chuckled, holding the bawl away and ticking his tongue.

"You sure? You weren't very keen on me touching you..." he began saying, but then a wicked smile spread upon his face. Getting up on his feet, he took two cubes between his fingers and knelt by the sofa. His proximity was enough to make me flinch from the heat radiated by his colossal body.

'God damn, Human furnace!'

But then before any complaint made its way out of my mouth, Henry placed one ice cube between his teeth and made his way down the plains of my body. A deep hiss took my breath as the cold liquid rolled down my sternum. His head hovered above my body, mouth ghosting over flesh, but only the ice made contact with my skin.

Chill water pooled at my navel while Henry smoothed the ice cube all the way down to the apex of my legs. I yipped as his frost-cold mouth kissed the wet patch between my spreading thighs.

"Oh god..." my eyes screwed shut, my entire body arching to meet his wicked lips.

"Oh sorry, are you too hot?" he asked and then trailed the other cube around my nipple watching amused how I flinched helplessly.

Clutching my hair back with despair, I moaned and shook my head "No! More!"

"No more?" Henry taunted, taking another cube from the bowl and running it across the cupid bow of his lips.

"Henry!!!"

Chuckling at my response, he licked his lips and place the cube between his teeth, lowering his head again to trace every inch of my bare skin ever so languidly.

A couple more days of heat were ahead before the weekend. And as Henry's frosty tongue licked around my navel and his teeth rid me of my panties, I made a mental note to store more ice cubes.

#henry cavill #Henry Cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x ofc #rpf

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seven-waters-hc · 3 years

Note

Hello! Congratulations for the milestone ☺️ For your event, may I suggest 5 and 16 with Zoro? preferably femReader, but gender neutral will be good as well, if it's more suitable for you. Thank you and good luck 🤭

Prompt 5 & 16 - Late Nights + Humidity

Summer came quickly, and with your constant exploration came unbearable humidity. When you and the rest of the Straw Hats had initially docked on the new land, the weather wasn’t awful, in fact it was rather pleasant. But as you hiked deeper into the terrain and farther from the ocean, it only got more humid. The forest had quickly turned into a hellish sauna, and there was no relief from the suffocating air. The day couldn’t have gotten worse until Luffy decided this is where everyone would set camp for the night- the steamiest part of the forest.

Trying to sleep in such weather was just about impossible, and it got to the point where you and Zoro were the only ones awake. You walk over to him and sit down, hoping he’ll entertain you for a while.

“What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep, it’s too humid.”

He looked at you with an annoyed stare before grabbing you and pulling you to his side.

“Well try harder, you won’t be able to get far if you’re exhausted when we leave.”

You roll your eyes before turning on your side, with your back facing Zoro. Of course he wouldn’t understand something like this. What you didn’t expect was for an arm to wrap around your waist and a chest against your back. It might have been hot, but the feeling of your boyfriend next to you was probably the best thing on a night like this. Nothing in the forest had changed, it was still humid enough to where it could have kept you up, but the arm around your waist quickly lulled you into a deep sleep.

Thank you for requesting! ☆*:.｡.

#op zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #one piece zoro #roronoa zoro #zoro x reader #zoro imagine #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece scenario #one piece imagine

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prismatica-the-strange · 3 years

Note

OMG I just thought of a REALLY good one. You are covered head to toe and tattoos and Daniel has only ever seen you in a tank top and work pants and he always has wondered in the very back ( back as in it pops up in his brain a lot)��of his mind how far down your body the tattoos really go... One day he wants to put the wondering to an end and today is that day

Oh... Oh anon... you have me blushing love 😳😳. I can't see your emojis unfortunately, but imma assume 👀👀.

Smut!!!!! 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact!!! Unprotected sex (please wear a condom)

You wiped sweat from your forehead after tossing your jacket to the ground. The intense humidity of the planet making you show off both your sleeves of tattoos you'd accumulated over the years. And it didn't take long for sweat to start sheening on the pigmented skin.

"Daniel!... Hey!" His attention snapped back to the small screen in front of him on the M.A.L.P.

"Y-yeah, sorry."

"Anyway, sorry about leaving you both high and dry there for the next couple of days. Sam says gate travel is a little to risky at the moment so only transmissions for the time being."

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Daniel said glancing up at you across camp.

After ending the call he followed suit in taking off his jacket, the air was almost suffocating.

"What are you doing?" He asked as you tore the bottom of your tank top off in a large strip, revealing even more ink lines littering your skin.

"This," you ripped the strip in two and rolled the legs of your pants up the best you could, securing them as makeshift shorts with the fabric.

His throat went dry, how many tattoos could one girl have? He loved them though. Still it seemed as though there were many he hadn't seen.

That night you laid a good distance apart, in the hot sticky air. Both of you deciding against a fire as the heat was already near unbearable.

For Daniel it was worse though.

Your tattoos had always fascinated him, he'd spent who knows how long tracing them with his eyes.

But the more he looked, the more he knew he didn't see. He'd seen the many on your arms and neck while you worked out in the training room at the SGC.

His favorite he couldn't pick. The "protection charm" written in a form of elvish from one of your favorite films on the back of your neck? Or maybe the delecate facial markings you couldn't say no to on one of your longer off-world trips.

He wanted to caress them, to run his tongue over every tattoo you had.

Laying there, the heavy air of the jungle weighed down on him. The idea of his hands on you only made the heat worse, and his pants tighten.

When the morning came it only became more humid. There was a waterfall not too far away and about an hour after the sun rose you shared a look before starting the short trek there.

"And you're sure Carter said this was safe to swim in?" You asked as you undid your belt, your backs to each other.

"Well she said it was free of toxins and parasites," he said as he peeled his sweat soaked shirt off, "I'd just try not to drink any just in cas-..."

He turned around as you discarded your tank top, the patterns on your skin trailing down past the waistband of your black boyshorts, and up past the lower band of your bra.

"Oh wow."

"See something you like Dr. Jackson?" You teased.

"Yeah, actually," his eyes widened at his own admission. "I-I mean-! Wow that was completely inappropriate."

His attention turned back to you as you stepped into the water, a quiet happy moan coming from your throat.

Fuck. He wanted to hear that again.

"This," you let out a breathy laugh as you wade back into deeper water, "This was a good idea."

He follows you into the water, it's just slightly cooler than the air, but god does it feel good.

You spend a good half hour just floating around, then you get this evil little smile on your face.

The next thing he knows he's being splashed.

"Oh really?" He laughs, swimming closer, "That's what we're doing?"

You squeal when he lifts you over his shoulder, "Daniel!"

He drops you into the water.

"That was mean!" You laugh, grabbing his bicep when you resurface. His eyes flicker to where your hand touches his skin and he can't hold himself back.

His lips are on yours and he pulls you into him by the waist.

"Shit," he breathes when he pulls away, forehead on yours, "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorr-"

He's cut off by those inked hands he loves so much gripping the back of his neck and pulling him back into your lips.

Your legs wrap around his waist and his hands instantly find purchase on your ass, squeezing it eagerly.

You moan into his mouth and his tongue starts to caress yours.

You feel his dick start to harden against you and you grind against him.

"Fuck," his head drops against your shoulder he can't stop his hips from rolling into yours.

You have your hands in his hair and he's sucking on that one spot on your collarbone that makes you melt.

"Daniel," you whine when he grinds against your heat again, "don't tease."

You pull yourself from him and you go back to shore laying one of the thermal blankets on the ground.

He starts taking off your bra the moment you're back in reach.

"Oh Y/n," he groans when it's gone, showing him more of those hidden tattoos.

You pull him toward you by the elastic of his boxers before palming him through them. His eyes roll back in his skull and a small strangled noise wheezes from his throat.

"Now who's teasing?" He grabs your wrist when his vision refocuses on you. The next thing you know you're on your back, his knee between your legs and painfully close to you aching cunt.

"Need you." He whimpers against your neck, hand groping one of your tits. You both make quick work of the last of your clothes and his eyes are drinking in the designs that seem to dance across your skin.

"I-uh... oh wow." His fingers trace them lightly giving you goosebumps and causing you to writhe under them.

They make their way down to your soaked pussy and start circling your clit.

"F-fuck, Daniel," you pull him down into another kiss and his ministrations speed up. He falters when you reach out and stroke his cock, "Daniel please."

That's all he can take before he's pushing the tip of his cock into you.

As he bottoms out, he mutters something in another language, Greek maybe? His head falls into the crook of your neck and he begins thrusting into you.

"Faster," you groan, nails digging into his biceps. He all too readily complies, pulling moan after moan from you.

He praises you in a handful of languages as he kissed his way across every tattoo he can reach.

"F-fuck! Oh god, Daniel I-I'm c-close!"

He pulls out making you whine, and hurriedly says, hands and knees. You eagerly do so and he freezes. There's one tatto on your ass, a lipstick mark like a kiss on the right cheek. That's his favorite.

He growls when he sinks back into you, and he starts fucking you like it's the only thing he knows how to do. He pulls you back against his chest, and his hand lowers to your clit as he ruts into you. The other hand starts to pinch your nipple when he feels your walls start to flutter.

You scream his name when you orgasm, your cunt clamping down around him, the sensation causing his hips to stutter before his cum coats your insides.

You collapse in a panting, sweaty, sticky mess together, wincing slightly when he pulls out.

"So," you say after a few minutes of catching your breath, "You've got a thing for tattoos?"

He hums, kissing you again, "Only yours."

Taglist: @mysg1spacemonkey @malcolm-reeds-pineapple @sgcprometheus

Masterlist

#so uh.... that happened #😳😳😳#anon i really hope you liked it 😘#Daniel Jackson #Daniel Jackson x reader #Daniel Jackson x reader smut #Daniel Jackson smut #smut #Prisma writes

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estoniacobaltpayne · 3 years

Text

Judgement Day

Chapter 2: Uncertainty

Summary: Desperate, a force user bargains for her freedom; if she acquires the ‘asset’ deemed top priority, she would be free from the life that has enslaved her. Years of training has prepared her, but she’s stubborn and unlucky and more often than not she’s biting off more than she can chew. Maybe pulling the long con is the only path to freedom, but if it is, there’s a Mandalorian blocking it.

Warnings: language

Parirings: Din Djarin X Reader

Prologue: Here!

Chapter 1: Here!

Sorgan, quite possibly, sucked more than Arvala-7. It wasn’t as hot, but gods was it humid, something Ragna had been ill prepared for. In the midst of her suffering and self-pitying, an interruptive voice rang out amidst the tall pine trees.

“So, what’s your name?” the Mandalorian questioned from in front of her. The child, walking next to her, looked up expectedly. Ragna knew she very well couldn’t say “Darth Ragna,” so she settled for just the latter of the part of the name.

The Mandalorian chuckled silently, the only indication of his response being the shifting of his shoulders. “Yeah, just like my name is ‘Mando.’”

Ragna let out a frown at the bounty hunter’s response; “then what’s your name, then?”

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Mando did not answer.

The child babbled up at her, letting out questioning “oh’s?” that both Ragna and her companion ignored, until they happened upon the local town’s cantina. The wicker walls of the establishment made Ragna feel like an insect trapped under a child’s basket, and she didn’t like the suffocating feeling. The improvised fight ring in the middle of the floor didn’t help the situation.

The trio was just finally settled for a bowl of broth when Ragna noticed the silent Mandalorian gone without a trace. She looked down at the child who appeared to be unfazed by this, eagerly sipping his broth. She paused. This was it- take the child and run! Situations weren’t ideal, as it would mean leaving the bounty hunter alive, but if the Mandalorian was stuck on this god forsaken planet, what did it really matter?

So she scooped up the little green kid and went to make a break for it. Finally! Freedom is within reach! She thought gleefully.

But she didn’t get far. Mando was just outside the restaurant, lying on his back, blaster in hand and aimed at the fighter from earlier, who was reciprocating the situation. The sight of Ragna and the child pulled the two out of their quarrelling state.

“Want some soup?” Mando asked his opponent. The woman he was fighting eyed Ragna warily, and Ragna had the sneaking suspicion that the woman knew what she was up to no good.

——

Luckily, Ragna didn’t have to worry about it for long; the woman, Cara, as she believed was the name she gave them, told them to up and get lost- this was her hide away planet. Mando, it appeared, wasn’t in the mood to quarrel about it, so the group returned to his ship to prepare for departure.

Mando was intensely focused on cleaning his weapons and making some minor repairs to his ship, and as Ragna sat there watching the child to ensure his wandering didn’t extend too far, she realised that this seemed like a good opportunity to catch him off guard and put a blaster bolt in the back of his neck. But, alas, she didn’t have time to put much effort into her next impromptu plan, because a cart carrying two young boys appeared on the edge of the forest clearing. As she eavesdropped on their conversation with the Mandalorian, she realised that her mission was taking too long, and she had barely a moment to herself to send updates to her senders. And when she heard the Mandalorian agree to assist the boys’ village in a fight against some local raiders, Ragna knew she was shit out of luck for the time being. Mando wanted to lay low for at least a few weeks, and killing him in the village for all to see would be instant suicide. A small community like the one they were now travelling to would allow for news to travel fast, and no one there would have motive to kill him- he was helping them. So unfortunately, her plan would have to wait until further notice. Joy.

To agitate her further, the boys who approached them pestered Ragna with questions all night. Why didn’t they do so to Mando? She was quickly growing irritated, and she wasn’t sure how much she could take of this. Mando seemed to be getting some twisted sense of humour from her torment, too. It would be a long night for sure. The morning that followed didn’t go much better. While she was pleased that their arrival to the village brought an end to the boys’ incessant questions, the putrid smell of krill that filled her nose quickly replaced the pubescent voices that filled her ears all night.

And what’s worse, the Mandalorian was grating on her nerves by giving her the job of watching over the child when he was busy with the townsfolk. Which, she gathered, he assumed was her job anyways; after all, that’s what she had told him. At least the kid was silent and sweet, even if he did eat frogs, and her ‘caring’ for the child helped her in her pursuit to gain the Mandalorian’s complete trust. The child would have almost made the whole thing bearable if it wasn’t for the man’s (quite terrible) flirting with the woman who showed them to their resting quarters. A barn. For what it’s worth, Ragna thought, at least I always had four solid walls and a bed to sleep in back on Jakku.

Omera. She wouldn’t have bothered Ragna as much if it meant that she wasn’t constantly coming around to ‘check in’ on Mando. Honestly, the two were unbearable to be around. And when Mando went back to the first village to employ the help of that Cara Dune, she would check back at the barn what felt like every other hour to see if he had returned.

But what annoyed Ragna the most was her damn self. She should have known better.

The night Mando was away fetching Cara, Ragna’s father called in for a report on the situation. Mando, thankfully, wasn’t there to witness her comm going off.

“You must hurry, girl. The council is growing impatient.”

Ragna groaned. “Yes, well, these things take time! I’m essentially being held hostage here! I’m not delaying by choice, you know!”

The voice on the other end of the comm hummed in disapproval. “That is no concern of mine or the council’s. End this charade and bring us the asset. Quickly.”

It was a short conversation, but Omera heard it in nonetheless; and she was quick to alert the Mandalorian upon his return. Which is what led to an intense argument between herself and the Mandalorian.

“You’re going behind my back! Omera heard you! I can’t believe I entrusted you with the kid!” Mando shouted that late night in the barn.

The embarrassment was what ripped the knife from the wound for Ragna. Everyone outside could undoubtedly hear them arguing. But she put that notion aside and angrily pushed back. “I’m not! She must have been eavesdropping and misinterpreted my words!”

Mando put his hands on his hips and leaned in patronisingly. “Then tell me why she overheard your contact telling you to bring the asset to them.”

Ragna paused. She had to pull herself out of this one, and quickly, otherwise she would end up with a blaster in her head before she could even reach the edge of the forest, be it by Mando, or Cara Dune, or any one of the villagers.

“I… I told you from the beginning- I was sent to care for the child!”

Mando didn’t ease up in the slightest. “That doesn’t explain who you’re bringing him to.”

Ragna supposed all lies were ingrained with the slightest of truths, so she relented and gave him a small kernel. She put on her most sympathetic face and attempted her best to sway the bounty hunter into believing her. “My father. You know what I can do. I can move objects with my mind. Just like him. I have the same powers as the child!” Mando attempted to cut her off but she persisted. “You can’t deny it! You saw it yourself! When I helped you fight off those bounty hunters on Nevarro! I helped you then, with the same powers! So why would you think I’m betraying you?”

The Mandalorian eased up in his physical stance, but his words were still as accusatory. “And what does your father want with the child?”

Here’s where she’d have to bend the truth. She honestly didn’t know what the Empire wanted with the child, she didn’t really care if she was honest, but she could give an answer based off her own experience. “He wants to train him. Just as he trained me. He has great potential.” For added sympathy, she tagged on, “he won’t be safe until he can control his abilities.”

The Mandalorian leaned back. He still wasn’t sure he could trust Ragna. But he had seen how much the child liked her. More than everyone else in the village combined. Whenever he needed to find him, he knew he need only look for the girl with the (colour) hair in the crowd of villagers. If she was as dastardly as Omera had told him, the child would surely be able to sense this- he could and had with others who proved to be enemies.

Ragna waited patiently for the bounty hunter to sort through his thoughts. She was on thin ice and she knew it. She knew she’d have to entrust him with something of hers to gain any semblance of trust back from him.

“(Y/N).”

Mando looked back up at her. “What?”

Ragna took a deep breath and looked into the dark visor of the man’s helmet. “You asked for my name, right? Well, there it is. (Y/N).”

The Mandalorian nodded his head.

“Thank you.”

——

Throughout the following weeks, Mando was extra sure to keep an eye on Ragna.

He was still on edge from what Omera had told him, and he liked Omera. Enough to push aside any semblance of reason, and trust her without question. After all, what was there to distrust? She was kind, strong, did far beyond what was required of her, and was eager to help her fellow villagers, without being asked. What’s more, she was a good mother to her daughter, Winta, and as a Mandalorian, that was something he couldn’t ignore.

Ragna, or (Y/N) as he now knew her, was… something else. She wasn’t evil; she wasn’t even particularly mean. But she wasn’t kind and gentle like Omera, either. She was… a perfect balance of opposites. She could be calculating, that Mando was certain of, but at the same time, she could be incredibly blunt. Painfully so. Sometimes, she could be so reserved, not even bothering to exit the barn upon request, and yet, other times, he’d find her with some of the villagers at dinner, passing around a jug of spotchka, freely telling stories about her and her father’s expedition to Arkanis or a childhood friend who hurt her in her youth. She was so well balanced, that, to Mando, sometimes everything seemed almost surface level; even when she was bearing herself to the world, it felt like she was barely scratching the surface of who she was.

Omera thought so too. And Cara Dune didn’t trust her, either. They were both sure to remind Mando of that daily. He couldn’t blame them, really. He didn’t know her any more than they did. Their conversations at night in the barn gave him some glimpse of who she was, but they were brief at best, and were all he had to go on. But it was watching her with the child over the passing weeks that constantly made him unsure of himself. The child didn’t even connect to Omera like he had with (Y/N), and she was a mother! Perhaps it was a special connection in their strange abilities, but the kid’s bond with her was uncanny. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

——

The night that Mando and Cara Dune were to lure the raiders to the village, Ragna was given the sole job of protecting the child. Which she saw as the perfect opportunity. No one would be watching; the villagers old enough to fight would be doing so, and those not old enough were secured away in the barn. The Mandalorian would be too pre-occupied to see her slipping away with the kid, and by the time he noticed her gone, she’d have already taken his ship and bolted.

She had the kid firmly in her arms when she began to slink towards the trees. She quickly looked around to ensure her path was clear. When she deemed it so, she went to sprint towards the tree line, but before she could, the child cooed up at her.

“Not now, kid!” Ragna hushed as she slinked between the village houses.

But, like her, he was too persistent for his own good and pulled at the collar of her shirt. She was too busy trying to quickly weave an escape route to notice the fist time, but after the third or fourth time she finally stopped and let out a curt, “what?”

He pointed one of his chubby fingers and pointed over to the fight and exclaimed “patu!”

When she looked over, she saw the Mandalorian and Cara Dune attempting to goad an AT-ST walker into one of the krill ponds. It wasn’t going well.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t her problem; that the Mandalorian dying would just be what it is. Nothing personal. A win, if anything, given her situation. But that wasn’t enough to stop the instincts from taking over. She rushed over to the commotion, knocking out a few raiders on the way, and with all her concentration, and with the child still tucked into one arm, stood behind Mando and Cara, stretched out the other arm, and pulled the walker’s foot into the pond below.

Mando barely had a chance to register before he rushed forward to tag a bomb onto its body. The thing went up in a ball of flames, to which the child cheered and laughed. But Ragna wasn’t focusing on that; she wasn’t even watching all the raiders fleeing the village. It was as if time slowed, and the only thing she could focus on was the Mandalorian’s visor, and, even though she couldn’t see them, she could feel their eyes lock, blocking out the world around them.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #mando x y/n #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian #star wars #star wars fanfiction #sw #sw fanfic #baby yoda

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astraskylark · 3 years

Link

It's the most confusing, wonderful, and annoying feeling she has ever felt. And that is what meeting Weiss Schnee is like.

The first time Ruby sees her, she knows.

Her forehead is slick with sweat and the stickiness of salt scented winds from the sea, her white shirt stained with grease and one strap of her suspender hanging loosely off her shoulder. She curses herself for looking like the street rat she is today of all days, the day where the prettiest person she had ever and ever will see decided to step into the shipyard.

Ruby knows. That this person will haunt her thoughts for the rest of her life. That she’ll visit her in daydreams and nightmares, a wanting visitor distracting her-- blinding and binding her to crystal blue eyes that remind her of glacial ice, fractal remnants from books read long before, of places she has understood and felt but will never see.

And she hates it. Hates-- that this one second on a mundane Wednesday afternoon has dictated what her mind will think of every moment after. And she loves. Loves that her every thought she will have will be painted in blue and frost. She likens it to a feeling she had had reading a book years ago. A single sentence in a story that transforms every page after. That one moment of awakening where you feel the words latch on to your skin like an anchor. The words that ground you and take you to every place you will ever wish to see. Words that shackle you to freedom and let you fly while falling. And once those letters leave the page you will never see them again. They’ll follow you wherever you go though, quiet whispers in the day and loud as a foghorn in the night, like the voice at the back of your head except it’s in front you, beside you and everywhere you look. It’s suffocating but it’s also the gasp of air you breathe in after reaching the surface of the ocean after a swim, it’s like drowning but also the moment you gulp down cool water on a summer day, like jumping in a puddle of mud but also having it washed off—watching the dirt brown fall away from your skin like the waves receding into the ocean.

It's the most confusing, wonderful, and annoying feeling she has ever felt. And that is what meeting Weiss Schnee is like.

It wasn’t supposed to happen. Ruby’s a scrappy kid hanging around the shipyard trying to be bigger and better to anyone that says otherwise –-and Weiss is the daughter of Jacques Schnee. A man with more money than the hairs on her head, willing to sponsor the building of a fleet of carracks, enough to form a flotilla—for what or why no one knows. He pays everyone at the yard which includes her dad, uncle and hopefully one day-- her sister and her as well.

He’s a horrible person, an aura of pomp shimmering around him like hot air in a heat wave. Unpleasant would be one word for it, Uncle Qrow would have many more. But he pays them and Ruby has never had the misfortune of talking to him so she isn’t too bothered by him. Until today at least.

She’s seated on the tree trunk that’s going to be the mast, about thirty meters away from them but she can still see the way he stands in front of his daughter, interrupting her and silencing her—a permanent sneer always directed towards her. She can see the arrogance in his eyes and harshness of his words and Ruby wants nothing more than to walk up to him and give him a piece of her mind. But Weiss is there, facing her father and his rebukes head on, a verbal battle of sorts where Weiss seems to winning—if the silent smirks and muffled laughs her father and Oz are trying to hide from Mr Schnee are any indication, so she watches her.

They’re oceans apart, like the difference between the blues of the waves and the blues of the deep sea. So why she finds herself staring at her from across the floor without shying away as she would have usually done is lost on her. Well no, she thinks Weiss is the prettiest and the most interesting person to ever walk the floors of the Beacon (old man Oz had a funny sense with naming the shipyard) so naturally she’s looking at her. Naturally.

But why oh why was Weiss Schnee looking at her as well? For a split second their eyes meet and Ruby can feel every nerve in her body malfunction.

The sun is high and the air humid—the sound of metal-on-metal rings through the hollow space where Oz is speaking to Mr. Schnee, the distant screech of the birds and the crashing of waves would usually make it unbearably noisy but Ruby can’t hear a thing. She wonders if this what they call a vacuum. She had read about it in a book that was too big for her to understand and a bit too high on the shelf for her to reach.

She wonders if people were supposed to be able to breath after having all the air around them sucked away because she hasn’t passed out yet and she is for sure not breathing so maybe she’s just really special or really stupid. She’s been called both before. Ruby wants to look away—act like their eyes accidently met and avert them and never look at her again. But she can’t and she thinks this is what a compass needle feels like, always facing looking toward the poles, unable to turn away.

Weiss looks away and the moment ends but Ruby still can’t breathe yet she feels so alive because when Weiss had looked at her, she had smiled. Well maybe not smiled but it was different from the scowl she had been wearing a second before and it wasn’t a frown so that counted for something and Weiss is looking at her again now and she is smiling and Ruby feels like someone’s punched her and she’s pretty sure her face is on fire and she’s sitting on wood so now she’s a fire hazard and she needs to get up and do something before everything burns but she’s stuck and she can feel her breton hat slipping off her head and she needs to run now or she’s sure she’ll do something stupid and now Weiss is excusing herself so she must be leaving but no-- she’s walking towards her??

Ruby isn’t sure what exactly transpired in the last thirty seconds but Weiss is standing in front her now and she’s saying something but she cannot for the life of her hear it because her brain is fried. And Weiss is handing something over to her and Ruby can feel a folded piece of paper in her hand and the sensation of folded parchment helps temporarily ground her just a little bit. Enough for her to move her head and look.

It's a crude charcoal drawn doodle of a ship that she recognizes as her own. She remembers sketching it out in the early hours of the day and shoving it in her pocket, the charcoal stencil staining her fingertips. Ruby stares at it, wondering how it managed to escape her pocket and she must have been staring for too long because she hears Weiss clear her throat.

“It’s a good design” she says looking at the piece of paper and then at Ruby herself. And Ruby has so many questions. The first one being what? The second one being WHAT??

So naturally Ruby just stares at Weiss because she’s sure if she blinks Weiss will disappear and she’ll find herself back in the tiny room Yang and her shared on the modified crow’s nest of the grounded sail boat her family lived in.

Weiss tilts her head questioningly and the action is so adorable Ruby finds herself with the urge to sketch it. “This fell from your pocket. Is it not yours?”. She’s bemused and a little confused and Ruby wants nothing more than to see her smile again and that’s completely normal right? To want a person you just met to be the happiest they can be? She’ll have to ask Yang about that later.

“Oh no it’s fine” she replies a little too loudly, pushing the paper back into Weiss’s hands and Ruby mentally pats herself on the back because she just replied to a question which means that she has successfully conversed and that’s one social point for Ruby. Until she notices the confusion on Weiss’s face. Her mind backtracks and she’s making no sense and really wants to but Weiss is making it so hard for her to think.

“So it is yours” Weiss says and it feels like a question but she says it like a fact and Ruby feels like an idiot but what else is new.

“This is impressive” she continues and Ruby has the urge to tell her that no—it was not impressive and that Weiss is probably too Weiss to be seen talking to her and she needs to stop but it would be rude to interrupt and she’s never met a person outside her family that’s actually understood her designs and the fact Weiss tells her its good and the fact that she isn’t being yelled at for wasting her time and the fact the sky is blue, the air is salty and she’s alive overwhelm her just a little bit.

“My name is Weiss” she says extending her hand towards her and Ruby knows her name, heck everyone in yard knew it but hearing it from Weiss herself makes it much more tangible. Much more real. Like a present given to her on a birthday. Weiss is a person. Ruby is also a person and she thinks about all the moments that have transpired for this to happen and she knows she’s overthinking it but it feels like fate, it feels like it’s the start of something exciting—the feeling she gets when she starts a new book, ready to meet new characters and places and go on journeys with them but no, the voice in the back of her head is whispering, chiding her for naivety, that this is a random coincidence and nothing more—a universal misstep and she’ll probably never see Weiss again.

The thought sobers her up.

“My name is Ruby Rose” she manages to say, wiping her hands on her pant leg before reaching out to shake Weiss’s other non-paper holding hand and if there are any charcoal stains remaining Weiss does a remarkable job of schooling her face to reveal nothing.

Weiss firmly shakes her hand before letting go and Ruby can see a smidge of black at the edges of her palms and she wants to scream into a pillow and never show her face in public again.

“Well it was a pleasure to meet you Miss Rose.” And she says it with sincerity but Ruby can’t tell which part of this entire debacle gave any semblance of positivity so she just nods and hopes a giant sea-gull will swoop down and whisk her away. And now Weiss is taking a step back and Ruby can feel a giant clock ticking all around her and she knows once the invisible gong rings she’ll have missed her chance at something—she doesn’t even know what that something is but she can feel it’s very important and for once she’d like be on time.

“Which part did you think was good” she shouts breathless and nervous and scared and surprised.

She wonders if time has stopped because everything freezes but Weiss is smiling again and nothing can freeze in the presence of something that warm. It’s different this time. It’s a look Ruby has seen in the eyes of different people for different reasons. Her sister’s when she talks about the places she’s going to visit on a ship of her own one day, her uncle’s when he talks about all his past adventures and mishaps (though his usually carry a weight that Ruby hasn’t had the courage to ask about) and she thinks this might be the look Yang says she gets sometimes, when she sketches a design that feels just right or when she feels the wind blow past the sails and drag her further and further away from the shore.

It’s pure excitement and joy. The spark in Weiss’s blue eyes is almost childlike, a look she’s seen on kids outside the dockyard staring at the tiny wooden carvings that move, or at the festival where the town gathers for the firework display. Ruby has so much to say and is simultaneously speechless so she’s glad when Weiss speaks.

“I’ve actually—” she starts but is interrupted by a voice calling her name. Weiss stiffens and the light is gone and Ruby wants nothing more than to kick whoever it is.

It’s Mr. Schnee. He’s standing at the same place as before, his posture radiating displeasure and irritation and Weiss seems to notice it as well.

“It’s time to go Weiss, enough dilly dallying” he harrumphs adjusting the cuffs to his expensive white tailored suit that looks so out of place from their surroundings Ruby has to squint to make sure she doesn't get a headache. Weiss takes a deep breath and nods and takes a step towards him before pausing--quickly turning around.

“We’ll talk again soon” she says and Ruby can tell that Weiss wants her words to be true as much as she does. She’s still looking at her—expression questioning and apprehensive and maybe a little hopeful and Ruby belatedly realizes that she’s looking for some reassurance from her side as well so she nods back and holds her pinky out for good measure.

“I pinky swear” she says with as much conviction one would have while making a blood oath of some sort. Pinky swears were important to her and Yang had told her to only use them under life changing circumstances and what was more life changing than making a maybe friend? Weiss is startled, looking at Ruby and her pinky before rolling her eyes, her lips twitching upwards ever so slightly.

“It’s promise”. And she says it so silently Ruby wonders if she actually meant to say it but the wind carries her voice and she hears it and their charcoal smudged pinkies lock and she shakes it up and down for good measure. She takes the piece of paper that once meant nothing but now means much more and shoves into her pocket completely forgetting about the hole it fell though in the first place.

Weiss walks away, a skip to her step. And suddenly the air isn’t salty and the sky isn’t grey and she doesn’t feel out of breath chasing the world anymore. Ruby doesn’t know it yet but according to Yang she stood there for thirty minutes after with a grin so bright, nobody had the heart to call out to her.

#rwby #rwby fanfic #writing #fanfiction #ruby rose #weiss schnee #whiterose #iceflower #wow look words #who wouldv'e thought

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morgana-ren · 4 years

Text

You never had a choice

You guys wanted my shitty Strade oneshots? Here’s one. Don’t you judge me.

Strade/Reader

Boyfriend to Death (18+ ONLY)

Warnings: Extremely explicit, graphic depictions of sex, rape, torture, other terrible shit. Do not read if you are even remotely squeamish. I’m not kidding. Do not read if you’re under 18, do not read if you even have a second thought.

This is a Work in Progress. Has not been uploaded yet. Please take my word for it and do not read any further if any of the game’s content upsets you.

The floor is cold and smells like bleach.

Is it bleach? What would one use to get blood and tissue out of porous concrete? Something sanitizing. Probably industrial strength.

Whatever it is, it’s burning your nostrils.

You don’t make a point to get so well acquainted with people’s floors very often, but Strade isn’t the type of guy who really cares about your floor greeting policies. In fact, he doesn’t seem to care much at all about you, your well-being included.

You’ve learned there’s only one thing going through his mind when he’s sweating over you with that flushed, excitable expression, pupils blown out and eyes half-mast. He’s straddling you, caging you to the floor beneath him like a fucking animal, making sure there’s nowhere to run even if you could. To make matters worse, he’s drooling and rutting against you, deliberately drawing this out because he knows you hate it hate it hate it when he’s touching you.

Normally he’d be halfway to home by now.

He’s looking down at you through greasy clumps of hair, exposing his canines and occasionally running his tongue over them. It would look like a sly, lustful gesture to anyone else, but Strade’s a predator. There’s nothing sly about him.

You know he’s taunting you. Taunting you like a wolf would a little rabbit that was naive enough to let him get too close. Foolish enough to not run the second the lurching feeling in their gut grew strong enough to make them sick, alarm bells screaming in their head. Stupid enough to share a few drinks with it despite that, even.

No, the smile is that of a wolf right before he rips out a giant chuck of sinew from the rabbit’s furry flesh, leaving it twitching and bubbling blood as he chews it up before its convulsing body.

You’re the rabbit, by the way. That’s what he calls you when you please him, right? Hase? It’s been a while, but you think it means bunny or rabbit or some other small animal that he could sink his teeth into without breaking a sweat. A term of endearment that he’s perverted and twisted the meaning until the original was obscured behind his violent brand of love.

You don’t think wolves are supposed to mate with rabbits. You doubt he cares.

You wonder if he’ll let you use whatever he cleans this ugly cement floor with while you take a shower (if you ever even get to shower again, that is) because no amount of hot water and whatever cheap soap he apparently rarely uses is ever going to be enough to get his stench off you. Of everything you’re covered in, of all the dust, grime, blood and other fluids, it’s his smell that makes you want to retch. It lingers on you, making your skin itch and permeating your pores long after he’s left. You swear you’re beginning to smell like him.

It’s too much, and no matter how shallowly you try to breathe, it’s always there. You can’t even breathe through fabric to try and mask it because Strade had made sure to be thorough in “removing” all your clothing a few days prior.

It’s bad enough when you’re alone. It’s even worse when he’s hovering over you, perspiring onto your exposed flesh and grinning like a hyena.

You know it will be even worse this time. He has practically drenched the front of that ugly shirt of his. You can feel his stomach rubbing against your bare navel and you just know he’s going to leave you sticky and disgusting on purpose. You knew he was going to really make this gross and unbearable because he knows you hate him, and he likes that.

He likes that you try to hold your breath around him. Gives him a real kick. You would too, if given the opportunity.

The only saving grace is that he hasn’t forced you to look at him yet, but you know he will. He’s leaning over you so damn closely that you can feel his stubble irritate your chin. His moist breath is collecting on your cheek as you crane your head so fucking far to the left that you begin to cramp. Your eyes are clenched shut because you just know the look he’s giving you right now and if you had to see those horrid amber eyes for one more second, you were going to scream.

However, no matter how tightly you clamped them, you couldn’t block out that fucking smell or the afterglow of his eyes on the back of your eyelids, like you’d stared into a lightbulb for too long. A shitty, horrible lightbulb.

To think you found them beautiful once.

He was groping your chest and breathing so heavily that you could practically taste his breath in your mouth. You resented the fact that he managed to assault all 5 of your senses without even trying. Although, to be frank, you knew it really said something about the state you were in when you could almost smell yourself over the dirty, greasy psychopath worrying your inner thigh with his khaki tented erection.

It had been days and you hadn’t been let up for to bathe yet, and you hadn’t exactly been the cleanest when you left for the bar that evening. You smelled like you had been held captive in a basement. It was a pungent, distinctive smell, like tangy copper and sweat (yours and his, naturally) and something that smelled like raw pancake batter that you really didn’t want to think about. There was something else, another smell that had developed over the last day or so.

You were almost certain now that it was decay.

You wondered if your body had accepted death and was prematurely rotting in acknowledgement of the situation. You saw something like that on a tv show once.

Maybe that’s why he was still so fucking turned on despite the fact you knew you didn’t exactly look like a movie star, and certainly didn’t smell like one. He was insatiable, like a German energizer bunny fueled by pure malice and sadistic urges. You had no idea what had encouraged him this time. Maybe it had been the fear in your eyes when he ran his hands along variously styled handsaws, asking you if you had an opinion on rotary versus hand.

Or maybe it was the fact that the still-weeping cut on your leg was close enough to your entrance for him to use the blood as lubricant as he assaulted you yet again. He seemed to like that sort of shit.

Who knows? It’s tough to say what really gets this guy off, especially considering the first time he used you, it was because you denied his stupid stitches, not wanting him to touch you anymore. He must’ve picked up on that bit, because he force-fucked your face and left a certain appendage in your throat so long that you passed out from lack of air.

He should have kept it there longer. Maybe then you would have died.

Either way, he abandoned whatever plans he originally had and now he’s breathing bastardized English into your ear, growling in German things you don’t understand and frankly you don’t want to. Even if you spoke German, you wouldn’t be able to translate because every fucking ounce of your brain power is dedicated to disassociating and separating yourself from this situation as much as you physically can. You pretend you’re home, asleep. You pretend none of this is real. You pretend that this is all a horrible nightmare because you fell asleep watching your scary que on Netflix.

And as he starts running his slimy tongue over your collarbones and up your neck, you pretend it’s anyone else in the world that is about to undo that belt buckle.

His hair is sticking to your neck and it makes you realize just how overheated he is. He’s an overbearing man at the best of times, but when he’s so worked up and covering you like a blanket, it’s absolutely stifling. Panic blooms and rises through your chest and for an instant, you’re certain you’re going to suffocate underneath him. It only takes you a few seconds to realize that’s not possible.

God isn’t that kind.

At least if you choked on the humid air he was so politely providing you, expedited by his tummy pressing into yours and blocking your breathing, your death would be relatively quick. But a God that allowed you to be taken, maimed, and violated by this son of a bitch certainly wasn’t a God that was going to grant you the mercy of a quick death. The devil was probably a fan.

People had died here, in this room. People had died horribly.

A stray tear falls down your cheek as you think on the fact that you’re likely going to be one of them.

Spurred on either by his gratuitously handsy harassment or perhaps your major fuck up of letting yourself cry, he pushes himself partially off you and back onto his knees. You hear the metal clinking of his belt buckle and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears which is funny considering it just dropped through your ass. You know what comes next.

If there’s any mercy, he’ll get it over with quickly.

You doubt it.

You learned that when Strade wanted things done quickly, he had certain ways of going about them, but he was not a man who liked to rush things. He did everything precisely, taking his time to deliberate just how to hurt you. Just where to cut, exactly where to place the drill, how to retie you just so that the new rope burn dug exactly into the pre-existing one.

Fucking you used to be one of those things he did quickly. He would get a little too excited, whip his cock out and go like a blood and khaki colored race car. The longest thing he did was debate exactly where the most degrading place to shoot his load was. You preferred it that way.

Unfortunately, Strade was a quick learner too. In fact, he very quickly learned that the thing you hated the most, one of your most viscerally charged reactions was when he took to touching you. No one likes torture, but the screaming and begging? It gets predictable.

When he took to forcing himself on you, there was no begging. There was only demands.

“Get off me!” “Get away from me!” “Don’t fucking touch me!”

There was no ‘please’ involved.

That was probably pretty typical for the first and maybe even the second day, but beyond that? It was strange when people kept their willpower. Most just became a blubbering, pleading mess.

He realized you must really hate it.

The moment it had clicked in his head, this sickly, nauseating smile crept across his face and you had to resist the urge to hurl.

“You must really have mixed feelings about this type of intimacy!” He’d grunted, slowing his thrusts to a crawl, which you could tell had taken some serious effort on his part. “You seem a little shy! There’s no need to be, not with me. After all, we’re sharing this experience together.”

You could feel every inch of him sliding in and he made a point to begin drawing the entire experience out, huffing and groaning in your ear and making you feel as disgusting and used as possible. You didn’t know it was possible to hate this much. You had reached up, gone from trying to push him off to actively trying to tear his eyes out. He had only laughed, slamming your wrists above your head as the other hand violated every ounce of bruised, swollen skin it could find.

You had thrown up after he left.

The next night, after he’d finished marring your skin, he’d forced you to do all the work. Made you ride him as he waved the knife lazily around your face repeating “You’ll have to do better than that, schön.” He’d even gone easy on you with the blood loss that night. Guess he was looking forward to seeing the anguish on your face as you had to actively work to finish him, or risk what he would do to you if you couldn’t. Worst of all was the fact that you had to expend a lot of energy that you didn’t have, or risk him drawing this out all night, and you truly weren’t sure if you could take that.

He’d held your hips down on him to prevent you from withdrawing as he came. He’d finished inside you. That night, you clawed at your arms, trying to push what was left of him out of you any way you could.

Tears of frustration and hate burn a hell of a lot more than ones from sadness, even more so because you knew it wouldn’t be long until it happened again. And here you were.

He moaned above you and you became acutely aware that his pants had been pulled down around his hips. He was palming himself with the hand that wasn’t stroking your cheek with dirty fingers. He was making a show of everything, and as much as you wished he’d stop, you knew that’s exactly why he was doing it. Trying to build up your dread as much as he possibly could before slamming you under. It was working.

The hand stroking your jaw squeezed and you cried out as he dug his fingers into the soft of your face. “Open your eyes, hase. We’re sharing something very personal and I want to know that you’re paying attention.”

There was no sense in fighting him. If you angered him, it would not only draw this out longer, but he’d probably just cut off your eyelids. He was temperamental like that.

Your forced yourself to turn your head after a moment of what you could call preparation. Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see a bead of sweat roll down off his neck and plop onto the floor right by your face. You swallowed back bile.

Eventually you found his face and he was looking a little too pleased, breathless and heaving even though he hadn’t even begun the main event yet. His face drifted closer to yours and you physically ground the back of your head into the cement below for any chance of inching away even slightly.

“Are you okay, liebling? You’re looking a little green.” He grinned, rubbing himself against you and getting dangerously close to the point of entry. You were still sore and sensitive from yesterday and the days before. Thinking of him entering you now made your stomach churn. “I know it can be a little overwhelming, this connection we have. Things are all happening so fast, and that can make you feel vulnerable.” His hand crept from your cheeks down to your throat, tightening a little as his meaty fingers found a comfortable spot on the rounds of your neck.

Your hands, tied behind your back and trapped beneath your body, clenched an unclenched in an effort to fend off the impending tingling as your blood lost its circulation. You reminded yourself that it was the least of your worries as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, practically slobbering on your shoulder as he left small bites across the exposed expanse. “But you don’t have to worry, hase. What we’re sharing here, it’s bringing us so close.”

He used his knees to kick your legs apart, allowing himself better access as he lined himself up with your entrance. You tried to struggle, tried to buck him off, but he didn’t even so much as move. You hissed and spit, and he just laughed as if it was the most adorable thing in the world. He pressed himself nose to nose with you, eyes lingering on your snarling mouth for too long to set you at ease. You wanted to be invisible. You didn’t want him to be able to look at you anymore. More so, you didn’t want to look at him anymore.

You never thought these words would have any truth to them, but you missed when he used to take you from behind. At least then you could pretend it was someone, anyone else in the world you were with. Needless to say, he cut that shit out the second he realized he was giving you any inadvertent peace. Now whenever he fucked you, he made sure you had a clear, unobstructed view of his face. He made sure you kept your eyes open and on him, so you knew just whose cock was inside you, just whose hand was around your neck, just whose knife was pressed against a tender patch of flesh.

And in those times where your traitorous body tricked you into thinking it felt good, he wanted you to know just who was giving you that pleasure, and that he could take it away if he wanted to.

Not that he gave a fuck about your pleasure. You weren’t dumb enough to believe that. Not after everything you’ve seen. It was just another tool for him to use and wield against you.

You felt his hard member twitch at your opening as he pulled his hand away from situating it. You mentally prepared yourself for the pain. Strade was not a small man, in stature or ‘size’, and he never put any effort into making sure you were even remotely ready to accept him.

You bit your bottom lip, gritting your teeth as you waited for him to push inside. The first few minutes were the worst. If you could just get past those without doing something stupid, he’d eventually finish and tire himself out, leaving you with a few hours to try and recover. At least physically. Maybe tomorrow he’d get around to killing you.

“I feel like we’ve gotten to know each other so well over the last week. You’ve got more energy than most of my guests. Wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled lazily at you, and a mix of terror and fury brewed in your gut. You kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to provoke him. Or encourage him.

“Oh, come on now, liebling. I thought we’d been getting on so well. Don’t go cold on me now.” You didn’t have to see him pull the knife from the holster to know that he did, and when you felt the sharp point push into your collar bone and little rivulets of blood begin to fall, you panicked.

You nodded at him, dragging your head up and down in faux enthusiasm, unable to keep your lips from pursing in disapproval. He didn’t really care what you thought, he just loved having that power and control over you.

“I’m glad you agree.” He pulled the knife away, but not before sharply tugging it across a bit of skin that wasn’t covered in cuts or hickeys already. Even knowing it was coming, you couldn’t help giving a sharp inhale at the prickling pain.

He brought his mouth down to the freshly made incision, sucking and tonguing at the cut enough to make your eyes water, lapping at any stray droplets of blood that fell. Your face scrunched, and you tried to jerk your head away again.

“Schau mich an!”

All pretense of friendliness was gone from his voice, and you didn’t have to speak German to know what he was saying. Reluctantly, you looked at him again, noticing his eyes were low, flashing dangerously in the light. You had agitated him. “This is something personal between us, and I want you present and in the moment.”

You nodded again, making sure to look at him directly, no matter how much it made you sick. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d much rather it be him inside you than that knife, and he could switch that strategy any moment.

He gave a smile of approval, danger fading from his face for the moment. “Good! I’m glad this is as important to you as it is to me.” He gave a hefty sigh, letting his sweaty forehead rest against yours. You resisted the urge to close your eyes again. “I wasn’t lying. There’s a connection between us, and I want to explore it. I want to push it as far-”

He thrust inside, moving too fast to allow you to adjust yet too slowly to bring you any semblance of comfort, just enough to drag out the agony and make you dig your nails into your palm. A stinging pain shot through your nether at invading force and you gave a wordless cry, mouth opened in distress.

Strade, on the other hand, gave a long, exaggerated gasp of pleasure, testing the waters and shoving himself further in until you felt he might tear you in half. His bulbous head twitched inside you, pushing against your cervix. He pushed in until you cried out, trying to keep the tears from falling.

“-as it will go!” He planted his face onto yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. Whimpering, you felt another tear slide down your temple, and you were grateful that for a moment his attentions were occupied.

He bit down on your lower lip, tugging and biting as if to warn you that he expected participation. You let your tongue tangle with his, if only to placate him for the moment. Keep him busy, make this quick.

He jerked his hips around for a moment, settling himself inside you as you tried to cry as silently as you could. The tearing pressure between your hips was nearly overwhelming you. Your sore walls yielded to him against their will, clenching tightly around him as if trying to push him out.

“Fick...” He hissed under his breath, pulling his face from yours. Instead, his head dropped gracelessly to your injured shoulder, making you wince. The knife clattered to the floor beneath you as his hand found your waist instead, bruising grip holding you in place as he thrust once as a tester. You swallowed another cry, knowing it would only egg him on.

He didn’t need that knife to do damage. You knew that.

“Always so tight, schatzi.” He let out a ragged breath, keeping his hand firmly on your throat but allowing his thumb to travel upwards to your mouth, padding invasively at your lower lip. “It’s as if your body was made for me.” He sighed, chuckling darkly as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. “Almost like it doesn’t want to let go of me.

Frustration welled with the helplessness in your throat and it took every ounce of willpower in your being to keep from crying harder. You swallowed, blinking upward through your lashes to try and dissipate the tears that were forming beneath your lids. Trying, in a way, to give yourself over to the fact that there was nothing you could do against him, and any amount of struggling would only result in more pain for yourself. It was easier to just let him say, and take, what he wanted.

He knew what he was doing.

He exhaled heavily on your neck, dragging your pliable body down onto him with an iron grasp on your hip as he thrust into you again. He was starting slowly, and some part of you was grateful for that. As much as it was easier to get this over with quickly, when he took his time at first, you at least had a little leeway when it came to mentally preparing yourself for whatever sick shit this psychopath was about to do. He was talented at finding new and exciting ways to make this as unbearable as possible.

He rolled his hips against you experimentally, pulling out only slightly before sinking back in. He was uncharacteristically gentle, but you knew well that it was a farce. He liked to do that sometimes. He would make mock gestures, almost with the sole intention of perverting something that was supposed to be done from love and care. The way he would talk to you as a friend, even as he caused you persistent and overwhelming pain. The way he called you pet names that should stay between intimate friends or lovers as your flesh and bone broke beneath his fingers. How he would kiss you slowly, even as his body demanded access to yours against your will and tears would stream down your cheeks as you would beg him to stop.

He tortured you not only physically, but mentally. He wanted to break you entirely.

A deep, debasing grunt left the base of his throat, exaggerated by his hand slipping from the curve of your hips down to the underside of your thigh, hiking your leg up around his waist to angle you just so that he could hit so deeply that it pushed on the limits of what your body could take. His face contorted in pleasure, hissing in incoherent sentences as he forced your leg up and around his burly body. It was a strain for him to slow his pace, but he did his best, focusing instead on the mixture of hatred and despair on your features to spur himself forward.

He pulled you closer, fingers digging into the plush meat of your thigh as he worked at you again and again. “Mein maus.” Nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder, he pushed his thumb fully into your mouth. You knew better than to bite down. You had the fresh bruise of a hard slap across your cheek to attest to that. He had warned you not to try it a second time, or you would lose your teeth. You listened and adhered, even as the calloused and dirty skin of his digit pressed deep against your tongue and created a terribly uncomfortable sensation. You weren’t even entirely sure he enjoyed it, but he would damn sure do it.

He made sure your leg stayed wrapped around him, allowing him access to the deepest parts of you, oscillating his large thumb in and out of your mouth as he slowly and torturously maneuvered in and out of you, dragging it on so much so that you were almost certain neither one of you were receiving any real pleasure from it other than his sadistic need to see you broken. With his head cradled between your neck and shoulder, his lips kept busy either licking tenderly, or sometimes biting hard on a small patch of skin enough to make you yelp out against your will, often drawing a small chuckle from him.

Strade was easily entertained. You knew he could make this last hours, if he so chose.

Gritting your teeth, you opted to think of other things. Anything else, really. Anything that could make you forget that a German serial killer was fucking you on his basement floor with his hands that had been Gods know where deep inside your mouth. Could anything really distract you from that? All you could do was pray that it would be over quickly, and that perhaps he’d get bored of you and your body eventually and end your suffering quickly.

How had this happened exactly? A few days ago, you’d just gone out looking for a drink and maybe some entertainment for the night. Perhaps meet a few new people and sort out your place in the universe. Instead, you’d ended up here.

That was the last time you took advice and tried to be social.

You felt him shudder on top of you, and you knew instinctively that he was beginning to lose control. It was only a matter of time now before he lost it and pounded you like an empty oil drill in the desert. If you could just hang on, just make it through this.

“You know liebling, I wait for our time together all day.” He drawled, eyes closed and mouth wandering down to the crux of your breasts. “You really give a me something to look forward to. I appreciate that.” His thick tongue licked a stripe up from the bottom of your chest up the fatty tissue, pausing on a nipple as he took it into his mouth. His sharp teeth dug a little too hard into the tender flesh and you winced, eyes twitching briefly. “This bond we share. It means a lot. You know what I mean?”

Every instinct in your entire body was screaming to tell him to go to hell, call him every name in the book and threaten his delicates if you ever got out of these bindings. But you’d been past this chapter already and knew exactly where it led. More of your blood, less of his patience, and even less of a recovery time before his mind came up with some new and exciting way to make you wish you were dead. The best answer was no answer at all, at least until you could get a read on what he wanted to hear.

Thankfully, he was more preoccupied than the last time you had opted to ignore him, and he either didn’t really notice or care that you had kept your mouth closed. “I’ve known a lot of interesting people in my time here, but you-“ He panted, huffing between words. “You’re special.”

“I bet you say that to everyone you kidnap.” You spat, unable to hold back the tide of resentment. He found it cute.

“Only the special ones.”

He began increasing his pace, but instead of just jackhammering into you as he normally did, he started rolling his hips, angling you further upward so that the fleshy skin of his pelvis was stimulating your most sensitive area. Caught completely off guard, you let out a gasp, taken by surprise at the sudden burst of pleasure as he spurred into you. He let out a heinous cackle, triumphant at the reluctant noise he had coaxed out of you. He pulled his thumb from your mouth, hovering it above your lips.

“Oh? That’s new!” He giggled, placing his face close to yours once more. “It seems like maybe you’re beginning to enjoy this!”

A renewed wave of anger washed over you, temporarily relieving you of your better senses. “Get fucked!” You hissed, gritting your teeth and doing your best to ignore the pleasurable sensation that was slowly building as he bucked into you, inadvertently rubbing against the tender bundle of nerves at your apex. He took it in stride, snickering again as he let his newly freed hand travel down your body, stopping momentarily on the low of your stomach.

“I am.”

He continued on for a moment, seemingly perusing his own end as you willed yourself to push down the tide of unwanted heat swirling around in your abdomen. It wasn’t until you felt his hand slowly creep further downward and his thick finger gently prodding at the tops of your folds that you started to panic. Strade didn’t do gentle, and anything he did, it was always with malicious intent.

That was why you nearly choked on your own spit when you felt his thumb pad at your clit, pushing down and swirling, using your own excess saliva for lubricant.

You made a noise that was comprised of half shock, half moan, and a deep, animalistic growl rumbled from within Strade’s belly. Almost against your will, you clamped your eyes shut once more, utterly disgusted with yourself. How is there any way that you were enjoying this, even on a primal level? A few swift touches and your body turns full Benedict Arnold, almost playing directly into his hands? There had to be something wrong with you.

Strade, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted at the betrayal he elicited from you. A deep, horrible smile carved its way across his face, and his slimy tongue ran across his teeth, practically drooling as he continued to fuck you.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Liebchen.” Grunting, he nipped on your ear, sucking gently. His sweat and yours had begun to coat your body and the rhythmic slapping his nether region was making against yours was obscene. You tried to block it out, tried to will it all away, but his hands were too much against you, and it wasn’t long before both his precum and your wetness coated his navel and the inside of your thighs. White hot pleasure coiled inside of you, and soon even his brutal pistoning was contributing to the fire kindling between your legs.

You had always liked it a bit rough. Much like everything about you, he was using it against you now.

His harsh grip on your thigh relinquished and he brought him arm up, letting himself relax onto his elbow, fingers finding your throat again and clenching on either side. For once, he wasn’t cutting off your airway in cruelty, but asserting his dominance and delaying the blood flow to your brain. You felt your mind go light, lolling your head to the side as your eyes fluttered open again. Vision blurry and sanity slipping, your leg clenched around him of its own volition, and from your mouth escaped a breathy sigh, and your last effort was pretending you didn’t hear his name pass from your lips.

As if a switch in his brain flipped, his thrusts became punishing and cruel, slamming into you again and again until you knew there would be bruises. It would have hurt, been agonizing even, if you weren’t as needy as you were now. Instead, your body welcomed him, gripping him and allowing him to withdraw, albeit unwillingly. He never once ceased his ministrations on your swollen nub, maneuvering and manipulating your body better than even you could. His teeth found your lower lip, biting and tugging, and in your haze, you returned feverishly, allowing your tongues to tangle as your head was yanked violently back and forth by the force of his movements.

His face had turned a deep shade of crimson and he was staring at you with eyes that would have terrified you had you been in your right mind. Dilated and wild, with promises of pain to come, and yet you didn’t care. He chased his pleasure, and you kept pace with him, thrusting your own hips in time to meet his. Your heartbeat became a dull thud in your ears and the world around you became fuzzy, unable to separate what was happening from the overwhelming bliss spidering throughout your body and rendering you null and empty. Eventually what was left of your grip on reality left you, and you became incoherent. Begging, pleading, even demanding him. Pulling him with the limbs you had control of, clenching the extremities you didn’t. You needed more.

You continued this dance for a while, though no one in the room could tell you how long. You might have been deranged in that moment, but even then you noticed that after a bit, something in Strade had snapped as well. His movements were no longer calculated to hurt you, and while it wasn’t as smooth, his hand never stopped against your center. His head was dipped down and resting on your bouncing chest, hair wet and mangled by the sweat he was working up. He was cursing and muttering under his breath, fingers clenching on your throat but never strangling you. Occasionally when he did work up the strength to look up at you, his eyes were heavy lidded and greedy, but almost placated and content instead of malicious.

He almost looked human.

Eventually, it became too much, and your orgasm ushered him to his own. You gave up your hold on what little dignity and pride you had left, crying for him as your head threw itself back, legs spasming and thighs twitching. Your cunt clenched him, milking him through to his own end as he bit deep onto your shoulder and spilled inside of you, allowing the excess to spill out onto your thighs and into a small puddle beneath your heaving bodies. Your moans echoed off the walls and reverberated into your own ears but it sounded like someone, anyone but you. Even though somewhere deep inside you, you knew you should feel shame and hatred and utter self-loathing, you couldn’t muster the energy anymore. He had sucked it all out of you.

He didn’t pull immediately from you like he normally did. He instead allowed himself to collapse on top of you, gulping in air and softening inside you. Your mind was a haze, still comatose in your post-orgasmal bliss, and you didn’t fight him as he pressed his lips to yours again. Your innards ached, and your arms and fingers were on fire from the lack of circulation, but you kissed him back as if the circumstances weren’t so weighted against you. You felt his sweaty body chafe against your already raw torso and could smell your own blood and viscera on him but your body relaxed into him, allowing him to take what he wanted rather than fight him. In turn, he was gentle, almost kind as he whispered in your ear.

“Du gehörst mir.”

When he finished, he finally pulled from you, letting his hand fall from your neck and zipping his pants up, looking rather disheveled. He almost seemed confused for a moment, before his normal smile returned and you felt your sick returning with it.

What have you done?

Your world began to spin and you began to feel queasy. Your throat burned and nausea raged within you as if you were about to puke out every single organ one by one. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and returned some semblance of your sanity. At least what you could understand, with your stomach still in butterflies and his cum steadily dripping from you at your behest. Your eyes watered and in anger, you began to kick and snarl and you swore you would do anything if you could to keep this horrible, clawing feeling from ripping out your heart and mind. You had asked for this. You wanted this.

He ignored you, seeming positively giddy as he skipped from the room. You could hear his booming footsteps clomp up the wooden steps and the heavy door shut behind him. He left you alone, at least for a moment, and despite what you’ve been through, it’s the worst moment of your life.

You cry, because it’s the one thing you can do. Sobs heave their way out of your chest, and you cough and sputter onto the floor, acutely aware of the smell of bodily fluids and sweat that permanently stains your skin. You inhale and you can feel him again except this time it’s like you’ve placed a welcome mat. His fluids are seeping into your skin, enveloping in your body, and you struggle and tear at your bindings because you want to claw him out before he seeps too deeply inside of you and leaves no semblance of the original you behind.

You’ve accomplished nothing but ripping open old wrist wounds by the time you hear the heavy bootfall against the steps again. You don’t know if you can bring yourself to look at him right now.

He makes you.

Strade pulls you up by your hair to your knees as you hiss in pain as sets you upright, grabbing your chin and squeezing until you obey. Rightfully, you’re afraid. You should be, you remind yourself.

“I have a gift for you.”

He’s got something hidden behind his back, and you prepare yourself for the worst. A knife in your throat, a blade to your neck. You might die.

A nail to your temple, a bucket of water to breathe. You were going to die.

Gasoline and a match, a saw to your face. You were ready to die.

You were terrified, even as you prepared for almost anything, steeling yourself against the terror that was battering your resolution. This would never end unless he let it. He was giving you an out. Take it. Let it all end.

You closed your eyes as he reached toward you, clenching your teeth, saying your last laments and asking forgiveness from the universe. No more pain, you begged. You had been through enough. Seen enough. Seen enough of yourself. You were so tired. Let it end.

You felt the cold touch of steel kiss your neck as something was clamped around your neck, and for a second, you thought nothing of it. At least until you felt Strade’s warm hands adjusting it, maneuvering your face around and tightening it, adjusting and soothing it down almost lovingly. A pit of despair welled inside of you as you opened your eyes as you wiggled beneath the constraints, unsure of what was happening.

Strade had a knife in one hand and a small object you couldn’t quite make out in the other, and you flinched as he leaned in. You felt the press of a blade against your palm and only relaxed as he sawed your binds off, instinctively flexing your wrists as they fell free. The painful static of numbness raced through your arms even as you stared at him, cowering and awaiting whatever unpleasant fate he had planned. He only reached his hand out to you for you to grab, a gentle smile on his face even as he clutched the knife in his opposing hand.

Hesitantly, you reach to him, just as he knew you would.

As if you ever had a choice.

#strade #boyfriend to death #btd #strade x reader #Please heed the warnings #Work in progress??#I had an alternate ending with like 5000 more words where you get pregnant and strade is fucking ecstatic #I've been working on this off and on forever and just wanted to get it out here #gods im so sorry to the creator to keep twisting your creation like this #picture at the top belongs to her #it used to be a lot more depressing believe it or not

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talesfromassassiansguardian · 5 years

Text

One Body, One Love Alexios x Reader Lemon

For @val-wywh who I apologize to profusely for not finishing this sooner. Thank you for your wonderful gift to me, and I certainly hope this story repays you wonderfully! Please enjoy! <3

The Grecian breeze flowed through her open windows with ease this evening as she sat at the foot of her bed. It was a cool subtle gust of air that, to anyone else would feel like a dream after experiencing the humidity of the hot island sun all day. But rather then being a comfort to her, the air that graced her fair skin felt ice cold and assaulting. This was the fourth week in a row that she was without his touch; his protective and solid embrace to keep her warm at night, whilst they whispered sweet nothings to each other. It was becoming unbearable to her. Although she understood that he had good reason to be absent for so long, being one of the more powerful Spartan warriors that the gods had graced the island nation with, she missed him deeply. She missed his deep earthy gaze that would shine from his brown eyes, and how they would light up anytime he laid eyes on her. She missed his tanned skin marked with an array of marks and scars that all told his life’s story. She missed his dark hair, mahogany in color and the texture of a silken cloth, which she often ran her hands through as he would rest his head in her lap. She missed his voice, deep and commanding oftentimes but, when around her became as playful and kind, as his eyes roamed over her every aspect. She desired everything about him and was overwhelmed with the desire to be near him as often as she could. Her craving for him was insatiable.

Although a somewhat risky decision, she understood what she was going to do that evening. She yearned to be in his presence, at least for tonight. With the last of her items packed into a small satchel, she checked herself over once in a mirror, and lifted the curtain that led out to the night in search of him.

The journey to the camp he was stationed at wasn’t too far from her abode and luckily for her, she knew of some shortcuts in an effort to see the man she loved as soon as she could. By the time she arrived, a gentle darkness had enveloped the sky, creating a perfect cover for her to sneak into the camp. Though knowing that she wasn’t allowed into these camps, her need for him was eating at her from the inside out, so much so that at times she felt suffocated from not seeing him for so long. Her intentions to see him were a driving force for her as she raised a small shawl over her head and jumped the fence, into the Spartan camp. Retaining her breathing to be slow and concentrated, she listened carefully from behind a pillar in the rear end of the camp to see if she could hear him. Tilting her head to the side in an effort to listen better, his voice was unmistakable to her. He was finishing up strategizing plans of attack with his soldiers. “We have made good progress tonight, both combatitaly and strategically. We will discuss the rest of the plans with everyone tomorrow morning. In the meantime, all of you get some rest. I will add a few more touches to the map here and rest for the night as well. You are dismissed”. With a wave of his hand, Alexios dismissed his men and returned his focus to the scrolls in front of him. Waiting until she was sure all of the men were in their designated tents, she listened for a few moments until she heard Alexios clear his throat and walk towards his tent. Once inside his blanketed tent, a lantern was lit, illuminating his figure as he stretched his arms above his head. Taking this as the perfect opportunity, (Y/N) made her way towards his tent, being mindful of the small rocks below her feet that could easily give her away if kicked in the wrong direction.

Once at the tent, (Y/N) peeked inside to find that Alexios’s back was turned towards the entrance of the tent and he had stripped himself of his armor and was only in a small linen towel wrapped around his hips. (Y/N) watched as Alexios stretched out his muscles and groaned briefly at the sensation of his taut form being stretched out from the strenuous activities that consistently filled his days. The view was nothing short of perfection for (Y/N), as his back muscles contorted and flexed all the way down to his lower back, even to his firm ass which (Y/N) latched her gaze onto, slightly embarrassed when coming out of her trance that she was essentially staring at Alexios as if he were a piece of meat. “Care to join me in here, prinkípissa”, Alexios asked playfully as (Y/N) blushed a deep rose color, sheepish of the fact that she had been caught. Coming to the entrance of his tent, Alexios smiled as he guided (Y/N) inside the tent. Laughing heartily at the look on her face, Alexios embraced her and pulled her head to his chest, where she could hear his laugh reverberate throughout his body. Kissing the top of her head briefly, Alexios moved his hands down to her waist and moved her body so that they were both looking at each other. “I’ll give you credit for your attempt at sneaking into a Spartan camp (Y/N), but did you really think you could sneak past me. I hope you’re not forgetting the fact that I’m an assassin”, Alexios stated as he stared down at (Y/N), feigning seriousness. His playfulness unbeknownst to (Y/N), his gaze seemed scrutinizing to her and she began to feel small in his presence. “For...Forget, no no. Alexios I...I...know I could never forget that you’re an assassin. I-I just wanted to see you because it had been so long since you’ve been away and-and--”, her words were cut short by Alexios’s lips on hers, shushing her immediately. He began to laugh against her lips, so much so that she felt his teeth against her bottom lip. He lifted his neck to break from the kiss for a brief moment, his laughter continuing and eventually leading (Y/N) to smile and join his laughter. “Oh, sweet (Y/N) you have yet to learn of my jokes and when I am truly serious. You know I could never be mad at you for coming to visit me. I’ve missed your company so very much prinkípissa”, Alexios sighed as he said the last part of his sentence. Wrapping his arms fully around her waist, he pulled her close and surveyed her body, a smirk tugging at left side of his mouth. Sighing once more, Alexios looked into her eyes and breathing slowly, stated, “You’re as beautiful as ever”. Before giving her a moment to respond to his endearing statement, Alexios crashed his lips into hers and moved his hand to her face, encapsulating her soft cheeks in his hands, ensuring that she would not break the kiss, although she had no intention of ceasing the embrace.

Inching closer to Alexios’s broad form, (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his neck and began to run her hands through his dark hair. The silken feel of his locks still remained and urged (Y/N) to lightly tug on it, causing Alexios to moan against her lips. Smiling against his mouth, (Y/N) quickly slid her tongue inside Alexios’s mouth, delicately joining his own. Amused by her unexpected forwardness, Alexios chuckled into the kiss and tightened his grip on her hips, as if to show his approval. Their tongues intertwined with each other’s, all while their hands began to work faster against each other as well. While he still had her pressed against his body, Alexios began to lift (Y/N) from the ground, as if bring her even closer to him. With her legs wrapped around his torso, Alexios parted his lips from hers for a brief moment to navigate towards the linens on which he slept. Not wanting to break away from his beloved for too long, he quickly latched his lips back on to her, this time moving down her to her jawline.

His lips felt warm and sensual across her jawline. She sighed as he continued his path to her neck. Suddenly, she shivered as he gently kissed a sensitive spot just below her ear. Quietly, she moaned and ever so slightly gyrated her hips against his abdominals.

Obviously noticing her actions, Alexios smiled deviously into her neck and lightly bit the soft flesh of her neck, causing (Y/N) to let out a squeak of surprise. Licking the area where he had bitten, Alexios began to lower both (Y/N) and himself to the soft blankets that lay beneath them. With his lips still latched to her neck, he began to move down her body, his hot tongue reaching her collarbone and swiping across the defined bone. Kissing across her shoulders and lower neckline, Alexios began to maneuver his large hands under her dress. Starting at her upper thighs, Alexios began massaging the muscle of (Y/N)’s clothed leg. Her skin was soft and smelled of the ocean, fresh with a slight scent of salt. Alexios shifted the fabric upward and began to move his hands to her inner thighs, where he instantly felt her warmth radiate.

Continuing to massage her inner thighs, Alexios looked up into (Y/N)’s eyes, heavy with lust, but also with adoration, as she observed her lover’s pleasurable gestures so close to the spot where she needed him most. As if reading her mind, Alexios smirked and chuckled under his breath. “Patience my love, soon enough you’ll have what you desire”, Alexios bellowed quietly, his voice octaves deeper then it usually was. “I desire you Alexios, now”, (Y/N) huffed as she fell onto her back with her arms above her head, exhaling a sigh of frustration. Hearing him chuckle again, (Y/N) raised her head to look at Alexios once more, stunned that he could be laughing at a time such as this. “Really spartan, you’re going to chuckle at me as you lay and torment me”, stated (Y/N), partially playing along with Alexios’s teasing. She continued, “I haven’t seen you in months, and when I come to visit all you can do is leave me to impatiently wait for you to fu-fuck”.

Her words were suddenly cut off by Alexios burying his face into her core, dripping with desire. (Y/N) tossed her head back and moaned, a little too loud, as she shot her hands into Alexios’s hair. Alexios’s eyes gazed upwards as he stared at (Y/N); her head thrown back into the soft blankets, her eyes closed tightly, her cheeks a deep rose color. He smiled against her folds and resumed his focus on her pleasure. He moaned against her lips as he maneuvered his tongue down to her entrance, encircling it and softly nibbled at her slickend folds. Jolting her hips up from the sensation of his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, (Y/N) grasped tighter at Alexios’s hair and bucked her hips once more, encouraging his tongue to enter her. Choosing to obey her wishes, Alexios wasted no time in delving his tongue deep inside her walls, as he began to use his right thumb to circle her clit. Continuing to moan and buck, (Y/N) began panting hard, the blush on her face now clearly evident. Feeling herself close to her first orgasm, she quickly lifted her head up, daring to observe the spartan’s luscious efforts between her legs. Watching Alexios bob his head and encircle her clit faster, her body began to writhe as the knot in her stomach tightened with every flick of Alexios’s skillful tongue. Soon reaching her edge, she grasped the spartan’s shoulders and shouted his name. With one final yelp, her body erupted in ecstasy as her legs shook violently.

Rubbing her thighs gently, Alexios lifted his head from her dripping core, to watch as (Y/N) came down from her high, her body still twitching as she lay her head down on a pillow beneath her. Licking his lips, Alexios lifted himself so that he was face to face with his love, his forearms braced on either side of her body. Smiling at her, Alexios gazed into her eyes as she heartily returned his smile, her features still warm and compassionate. Leaning down, he kissed her gently, as his left hand softly caressed her breasts, causing her to moan quietly into the kiss.

Whilst continuing their passionate kiss, (Y/N)’s hand subtly maneuvered to Alexios’s shaft, now pulsing in anticipation for her walls to clasp around it. Wrapping her hand around the engorged head, she began to stroke him teasingly. Surprised by her actions, Alexios released from their entwined lips and hissed, as his abdominal muscles twitched in arousal.

“(Y/N) please, I need you. D-Don’t tease me prinkípissa”, Alexios groaned as he lightly bucked his hips.Giggling at the effect her teasing had on a man of Alexios’s stature, (Y/N) bit her lip,as she continued to stroke his member, now even firmer than it was before.

Without warning, Alexios grabbed (Y/N)’s hand and pinned it up above her head, growling next to her ear. Then, grabbing his cock in his own hand, Alexios shifted closer towards (Y/N)’s core, lightly moving the head of his cock against her folds. Hearing her moan once again, Alexios could no longer control himself as he thrust himself deep inside of her. Muffling her moans with his mouth, Alexios let go and began to thrust forward, the sound of his pelvis smacking against hers only increasing his desire to please the woman he loved.

His cock immediately rocked her body forward as he pushed deep inside her, allowing themselves to become fully immersed in each other. (Y/N) threw her head back in pure ecstasy, as her hips followed his hips, slowly at first when Alexios pulled his member out from her. He laughed as (Y/N) shot her head up in disappointment. “Alexios!”, she cried out as a whine left her impatient form. She attempted to follow his cock with her own sex, only for Alexios to rest his firm calloused hands on her thighs and chuckle. Confused, (Y/N) looked at her lover, still disappointed that he was not connected with her. Alexios said nothing, as he gazed at his goddess from under his eyelashes, a devilish smirk painting itself across his lips. Leaning forward, he once again crashed his lips onto (Y/N)’s, distracting her as he rammed himself back into her core, this time with no intention of removing himself from her beautiful folds.

They moaned in unison, as their bodies morphed into one being. One body that breathed in the same air and exhaled from the same lungs. One body whose heartbeat increased with every thrust. One body whose nails scratched and teeth gripped flesh. One body whose moans increased with every passing minute. A being who only desired love. Together, they were a being who loved unconditionally.

Running her hands through his hair, (Y/N) gazed into Alexios’s glimmering eyes, which she expected to be entirely clouded in lust. Instead, the eyes looking back at her were clear and filled with adoration. They roamed her body as Alexios continued pounding into her soft body. They focused on each curve, scar, and even blemish as if they were the most beautiful stars in the universe. Moving back up her enchanting frame, Alexios’s eyes finally met (Y/N)’s.

They said nothing, as there was nothing to be said. Moans of pleasure were exchanged between them, as soft kisses were placed everywhere on each other’s bodies. Alexios nuzzled his head into (Y/N)’s neck, the scruff of his beard teasing her sensitive skin. (Y/N) giggled as she continued to run her hands through his hair. It was an almost perfect distraction, but soon she felt a shudder run down her spine as Alexios picked up his pace.

“Uh...uuh…(Y/N)”, Alexios moaned into her neck. His hot breath on the skin of her neck just below her ear shook her to her core. She let out a pleasurable huff as her walls tightened around his shaft. His hips took an abrupt pace as she continued to tighten around him. Their breaths became quick and uneven as they both reached the edge.

Pulling away from her neck, Alexios looked at (Y/N), gently grasping her chin with his hand. Their eyes locked as they moaned the loudest they had all night, as their lips moved together in the most passionate kiss of the moon filled evening. Both reaching their peak, they both let out a stunted moan and shuddered. They continued to stare at each other with wide hazy smiles, as Alexios collapsed next to (Y/N). They held each other then, as they faded into their blissful afterglow.

He had missed her these past few months. In fact, he missed her every time she wasn’t around him, whether that be for a few minutes when she was bartering at the local markets, or of course months at a time when he was commanding his military. It was a difficult life he lead as an assassin and although things could have been much easier if he hadn’t broken the code to not involve himself in a relationship, he couldn’t help it. From the first moment he had laid eyes on her, he had become smitten with her beauty. He could have sworn that a Grecian goddess had descended to Earth. But she was more than that to him. Not only was she the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on, but she had changed him to be better. Before (Y/N), he was a man set on revenge and believed that only the mission mattered but then, when she entered his life, everything changed. He had learned to laugh again, to admire the beauty of the world, to relax even when he didn’t believe he needed to. He had learned to have hope and to believe that there is good in the world. And of course he knew there was good in the world, for he had fallen in love with the best thing in his world.

Before finally drifting off into a peaceful slumber, Alexios gazed at the love of his life one last time and smiled. Leaning over, he kissed the temple of his sleeping beauty and whispered, “Sleep well my prinkípissa. I love you.”

#alexios #assassins creed #alexios x reader #assassins creed oddysey

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nicostolemybones · 5 years

Text

Of Birthday Disasters and Bi Disasters

Tw: sensory overload, meltdown, self injury (Not cutting), ghost stories/light horror

“I don’t wanna wake up,” Will groaned, burying himself in the covers, “it’s my birthday, let me sleep!”

A loud, definitely deliberate clarinet squeak sounded right by Will’s ear, sending a splitting pain through his ear and his head. “Austin, please don’t,” Will pleaded, covering his ears with his quilt. Kayla started bouncing on his bed, shaking him, and Will felt panicked, trapped, and overwhelmed. “Guys, don’t,” Will protested, but they seemed intent on waking him up. They didn’t realise just how overwhelming the situation was for Will- he buried himself deeper under the covers, wanting the noise and bouncing to stop. However, the longer he stayed under the covers, the louder Austin played wrong notes, and the more violently Kayla bounced.

Will panicked, shoving as hard as he could and running to the bathroom, bolting himself in and instantly dropping to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest. It was too bright- the small round studio lights overhead were disorientating, pure white light blaring down unrelenting, no dimmer switch, each light a new assault on his senses from a different direction, making it near impossible to process anything else- his senses were already overwhelmed. Then there was the yellow strobe lights around the mirror, each light a needle boring into him, and then the mismatch of orange, yellow, and red fairy lights hung around the room for at night, each light a bullet, each tiny movement of Will’s head blurring the lights, dizzying, disorientating. Will clamped his eyes shut, hoping to block it out.

Then the insistent banging on the bathroom door began, each loud pound a jolt of pain to Will’s ears. Every knock seemed to be sharper and louder and more painful than the last, and then of course, the shouting began, shrill voices yelling his name and trying to get his attention. Will was unable to process what they were saying- it was too loud, too much, and it hurt. And to make matters worse, Will didn’t have his headphones, so he settled for clamping his hands over his ears, but it only seemed to amplify everything, so he jammed his fingers as deep into his ears as he could get, painfully so, until the outside sounds muffled and all he could hear was the low groaning and creaking made my every minute twitch of his fingers, and the blurry rush of his pulse.

Everything was too hot suddenly, and the feather light touches of his cotton pyjamas only irritated him, his skin pricked with sweat and every small movement he made shifted the fabric and added more to the overwhelming cacophony of overloading sensory assaults. Will just wanted pressure, weight, a constant comforting force to make it all better. He rocked, the motion comforting, helping him to focus on the motion of rocking and not the sensory assault he was under.

The final straw that broke the camel’s back was the smells. Will had always been particularly sensitive to smells, more so than anything else. And there were many smells. There was the earthy smell of fresh cut grass, of the smell of the soil wet with rain from the night before, the smell of the heat in the air, the humidity. And then there was the smell of the cleaning products, sterile, but strong bleach, nauseating and dizzying, so clinical but so chemical, the smell of artificial pine scent, far too strong, far too much. The lingering smells of aftershaves and perfumes and deodorants from the morning, each scent overlapping and clashing and harmonising horribly, assaulting his nose with burning chemicals, making him sneeze. Then there was the slightly more muted smells of the soaps, but there was still the slight smell of caustic soda from the soaps and detergents left on the towels. There were the musky smells of sweat, even blood, from the towel rail right next to Will, all different body odors adding onto the already overwhelming smells. But the worst for Will was the still ever-present smell of faeces and urine from the toilet- smells lingered, even if most people didn’t notice them, and Will was sensitive to smell, and of course, the smell of human waste was nauseating. Will felt the bile rising in his throat, just about managing to crawl to the toilet and throw up. The smell of vomit and the choking feeling and the acidic bitter taste was more than enough to make him panic and overwhelm him further, and he found himself throwing up again.

Desperate distressed sobs wrenched through his body, unable to take deep breaths through the crying, because he couldn’t control it. Eyes open and fingers out of his ears, and every sense was unbearably overstimulated, a suffocating panic and need for it to end only adding to the overwhelming mess. He felt dizzy and hot, so he stripped to his underwear, clawing at his skin to try to make the itching suffocating feeling from the sweat go away. He pulled at his hair and his teeth and his ears and anywhere he could grab, as though he could loosen his skin or make it stop. He screamed out, as though it would stop the panic in its tracks, and because he was frightened, it all wouldn’t stop and he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t process it all, and everything was suffocating him. Eventually, he resorted to hitting his head off the wall, because his head hurt, and it felt like he needed to break it out, he just wanted it to stop and he couldn’t breathe, it was all too much-

“Will?”

That was Nico’s voice, Nico knew how he was feeling, he knew Nico could help him. He forced himself to stand and open the door, and Nico lead him to the far corner of his cabin, the space by the bathroom where most cabins had book shelves or a dresser. Instead, the corner had thick curtains to block out the rest of the light from the cabin. Nico helped him to sit down and wrapped him in a weighted blanket, giving Will his headphones. It was quieter, darker, and far less overwhelming, and Will could focus enough to talk himself through calming down, to take slower breaths. Nico sat beside him, hugging his knees to his chest and reaching out to take Will’s hands, gently rocking. Will rocked too, following Nico’s comforting pace, the quiet music from his noise-cancelling headphones the only sound he could hear, and the music felt how he felt, hectic, and with each song change the music calmed, allowing him to slowly work through each emotion he was feeling and unwind them all. The alcove was only lit by a dark purple lava lamp, a stark contrast from the brightness outside, and the light was a soft glow, from one source, no reflective surfaces for it to bounce off. It was soothing to watch the bubbles, something he could visually focus on without feeling overwhelmed. The pressure of the blanket he had was comforting, heavy like a hug, grounding him nicely. The smells were muted here- it was cleaned, but without the use of strong chemical products. Plain smelling soaps were used to wash all the cushions and blankets that made the alcove so cosy, so the only smells were his own mild sandalwood and lemon body wash and peony shampoo, and Nico’s pomegranate shampoo.

Will wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he felt a lot calmer, and everything was muted enough. He switched his headphones for earbuds so he could hear more and assess his surroundings, glad to only hear the chirp of birds and distant laughter. Nico looked up at him- or at least, somewhat towards him. Nico struggled with eye contact, and Will would be lying if he said he wouldn’t find eye contact overwhelming. “Are you feeling okay now,” Nico asked quietly, and Will took a few deep breaths to assess how he felt. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t manage to force any sounds out, so he nodded instead. “Is there anything you need?” Will thought for a moment, and gestured vaguely that he needed water and hugs if Nico was okay with it. Nico seemed to understand what Will was trying to communicate, leaving and returning with a bottle of water for Will, pulling him to his chest and gently running his fingers through Will’s hair. Will was able to relax, sitting there quietly with Nico.

Will wasn’t sure how long he was sat there with Nico, but he felt Nico gently push at his shoulder. Will reluctantly released Nico, mouthing ‘sorry’.

“It’s okay,” Nico explained quietly, “I just… too much physical contact.”

“That’s okay,” Will managed to reply, glad he hadn’t stayed non-verbal for long enough for it to be a barrier of communication with anybody.

“I’m sorry,” Nico said softly, “I just…”

“Overwhelming, kinda like you wanna rip your skin off?” Unlike Will, who was touch-seeking and tactile, Nico was rather touch averse, partly because he was touch-sensitive and partly because of all his trauma. He’d described physical contact he didn’t want as uncomfortable, like when a bug flies into your face and it still feels like the bug is there, but intense and everywhere, to the point it made him want to scrape his skin off.

“Yeah, that,” Nico replied, and Will reached up to one of the shelves of stim toys. He picked out a tub of glittered sunset amber slime and scooped it out, squeezing it between his fingers. It felt cold and squidgy, but it was quite a dry slime, and it wasn’t sticking to his fingers, which he appreciated because it was murder to get from behind his nails. The glitter, however, Will figured, he’d be stuck with for a month at least. He kneaded the slime in his hands, squeezing it and stretching it and squashing it, feeling it warm up. He folded it and held it up and watched it slowly stretch out and droop, catching the slime in the palm of his other hand. It was oddly soothing and entertaining.

“I forgot… it’s my birthday,” Will said quietly, pressing the slime into his palm.

“You never told me,” Nico replied, and Will shrugged.

“I didn’t want you to feel pressured to get me anything. Plus I kinda still don’t know if you see me as a friend, and I didn’t want to scare you off like before.”

“I like to think we’re friends,” Nico replied quietly, and both boys blushed. Nico reached into his pocket and pulled out a ball of tangled pipe cleaners. “It’s not much but… I kinda made this for you when I had to help out in the arts and crafts building... you like rough textures, right? I uh- I made this for you. I thought you could fiddle with it when you’re trying to focus or feeling overwhelmed, and maybe the texture would help you to calm down.”

“That’s so thoughtful,” Will blushed, putting the slime away in favour of gently taking the pipe cleaner ball from Nico’s hand and tangling the ends around his fingers, tying knots in them and shaping them in his hand. “Thank you, Nico, I think this will help me better than the bandage I wrap around my hand.”

“That’s uh- that’s what I thought,” Nico replied awkwardly, “we missed breakfast.”

“That’s okay,” Will said quietly, “I’m not hungry anyway, I threw up this morning.”

“If you’re feeling ready to face the day now, you should get dressed and showered ready for today. I’m gonna leave you to get ready now, I’m still in my pyjamas because Austin and Kayla woke me up to come to you. I wanna help out at the infirmary today, but I’ll grab us some sandwiches so if we get hungry we have something to eat. I know you like yours as plain as possible because spice and strong flavours and smells make you gag, so not egg, maybe cheddar cheese or chicken?”

“Thanks, Nico,” Will smiled, “and I remembered you don’t like too many textures or clashing flavours in your food, so I got some better snacks in the infirmary that you might prefer over the granola bars.”

“Thanks,” Nico smiled, leaving Will to get ready.

The rest of the day went by relatively quickly- the familiarity of routine felt comfortable, and the unique challenges of every patient, demanding knowledge recall and practical applications, keeping his hands busy, took just the right amount of focus for Will’s comfort zone, calm in the chaos of injuries. When he felt stressed or overwhelmed, or when he was trying to keep his focus on lengthy discussions with a patient, trying to stay on topic, he instinctively fiddled with the pipe cleaner ball. He found it to be much more effective as a stim than wrapping and unwrapping a bandage on his hand, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him think of Nico. Nico was thoughtful and kind, although he hid that behind layers of sarcasm and defensiveness. However, all of those defences had dropped the moment Will respected his boundaries without question. Sure, sometimes Will missed social cues and misread Nico, but he always immediately rectified any mistakes when Nico voiced his discomfort. Nico’s defences dropped because Will didn’t treat him like he was different, or stupid, or weird. Will didn’t tell him to stop talking if he info dumped about mythomagic. Because, despite all of their differences, they were the same, and they both understood things about each other that other people simply didn’t seem to understand, or make an effort to understand.

Later at the campfire, everybody had gathered, and Will knew that there was going to be cake, much like on every camper’s birthday. Will was quite a sociable person- and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like all the attention. He’d received a pair of light blue denim cuffed jeans from Lou-Ellen, a fellow bisexual, which he was more than happy to wear. Cecil had gotten him a bi pride pin, which Will happily wore on his red turtleneck. And of course, he already had his trans converse from Clarisse. Kayla and Austin chipped in to buy him a ukulele, which was just about the only instrument Will could play. Will spent the afternoon socialising, walking around to talk to all the familiar campers, introducing himself with finger guns and peace signs like a true disaster bi, because this was his home and these people were his friends. He felt at home here at camp. He hadn’t seen Nico all night, but he figured that Nico wouldn’t turn up anyway- after all, crowds and people were two things where Nico would rather stick his eyeballs in a blender than endure them willingly. He was a little disappointed- mainly because of his probably-more-than-a-crush on the boy, which is why Will couldn’t contain his grin when he finally saw Nico, stood at the sidelines, swinging his arms gently by his sides and turning from side to side, a stim of his that he always indulged in when he thought nobody was looking, not forcing himself to socialise and remaining in his comfort zone.

Eventually, the camp settled down into seats, and Nico sat next to Will on the smallest log- that way, he wouldn’t have to share with anybody else. Will didn’t bother to hide the blush on his face- after all, he didn’t think Nico would look up at him given Nico’s strong dislike for eye contact, which is probably why he didn’t realise that Nico kept looking to him and blushing, smiling happily. Toasting marshmallows went as usual- campers scrambled to find a stick, Will and the Aphrodite kids pointed out that sticks on the floor were disgusting death sticks, Chiron handed out clean kebab skewers, and Nico ignored everybody’s protests and summoned a broken femur bone to use instead of a stick.

Ghost stories were Will’s favourite part of any campfire, and of course, Nico loved to tell ghost stories. That was, once the younger campers had taken slices of cake and gone to bed. “So,” Nico began, a small grin forming on his face, which Will found adorable, “twenty years ago today, some of the Ares kids were on patrol in the forest and they found a deer carcass. Which is nothing unusual, of course, because it’s a deer carcass, animals die. But the weird thing was, it was fully decomposed to a dry skeleton, and it hadn’t been there the night before. Now, Artemis and her hunters had been at camp, so naturally they blamed the hunters, but Artemis herself confirmed that it couldn’t have been her hunters. Now, interesting fact, I swear it’s relevant, if you’re going to dump a body, the decomposition will mean more nutrients like nitrogen for the grass, so the grass will grow greener. So if you place an animal carcass over a body dump, it’s less suspicious. If you bury the body vertically, at least six feet of space above the head, it’s unlikely they’ll find the body. But because of the sudden appearance, they excavated and found, shock horror, a corpse of a boy nobody remembered at camp. Now, these deaths kept happening every two years, except each animal carcass represented an animal that represented each cabin, going in order of the cabins. But nobody remembers anything about who the campers were, at all. No memories, no nothing. But we know from marks on the spines that all of the bodies were decapitated, strangled, or had their necks snapped, or hung. But there is no physical evidence, none at all to point to a human killer, plus no demigod has been at camp long enough to be responsible for all the murders, apart from the ghost boy, whose head is backwards from where his neck was snapped. He seeks revenge, and he refuses to communicate with me. In fact,” Nico smirked, pointing over to a spot by the forest, “that looks like an animal carcass right there.” Some campers screamed, but Will laughed- Nico was so very obviously bullshitting. “If you give me ten dollars each, I’ll make sure you’re not next. I can do that. Or he might possess me right now and you’re all doomed because he could use me to control the dead and make all the skeletons choke you-” Nico summoned a skeletal hand, and everybody ran. Will laughed lightly, and Nico blushed, looking somewhat proud of himself as Chiron rounded everybody up and reminded them that Nico’s ghost stories weren’t real and not to give him money, because he was now certainly not getting his allowance.

The tone lightened with some singing, which Will loved but was terrible at, and Nico hated but was amazing at. Campers finished off the cake and everybody shared happy stories for a while, or complained about their parents, although the highlight of the campfire was probably the appearance of bats from the trees. Pipistrelles, it appeared, according to Nico, which weren’t native. Nico immediately started bouncing, flapping his arms and grinning wildly. He loved bats more than he loved mythomagic, and Nico’s pure happiness and excitement seemed contagious, and Will found himself joining Nico in his flapping- it felt good and he was easily excitable, and besides, who the fuck would judge them for being happy?

The highlight of Will’s evening, however, was when everybody had left, and it was just him and Nico watching the campfire, still slightly buzzed from seeing the bats. They just sat in silence for a while, enjoying the cooler night’s air, enjoying watching the way the flames danced, the heat keeping them just warm enough to stay outside for a little while longer. It was Nico who spoke first. “So… did you enjoy your birthday?”

“Apart from this morning? Yeah, I did,” Will smiled, looking to Nico. Nico looked nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“Uh- Will?”

“What’s up,” Will asked carefully, turning in his seat so he could see Nico better.

“I uh- I’m gay,” Nico said quietly, his voice strained as though he’d forced the words out.

“Thanks for trusting me, Nico,” Will said delicately. He reached out to touch Nico’s shoulder, but decided against it- Nico was jittery, and Will didn’t want to startle him.

“And I think I like you,” Nico blurted out, picking at his shoelaces and bouncing his leg nervously, chewing his lip. Will hadn’t expected that. He took a few seconds to make sure he’d heard correctly- his crush was gay and into him. Nico liked him. Or at least, Will hoped Nico meant he liked Will in that way. What if Nico meant as a friend?

“Nico,” Will began gently, “can you clarify what you mean by that for me, so I can respond appropriately?”

“I mean uh-” Nico cleared his throat and swallowed, and Will chewed the inside of his lip nervously. “I mean I… think you’re cute,” Nico blushed, “as in… I’m attracted to you…”

“Oh,” Will replied, trying to think about how to respond without jumping up and celebrating like an excitable puppy. “I… I like you too!”

“I know,” Nico replied quietly, and Will froze. He hadn’t expected that at all. “I… I know I’m bad at social cues, but… I- I’m good at analysing things, I mean- I play chess and mythomagic, you have to predict the next five moves at least, so- anyway, I… I noticed I make you blush, and you spend a lot of time with me, and I notice you staring at me when you think I can’t see you, and you’re always doing sweet things, so I asked Lou-Ellen, and she gave me a whole speech about how cute we apparently are.��

“Oh wow,” Will replied, taking in the situation. Nico liked him, and he knew Will liked him, which was probably why he told Will he liked him back. Which meant he was either going to ask they stay friends, or ask they date, or ask they part ways. Will hoped it was the second option. He got his answer when Nico moved his hand across the space between them, carefully intertwining their fingers together.

“I want to try to kiss you,” Nico admitted, before turning to face Will, looking at the log beside him, “but I don’t know if I’ll be overwhelmed or not, so I don’t want to get your hopes up,” he continued, “But… I’d like to try to kiss you, if you’d be comfortable with that.”

“I uh- I would,” Will replied, cheeks flamed pink, the tips of his ears red, “are you… are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

“Yeah,” Nico replied, meeting Will’s eyes briefly, for a few seconds, and Will felt like Nico was looking into his soul, his heart fluttering as his eyes instinctively closing. Nico leaned close, and gently pressed his lips to Will’s. Nico gasped in surprise, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Will’s hair, and Will felt breathless, because Nico was kissing him, and he was kissing back, and nothing had ever felt so real before. Nico pulled away slowly, flushing puce and looking away. “That was… nice,” he admitted, and Will could see the smile tugging at his lips, “Happy Birthday, Will.”

“Wow,” Will laughed happily, “that’s the best birthday present I’ve ever had,” he grinned.

“Goodnight, Will,” Nico said softly, looking into Will’s eyes one more time with a coy smile before dissolving into the shadows. Will gently touched his lips with his fingertips, the cool tingle from where Nico’s had moved against his still there. His birthday had actually turned out okay after all.

@solangeloweek day 5- Birthday (it's a little late at 4:30am but oof)

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