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#i AM giving them two sets of stitches on their neck. he's pulled of his head.....MULTIPLE times
sinsandsweetness · 7 months
Note
congrats on 1k babes!!!
i'm pickin a lil drabble, hyperfem reader and daryl? i just love that lol dynamic they're so opposite 💕
cw- mentions of blood/injury (not towards the reader)
When he walks in the house, he’s hit with the smell of something sweet. Marshmallows and pecans or something or other. The wick of the candle is still glowing when he walks over to the coffee table and puts it out. Very confused that you haven’t answered. He calls out a hello once more.
Still no answer.
He figures you’re just busy. Out with Rosita or maybe at Ricks, looking after Judith. But it was unlike you to leave a candle burning.
He’s only two steps from the bedroom when he hears it. Footsteps.
Lots of them. Shuffling on the shag carpet. He slowly draws his knife and carefully opens the door. Just enough to see inside the bedroom.
It’s only you. His shoulders immediately relax and his arm falls to his side. Retracting the blade back where it belongs.
You have headphones on. Huge ones with a cord attached to an iPod sticking out the back pocket of your denim skirt. You’re dancing. Not just a little head nod. No. You’re fully rocking out. Hips swaying as you jump up and down, humming along to who knows what Rick downloaded onto your iPod. And you still haven’t noticed your audience.
He can’t help but smile. Leaning up against the doorframe. Watching you move. Your hips. Your waist. Your arms going above your head as you spin yourself around.
He looks around the room and finds it a damn mess. Clothes are everywhere. Hangers on the bed. Makeup bag poured out on the dresser. Daryl shakes his head with a huff of amusent. He leaves you alone for two days…
“Oh shit!” You physically jump back when you finally see him. Heart rate skyrocketing before you realize the dark haired man is just your boyfriend. Dressed in full leather. Dirty and bloody with a brand new shiner on his eye and a busted up lip.
“You scared me,” you whine, pulling your headphones down and around your neck. Placing a hand on your heart as you regain your breath. Trying to calm your racing heartbeat down.
He chuckles, licking his bloodied lips and moving to join you. He settles right in front of you as you lean back on the dresser. One hand going to your hip, the other tucking some hair out of your face.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He gives you a sweet smile as he nudged a denim clad thigh between your legs.
“Dare… your face…”
“Huh? Oh- s’ nothin,”
Your brows pull together in an disapproving scowl.
“Daryl, those stitches were fresh. I did a really good job and you split ‘em already. It hasn’t even been a week.” Your voice is both full of concern and irritation. You’d finally perfected your sutures after hours of practice with Denise. You let the man leave the walls for two days and bam. His handsome face is fucked. Again.
“I know, m’ sorry.”
You pause for a moment. Hands going to fidget with the zipper of his jacket.
“Well?” You ask, irritated.
His own face sets in confusion.
“The other guy…?”
“Oh- uh,” he shakes his head, “you don’t wanna know, baby.”
You gently bring a hand up to his face, the soft pad of your thumb running over his lip. He doesn’t mean to flinch when you brush the part where his skin has split, all red and swollen.
“Tell me,” you whisper, leaning in and pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his busted lip. Wishing it was that easy, that you could heal him with a simple token of love.
He lets out a deep sigh and closes his eyes. Pressing his forehead against yours, rough hands tightening their hold on your waist.
“It’s over. Doesn’t matter.”
You nod hesitantly. Wrapping your arms around his waist, underneath his jacket. His torso is warm against your touch.
“Are you okay?” Your voice is soft. Genuine.
He moves to kiss the top of your head, and pulls you into his chest. The clean perfume of your shampoo envelops his senses, and he wants nothing more than to breath you in and hold you close for the next 48 hours.
“I am now.”
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soaps-hoe-141 · 11 months
Text
Drowning In The Depths
So my friend made a lil drawin of Price and Speck and I am absolutely in love with it. Look at them, cute af. Thank you for that @missmurder357
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Part 5
Pairing: Price x Male!Reader
WC: 23.3k
Synopsis: Got a lil competition inbound, some more of Cerberus being the besto boi, and some NSFW content cause I truly just cannot stop myself. I am insatiable so feed
Warnings: NSFW smut, mentions of blood but I'm not describing it
The shower you'd shared with John hadn't lasted very long after you'd both already been satisfied for the time being. And as you both slipped back into the locker room you split up to head for your individual lockers. It was silent enough you could have heard a pin drop, not an awkward one though, it was comfortable. Like when you could call someone and just sit on the phone with them listening to their breathing for hours. You pulled on a pair of sweats and groaned as you took a seat on the bench in the aisle, hand sliding over the stitches in your thigh hidden beneath the fabric, testing the pain that sparked along your thigh at the touch. 
Movement caught your eye and you turned to see John, now dressed in his jeans and t-shirt you’d seen on him earlier, those blue eyes watching you closely. As he took a step forward he asked, "You still good Speck?" His head tilted with the question, arms crossing as he neared you.
A slow nod followed his question in answer before you said, "Yeah I'm good." His eyes watched you, not believing you for a second and so you threw out the social niceties you usually stuck with when talking to people. A shrug lifted your shoulders before you grumbled out, "Tired. Been blown up,” you lifted the finger of one hand, “shot,” another finger raised, “knocked out, interrogated, fired I guess," you paused before muttering, "again," under your breath. That got the furrowed brow as you stared at the five fingers you’d already raised and lifted a second hand to count on it, "Got smacked in the face by a door. Almost got shot in the head. And then just got manhandled in a shower." One corner of the Brit’s mouth quirked up in a smug smirk before you huffed out and held up your eight fingers, "So yeah been a long damn day John. I'm fine, but I'm tired."
John nodded, smiling when you held up your hands to show him the tally, "That's fair." His eyes followed you as you stood back up from the bench and turned around to throw the two towels into your duffel bag. You needed to do laundry anyway, not like you had much to wash in the first place. After losing the one set of clothes to the explosion and subsequent blood stains, and even more to the makeshift bandages you were down to a pair of jeans, a pair of sweats, the pants you'd worn on the mission, and two t-shirts since you'd lost the other to your bloody nose. Well that and the Georgia Bulldogs hat you never went anywhere without, and the pair of cowboy boots shoved at the bottom of your bag with all the stuff that reminded you of home.
Arms wrapped around your bare torso without warning, his mouth beside your ear as he whispered, "You sure you don't want to come back with me, Love?" Oh God, you leaned back into him the moment that word left his mouth, "I've got all that room in my bunkhouse now since Ghost is gone. I'm sure the Lieutenant won't mind. Probably wouldn't even notice if you don't come back all night." It would be nice to sleep next to a warm body, well a warm body that wasn't a dog anyway. Like he was reading your mind he rumbled low, "He likes dogs. He'd take care of the pup. You wouldn't even have to ask, Love."
Oh yeah, you were liking the sound of this more and more. Every word he spoke was accompanied by a hum of satisfaction from your throat at the prospect. The pads of his fingers dragging their rough texture over the skin and soft curls of your bare abdomen. “Come back with me, yeah? I’d give you a nice massage, work all those aches out of your muscles.” A light kiss pressed against your neck before he suckled at the skin, you’d thought he was spent but apparently he was just getting started. “And then I’ll fuck you till the sun-” a buzz in the pocket of his jeans cut off his coming promises.
He froze and just like whenever your own phone had buzzed he waited as another notification went off. Damnit no, not now he was just getting to the good part, “Don’t stop now.” The request slipped out before you could stop it, and you could see the tumultuous look in his eyes. You could see his desire to listen but you knew the need to check was, annoyingly, far greater at the moment. Still his fingers squeezed into your flesh, stalled by your plea and yet still asking for your permission, “I didn’t mean that," you forced out a huff of amusement to put him at ease. "Answer it,” one hand pulled off of your stomach and slid into his pocket as he grabbed his phone, both of you frustrated with whoever it was currently trying to get in touch with the man behind you.
The phone was just out of your sight as he looked down at the message. It only took a couple seconds before he slid the phone back in his pocket, returning his hand to where it had previously been. “You gotta go then?” He nodded and hummed an affirmative against your shoulder, seeming almost disappointed in himself for leaving you behind. “I’ve gotta go see Soap anyway, you can give me that massage some other time. Not like I'm going anywhere yet right?” John seemed to tense at that, at the prospect you were going somewhere ever. He didn't seem to like that idea in the slightest and to be fair you didn't either but you doubted he got any say in upper management.
He pulled you tighter against him for just a few heartbeats before his hold began to loosen, “We should talk more though Speck. About us I mean,” the request made you tense up but he made an attempt to soothe your unseen worry with an easy smile. Quickly saying, "I'll let you know when I'm done,” he pulled away from you with one last squeeze at your hip. When you turned to find him he was already backing up towards the door, “Shouldn't be too long. They can't have gotten much out of the guy yet.” He seemed to think better of that statement and chuckled out a quick, “I hope,” before he unlocked the door and stepped out.
Alone again while you watched as the door closed behind him. He wanted to talk about you and him? Was there a you and John though? Sure it'd been some good fucks, well some really good fucks, but did that mean you were something now? Your only experiences with a relationship was a girl you'd gotten pregnant at eighteen and only married because that was what your parents had told you was the right thing to do. It'd been the only time you'd ever been with a girl before. You'd just wanted to see what it was like and to be honest you'd hated just about every second of it. But you'd been a horny teenager back then, you could have gotten off to a fuckin soup ladel back in those days.
But John was different, sure you'd recognized that the second he'd begged you on the couch to let him take care of you. When you'd said things you had no control over you knew he was unraveling you at your seams. But you weren't worth his time. You didn't even have a job anymore, and wasn't that all you were good for? That's what your ex-wife had always told you anyway. You remembered her vividly telling you, on more than one occasion that, "Since you can't take care of your kid, take care of this house, or take care of me I guess the only thing you're good for is that shitty paycheck you bring home every month. Even that doesn't take care of us though." 
And she'd been right, the only thing you'd ever brought to your only real relationship had been disappointment, weariness, and nonchalance in regard to everything that had driven that woman up the walls. She could have screamed at you for an hour straight, she had before, and the most she'd get from you was a quiet nod or shrug. You never even fought back with her, it was how you'd been raised. Besides your job was to fight, to kill people, you didn't want to experience the same things just trying to sit at home and relax. Just give her what she wants and she will leave you alone. But you hadn't been able to give her what she wanted, she always asked for too much of what you didn't have.
Anxiety pounded in around you, clutched at your heart in a way that forced you to sit down on the bench. Good Lord, were you having a heart attack? You pressed your fingers to your neck, feeling for the pulse you knew would be racing just beneath the skin. Sure enough it was, your breathing getting rapid now as you fought the memories down. The other hand pressed to your chest, feeling the pound against your sternum. Letting your hands drop to your thighs you held them in an iron grip, arms shaking with the effort to control yourself. Can't control the past Speck, but you can control whether you pass out right here on this bench.
John isn't her, for one he's a fuckin man idiot, and God is he an attractive one. The thought washed a wave of amusement over you, a small smile turning up your mouth despite your racing heart. Here you were thinking you were in the middle of having a heart attack and you were still thinking about that damn Brit. A flash of his blue eyes in your mind broke your memories of the past, settled your racing mind long enough to feel the grip you currently had on your thigh. As well as the pain that was flared there the longer you held it. Your fingers released in a second and as you stared down a stain of blood spread on your jeans. "Damnit," you muttered, letting out a sharp sigh at the sight.
Always something. You didn’t bother with a shirt, Soap would make you take it off as soon as you got there to tend your wounds. Besides, both of yours smelt more than ripe and you weren't about to walk around after a shower smelling like sweat and wet dog. Slinging the packed duffel bag over one shoulder you headed back to the bunkhouses. Cerberus lifted his head when you came in, Ghost was nowhere to be seen still and he didn't look like he'd moved anything in yet either. "Hey Cerberus, you good in here?" His tail wagged lazily behind him but he made no attempt to move, exhausted after everything that had happened and still recovering. 
To be fair if you weren't 100% sure you'd popped a stitch in your thigh you would have probably crawled into bed right then and there. But the little growing stain on your pants made it very clear you needed to go find the dark haired Scotsman. Leaning down you ran a hand over the top of his head, his fur had dried completely by now and the smell of wet dog had begun to dissipate, clinging only to the towel he’d been laying on. “Alright buddy, hier,” it took him a couple seconds to get up and make his way over to you. When he finally did, you patted your bed and said, “Hopp,” watching him jump up and look back at you before you finally said “Geh Schlafen.”
Cerberus immediately laid on his side, tail thumping a couple times against the sheets before he closed his eyes. You gave him another rub between the ears before heading back out the door. So close, nearly done. Just gotta get this checked out and then you can sleep for however long they allow it. One last push, that’s it, just one last push.
Down the stairs and down a couple bunkhouses until you get to the one that Soap and Gaz shared. Up the stairs and a light knock on the door. Your progress halted for a moment though not sure if you heard a voice inside or not. Another light knock and you were certain you heard a voice that time.
You pushed the door open and took half a step inside before your eyes locked on the bodies currently bent over the bed and half naked. The one behind with dark hair and a mohawk, that was Soap. The other with blonde hair that you didn’t recognize. They didn’t even turn around, probably hadn’t even heard you over their own sounds and the quiet words they were saying to one another.
Why didn’t they lock the door, Jesus Christ, so much mental scarring could have been avoided if they had just locked the damn door. Instead you pulled the door shut behind you, letting out a sigh as you took a seat on the step, rubbing at your eye while you shook your head. You’d already seen too much of these men’s personal lives, too damn much.
It wasn’t like you were trying to sneak up on anyone, you were just trying to get your wounds looked after by someone who had a little more than a staple gun to do it with. Slowly your head tilted as you thought to yourself, ‘Who was the guy Soap had been plowin?’ Big, bigger than you that was for sure. Huh. Well you’d see soon enough whenever they were finally done. If you made it that long anyway, they looked like they could go at it for hours in there.
In the meantime you sat on the porch, the stain on your leg growing slowly and the sounds inside the bunkhouse behind you increasing in volume right along with it. Base residents came by every now and then, probably taking a shortcut to wherever they were actually headed. They glanced at you on the steps with a weird look, probably wondering who the hell you were and why you were just sitting outside for no reason in this heat. That was a fair question you were beginning to ask yourself at this point. 
Without even realizing it at first your leg began to bounce, a low grumble leaving you, “I need a pack of damn smokes. Wonder if anyone else on this team smokes.” A sigh left you as you reached to check your phone for the time but then remembered you no longer had one. Damnit why couldn’t you just sleep? Well you could always just duct tape something else to your leg…or just duct tape by itself since you were kind of running low on clothes now. It would hurt coming off, but damn if it wouldn’t be nice to go to sleep right now.
Fuck it. You pushed yourself up from the stairs and were about to head down when the door finally opened behind you. A masked face slipped out from behind the heavy door, freezing the moment hazel eyes landed on your face even as the door shut beside him. Your expression stayed flat, lips pinched into a tight line while an eyebrow raised curiously up at the Lieutenant. Well you’d found out who the big guy was, but damn if you wished you hadn’t. You know he really didn’t look like a blonde underneath all that grease paint and his mask.
“What are you doing here?” The thick accent fell out of the man’s mouth, almost catching you off guard. Yeah, definitely the Lieutenant. His shirt was incredibly wrinkled with the collar pulled halfway to the side and baring half of his shoulder. The balaclava was barely covering the neck you knew was sporting several hickeys and bite marks. You’d seen them on his pale flesh. Some were older than others so it was unlikely that this was the first time they’d ever been together. Unless this was some kind of Sacred Band of Thebes thing they all had going on, God you hoped not. You were pretty open minded but the idea of bouncing around from one guy to another was just not your forte. But then again…No, not for you.
The two of you continued to stare one another down for a moment, the memory of watching the two of them even if it had only been for a second was still trapped in your memory. He expected an answer though, or at the very least for you to get out of the way and quit blocking the stairs. “Soap said he wanted me to come by to put new bandages on. Hence the no shirt. Well that and it's freakin hot.” He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing at you through the mask before you asked, “What are you doin here though? You haven’t even moved your stuff over yet.”
You could see the flick of his eyes, the attempt to mask the truth as he did his face when he answered, “Same.” And the second you crested the top of the stairs he was moving by you and disappearing down the path. Presumably to move his stuff over to your shared bunkhouse. Shaking your head you pulled the door open. Immediately you were assaulted by the smell of sex in the room and turned to find Soap in only a pair of shorts laying on his bed with his hands behind his head.
He peeked open a single azure hue before closing them again, his smile beaming at the ceiling while he stretched out like a cat in the sun. Good Lord he was a cocky one wasn’t he. “Hey, I’m kinda tired. You mind being quick about this? Pretty sure I popped a stitch.” That caught his attention as he sat up, looking up at your bicep and forearm with a furrowed brow. You tapped your thigh instead and his eyes traveled down to the growing stain of red on your pants.
A finger pointed you to a chair as he pushed up from the bed, “Take yer pants off then Speck. Gotta plug yer leak first.” That turned the corner of your mouth up in a smile. At least he was funny after he made you wait on the damn stairs. He dug around under his bed for a second before dragging a big black bag out and dropping it in front of the chair you were sitting in. He plopped himself into the chair opposite you. Watching as you lifted your hips and slid your jeans down your thighs revealing the slowly leaking wound to him. “Damn, how’d you do that then?” He’d already donned a pair of gloves as he reached forward and inspected the wound carefully.
Shrugging you leaned back, “I’m not sure. I was just kind of squeezing my thigh and when I looked down it was bleeding through my jeans.” Soap gave you a skeptical look then, but didn’t question you further especially when you grumbled out, “Only got two pairs now. Two pairs of pants and two shirts, what a wardrobe. Gonna be walking outside as naked as the day I was born here soon.”
The Scotsman gave a low chuckle of amusement as he reached down to dig through the black bag, “Is that really all ye got?” Your quiet nod had him shaking his own head, “Ye might want to talk to Price about that. Or maybe Laswell since yer all about that covert shite." He pulled out a needle and worked to thread it, with his tongue sticking out just a bit between his teeth as he focused.
You watched for a few quiet seconds before asking, "So what was Ghost doing here? I was expecting him to already be sleeping. Everyone's gotta be exhausted after all that bs today." Blue eyes flicked to you as he missed the eye with the suture, scowling at the needle as he tried again.
Finally the suture threaded through and he finally answered, "He was just asking if we're working out tomorrow." He lied so easily it nearly made you smile and call him on it. There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation in his voice as he spoke, a masterful performance. You might have even believed him if you hadn't known any better.
The memory of their bodies slapping against one another still scarred your memory and burned your retinas though. "Huh, is that right?" He nodded his affirmative as you went quiet and he slid the needle through your skin, restitching the wound. Another question came to mind then, "Soap I've gotta be honest, you don't exactly look like a medic. You seem more like the guy Cerberus would alert to every time you're around. Explosions and fire and all that."
His smile reappeared on his face in an instant as he answered, "That's cause I am.” When he glanced up at you he caught your confusion so he explained, “Price sent me to learn all this stuff. He said I kept getting hurt or some shite, it was kind of funny actually there a few times. Said if I was the one that needed it all the time I should be able to fix myself up because apparently that’s just efficient or something. Which is pure mince.” You nodded at that, as he pulled out a roll of fresh bandages and started to wrap your thigh. "Besides no one else really knew any medical stuff back then so having someone who knows the basics at least is a good idea."
Another quiet nod and he taped off the bandage on your thigh, waiting till you pulled your jeans back up before he went to work on your arm. "Since you asked me a question I think I should get one myself." What’s the worst that could happen? Questions were harmless, you didn’t have to answer if you didn’t want to. Your quick nod was the only encouragement he needed to keep going, "So, what's up between you and the Captain? You two know each other or something?" Well that was a less than ideal question he could ask. Questions in fact were not harmless it seemed, and he more than expected an answer if the look he was giving you right now was anything to go by.
Shifting in the chair you leaned away from Soap trying to think of a viable answer before finally giving him a shrug not daring to meet his eye, “No one knows me Soap. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I’m just your average guy with a dog that you see walking down the street and then you forget. Nothing about me is memorable, nothing about me is meant to be recognizable. That’s the point.” He eyed you carefully, obviously your explanation wasn’t doing it for him. He knew you were avoiding answering the question. You couldn’t lie to him. Fuck, come up with something, say something, anything, “What about you and Ghost? What’s up with you two?” Now that shut him up. For a moment anyway.
Soap’s words clammed up in less than a second while he thought about how to answer that question. You watched as he leaned over your extended forearm wrapping the bandages around your wound, “He’s my friend and you’re avoiding my question Speck.” He smirked up at you through his long, dark lashes, “Why is he so pissed off at you?” Oh that’s what he’s talking about? Well shit you thought he’d figured out that John and you were doing the same thing that he and Ghost were.
Anger you could explain. Anger was easy for you, “Probably because I’ve been thwarting all of you for eight months and you couldn’t even figure out who I was, why I was doing it, or even how I was doing it. I showed all of you up with just me and a dog and a guy trying to kill me.” Soap pressed the tape on the end of the bandage at your forearm and narrowed his gaze at you with a good natured smirk on his face.
He moved up to your bicep and shook his head, “Oh now that’s jobby.” He pressed against the wound there to draw out another shift in the chair from you, “You didnae thwart us, you were taking their families ye bawbag.” You gave him a shrug as you looked down where he was wrapping your arm. You’d gotten the conversation away from you and John at least, but it still made you uncomfortable to talk about the people you’d hurt.
The look of nonchalance, the look that could have rivaled a corpse’s, spread over your face at the memory. The mask you put on to hide the feelings that raged beneath. “It doesn’t matter how I did it, Soap, it just matters that I did it. Me and a dog did what you and the rest of your squad couldn’t.” Soap scoffed at that as he slapped the tape onto the last bandage and you kept pushing his buttons with your words, “You and the rest of those guys never would have even gotten us if Cerb and I hadn’t just been put through an explosion.” The Scot sat back in his chair, mouth open in disbelief at what you were saying even with a smile on his face, “And don’t forget the fact that I was being chased by more than just yall.”
Soap crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head, “What ye think yer better than us then?” You gave a shrug with a smug look coming over your face in place of the nonchalance, “Oh now that’s just- No yer not, we could take ye even on yer best day. We are literally the best out there. That’s what we do,” Soap threw his used gloves into the trash as he stood back up, moving to put the bag back in its place as well.
You stood up and smirked, “Correction, you’re the best the United Kingdom has to offer. Not many to choose from there I’m afraid.” You saw the laugh shake his shoulders as he bent over, disbelief obvious in his gaze when he glanced back at you, “It’s a bet then Soap.” A dark brow raised at you in question, watching as he stood back up from where he was sliding the bag back under the bed. “Cerb and I win, you buy me a bottle of the good stuff, you guys win and I’ll admit the UK is better than the US.” You fixed a smug smirk to your face then, “We’ll wipe the floor with your asses. Easy as pie. Anything you want to do, we’ll win.”
A step towards you, crowding your personal space as you continued to smile down at him, “Yer on then. Tomorrow 13:00. Sound good ta you?” You tilted your head to one side, glancing above his head before tilting your head to the other side as if you were contemplating his challenge. Finally you gave him an answering nod, “Good then. Go get some sleep. I don’t want ye complaining tomorrow when ye lose.” Backing up slowly from him towards the door he added before you left, “Meet at the mess in the morning. I’ll let the guys know what we’re doing.” A quick nod and finally you were out the door, free to go back to your bunkhouse. Thank God.
Trudging up the stairs you headed into the shared bunkhouse. Ghost barely even glanced up at you from where he was laying down with his phone in his hand as he scrolled through something. Stripping free of your jeans you threw them on top of the duffel at the foot of the bed. You didn’t bother with the sheets too tired to move Cerberus who was in no shape to move off the bed anyway. His chocolate eyes followed you from where he was stretched out on the pillow. You wrapped around his body rather than move him, electing to use him as your pillow rather than the fresh pillow you’d been allotted for the time being. It didn’t even take five seconds once you’d pressed your face into the black void of fur before you were dead to the world around you.
There wasn’t nearly enough time between when your eyes closed and the furry, black pillow beneath you was shifting and whining. “Shh Cerb,” you groaned into his brindled fur but the second you spoke he was standing up and forcing you off. You rolled to your side and cracked open an eye, staring at the waving black tail that had made its way over towards the door. Your eyes closed against the harsh light streaming in through the two windows that all the bunkhouses sported. Surprisingly your internal alarm clock hadn’t woken you up and there was certainly no phone to do it instead.
The rumbling voice from the door was the only thing that jolted you back into the present and the situation you now found yourself in, “Good to see you’re still here.” John stood at the door bringing you back to reality and the memories that came with it. “Figured you ran off again or something,” your look of confusion as you sat yourself up on your elbow prompted him to clarify, “My bunkhouse. You were supposed to be there last night after you got through with Soap. I was waiting for you, Speck. Something happen?”
Ah shit, you’d completely forgotten about that after you’d made your bet with Soap. You’d been so exhausted, your entire body weary and aching, last night it’d slipped your mind as you basically fell into the bed across from Ghost. Instinctively you flicked your gaze to where the Lieutenant was supposed to be. Thankfully the bed was empty of the large body.
“I, um, I forgot, shit my bad” you answered lamely, sitting up in the bed with a grimace as the injuries flared to the forefront of your mind. You felt bruised and broken from everything that had happened. Battered from the explosion that had thrown your life into the chaotic mess that it was beginning to feel like now. “Sorry, I was exhausted, I didn’t mean to blow you off,” you pushed yourself up to the side of the bed, stretching your muscles out with a languid roll of your body. John was watching you as Cerberus paced the room back and forth, his energy reserves seemingly restored now.
Standing up on shaky legs you took a step forward, Cerberus darting in front of your feet and tripping you up accidentally. A strong hand splayed across your chest, your own hands grabbing hold of his sides as you steadied yourself. He was wearing clothes but you could still feel the warmth beneath the fabric of the fatigues he was wearing. 
You could remember the scarred skin just beneath where your hand was resting on him. It was a bit jagged like he’d been cut with a knife there, and as you ran your fingers over it you swore you could feel the textured skin there. His whispered words against your ear had you struggling to breathe though as he asked, “You good there, Speck?” His fingers were wrapped around your ribs, and you became glaringly aware of the fact you weren’t wearing a shirt. Nor were you wearing any pants and the blood rushing below the waistband of your underwear was moving faster than a river.
Nodding quickly your voice went up an octave as you answered and tried to back up before you realized that would be ten times more embarrassing than just staying still, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” You shifted in his grip, this wasn’t your fault right? You’d just woken up to the voice of the man you’d been wanting for eight months. One time in the shower wasn’t enough to end that streak of starvation. Clearing your throat you tried to keep your voice casual this time, “I’m sorry about last night, it was a long damn day John.” There was a smile on his mouth when you looked up, his brows raised in a way that was annoyingly endearing. Stepping back slowly you glanced out the window catching sight of the sun, “What time is it?”
The smile fell before he answered, “11:30 why?” Your eyes went wide in front of him, causing his dark brows to rise with a bit of worry in his gaze. Clothes, you need clothes, and Cerberus needs to take a piss and you need to take a piss. God too much to do and not enough time to do it before you had somewhere to be.
His hands let you go as you took a couple steps back and answered, “I made a bet with Soap yesterday to try and get out of his bunkhouse a little faster.” Turning you moved towards your duffel before going through the last pieces of clothes you currently owned. A quick sniff had you recoiling as you dropped it and shook your head in frustration, “Damnit I don’t even have pants.”
The man behind you cleared his throat and you turned to see him patting a set of fatigues as he laid them on the table. “He mentioned something about that at mess this morning. Laswell is handling getting you some other clothes for more clandestine things and another set of fatigues, but I had an extra set of these laying around for today at least.” Damn did that man look good standing in the light of the window with that little smile on his mouth. Knowing he'd just saved your ass from the shit talk Soap would have dished out for a lame excuse like 'I didn't have any pants.' God he was perfect.
Stepping towards him you smirked down at the clothes, flipping the collar back on the shirt before asking quietly, “How did you know my size?” Fingers grazed over your hip, his other hand reaching for your chin to tilt it up as he pressed a kiss to your lips. Once again stepping into your personal space with renewed fervor to taste and feel you. A deep hunger was aching in the both of you that hadn’t been satisfied by your relatively short time in the shower yesterday. It was not even a fraction of what you had missed out on over the past eight months. And in no way was it satisfied by what little time you'd been able to spend together so far.
His hand slid down your side, mirroring the other at your opposite hip. Lips danced over yours as his finger played a familiar tune over your bare skin, turning your thoughts to mush until you could think only of him. How did he do that? God he was absolutely magical. The hands at your hips moved around to dig into the flesh of your ass, and he smiled against your mouth as your hips rolled against his. Both of you finding a familiar ache that needed to be sated and knowing only one person could satisfy it right then and there. Your teeth sunk into his lip right before a whine sounded from the door, claws scratching against the doorframe and breaking your concentration.
There was a soft chuckle against your mouth as the hands pulled you flush against him again, a promise for later now as the both of you began to cool off. “I pay attention, Love,” he finally answered your question. Another quick kiss pressed against your lips before he pulled away and muttered, “Plus I have one of your shirts. You left it at my house that night,” his hands slid back up your back before he finally stepped back, just narrowly missing tripping over the now pacing dog.
A sigh fell out of you at the loss before you were able to get your head back on right. You glanced at Cerberus who was still pawing at the door with his quiet whines. Damn if you didn’t love that dog like your own son. “Thanks for the fatigues, you wouldn’t happen to know where Soap wants me to go, do you? Or maybe what he's cooked up?” You pulled the pants on as John watched with eyes that held nothing behind them but impure thoughts. Before you caught his attention with a quick wave and broke him from his trance anyway.
He sniffed and ran a hand over his mouth before shaking his head, “No clue what he has planned for you no. He just mentioned we’re all supposed to be at the mess by 13:00.” You pulled the shirt on over your head as he continued, "Figured I should come make sure you were awake. And, well, still intact enough for a bet." He eyed you with that smug smile that made that little voice in your head say, ‘Show him just how intact you are.’
Not right now though, you had a bet to win and a meal to eat. “Hier,” you said with a gruff voice, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Cerberus ran at you, taking a seat between your knees while you fitted him with his vest and lead. Slipping it around your waist you stood back up and found John's gaze again, "So where's the mess then? Cerb and I need to eat before we do whatever this is." Your fingers ran over the head at your hip as the Brit led you out of the bunkhouse.
The mess hall was brimming with bodies, thick with the nearly overwhelming noise of idle chatter between friends. It seemed the lunch rush was already in full swing. Joining the line with the dog at your side, your eyes followed the Captain as he weaved through the people to a table occupied by the men you'd met in the squad. Even the blonde woman was there, the one who had taken the prisoner yesterday. Maybe you’d finally get to meet her then.
The line moved slowly as you filled your tray with enough food for you and to slip some to the Dutchie, protocols be damned. Dancing through the mingling bodies with Cerberus at your side you finally made your way to the table where everyone else was sitting. Konig, Watcher, Soap, and Ghost sat on one side with the blonde woman on one side of John and Gaz on the other. It left you with only one place to sit, across from your new roommate and next to Gaz. Cerberus laid down next to you on the floor, out of the way so no one kicked or tripped on him when they passed by..
Shoveling in a mouthful of food you finally tuned into the conversation they were all having. "-heard Cap so panicked. Thought he was gonnae stroke out when I found the earpiece all smashed to wee bits on the ground. Sayin’ the feckers done run off without us." Watcher gulped down some of his drink, a smile on his face as he sat between Soap and Konig.
"Da," Konig answered as he looked between the blonde woman and Gaz. "He had that man on the ground yelling at him. The whole time the man is just yelling back 'No English! No English!' And the Captain is still asking where Speck is and shaking him like a, um," the German paused. Turning to Watcher and asking, “How do you say Schlagsahne?” The ginger seemed to think for a second before he leaned over to whisper something to Konig and the big man nodded quickly, “Skooshy cream.” John was taking a chilled sip from his own glass, closing his eyes against the teasing from the team with a poorly hidden smile on his face.
You however were looking between them all and shaking your head before asking, “The fuck is skooshy cream?” Eyes turned to you, seeming to just notice you’d sat down. Meanwhile your eyebrows were still raised in question, wondering what the hell they were talking about.
Gaz laughed beside you and shrugged, “You know mate, the squirty cream you get from the supermarket. You shake it up real good, it’s white and foamy.”
Another shake of your head in confusion as you asked, “Are ya talkin about shaving cream?” The Brits around you shook their heads in unison, you could even see amusement hidden in the hazel eyes across from you behind his mask. The big man tilted his head back and you saw his mouth open beneath the mask, acting like he was spraying something inside. Your head tilted until Soap finally made the spray noise to accompany it and it finally clicked, “Oh! I get it, you’re talking about whipped cream. You brits and your weird ass names, I swear man.” You shook your head and took a bite from the pile of food on your plate before slipping an apple slice down to the dog beneath you.
John was the one who made a disagreeing noise in his throat as he leaned forward on the table to look past Gaz at you. “Our weird names? It’s not our fault Americans don’t know proper English.” There was a smirk on his face when you looked sideways at him, nearly choking as you tried to laugh and forgot you were still stuffing your face full of food. 
He watched as you chewed a forkful of the food, finally swallowing down most of it so you could actually take in a breath and answer, “Proper English? Not my fault Americans learned how to say everything we need to in the least amount of words possible. Yall are just jealous cause you’re over there piecing together thirty sentences to say what we can say in ten words or less.” Taking a long drink from your cup of water you pulled the tray of food closer and leaned over to take another bite. You hadn’t realized just how hungry you were before but it had been way too long since you’d last eaten a real meal.
It was Soap who finally turned to you and asked, "Alright, alright so what the fuck actually happened in there huh? You went in and all we could hear was, 'blah blah bark growl blah' from yer mic and then a gunshot." The Scotsman didn't even attempt to mimic the languages you had been speaking inside the home, knowing he would never be able to even come close, especially only from the memory of you speaking. 
You smiled around your mouthful of food and shook your head, avoiding the eyes on you from around the table. Ripping off a piece of the meaty portion of whatever this was you’d gotten from selection available. A hand slipped under the table and you felt Cerberus licking it off the tips of your fingers before his head fell back to the floor. You expected all of them to have been back to talking to one another but instead they were still watching you expectantly, waiting for you to give your account after having heard everyone else’s side of the story.
Shifting on the bench seat, no longer used to having so much attention on you, you gave a quick shrug, "He told me we couldn't talk outside so I followed him in. Figured I was dead whether I went inside or refused so might as well make an attempt to get what we needed. Plus I had Cerberus and he wasn't alerting so I figured…Fuck it, you know?" Chuckles in varying degrees of cynicism echoed around the table as you lifted your cup to your lips and took a long drink of water.
A raised hand from the man beside you stopped you from going on as he asked, “Fuck it? That’s the only plan you had?”
Swallowing hard you shrugged and nodded at Gaz, “Well yeah. Fuck it is about the only thing I think when I’m making a decision. Either I don’t go in and I come back empty handed and you kill me for not keeping up my end of the deal,” you paused to see Ghost nod slowly and continued, “Or I go in and they kill me the second the door is closed. At least goin in I didn’t have to worry about getting smacked in the skull by a sniper I couldn’t see however many yards away. So I went in.” The others around the table seemed to be both confused and concerned.
All except for Ghost who was nodding as if he agreed with your assessment of the situation you’d been in at the time. “Well he was acting weird so I asked him if someone else was inside the building and low and behold there was. He failed to mention there was another exit back there or that there were two of them, but whatever. So I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and went to the first door down the hall. And I would have commed you but I couldn't exactly speak in English at the time. Didn’t want them to know I was coming. That’s why I switched from Pashto to Farsi mid-conversation." You paused to take another drink and another bite of the food, handing some more down to Cerberus.
Watcher raised his hand then and you glanced at him, head tilting before he asked, “You speak Pashto and Farsi?” A quick nod had him asking another question before you could speak, “How many languages do you actually speak?” He seemed simply curious but it had you shifting on the bench again. People only asked that question when they thought they could exploit it, at least that was usually your experience with them anyway.
When the others seemed to get a hint of curiosity though you got the sense you were expected to answer. “Well if you’re talking about just straight up fluency then ten. If you’re talking about how many languages I know enough of and understand enough of to hold a basic conversation then it gets a bit muddy.” The confusion around the table prompted you to clarify as you cleared your throat and sat up, “So technically I know Arabic, Pashto, Farsi, Spanish, English, Hebrew, Swahili, Zulu, Yoruba, and Oromo all fluently. However, I do know some basics in the Niger-Congo dialects but there are so many dialects in that region it’s kind of hard to count how many I would actually be able to speak and converse in and understand.” The eyes around the table were beginning to make you uncomfortable with their stares as you added quickly, “So yeah, I speak ten languages fluently.”
Another shovel of food to take a quick breather as well as a drink before you continued, "So I went to the first door in the hall. Had Cerberus go in first but the guy we tracked down got out through another door and then out the back exit. I didn’t know there were two doors for one room, you know? So I went after him down the hall with Cerberus but all the sudden I get smacked in the face by a fuckin door. There was another guy in one of the rooms." You shrugged and tilted your head, "And I took that personally. So I put a knife through his arm, sent Cerberus in through the door, and then I took his gun. Must have lost the earpiece during that little altercation, you all saw the rest though I guess. Saw enough to find me at least."  Ripping another portion of the meat off you slipped it under the table to the waiting dog beneath.
Gaz clapped you on the back and shook his head, "Fuck it, mate." You nodded at that and tipped your cup towards them before tilting it back and downing what was left of the water. The dark skinned Brit beside you turned to Soap then and leaned forward, “So now that we’re all finally here are you gonna tell us what’s going on?” The dark haired Scotsman glanced your way as if you were gonna say something but you were still downing your breakfast and lunch combo, too busy to pay him any mind now. Besides you were finally out of the spotlight you weren’t about to thrust yourself back in unnecessarily.
Soap finally cleared his throat and said, “Well cowboy over there and me made a bet yesterday. He thinks he’s better than us.” Eyes turned to you in unison and you shot your gaze back down to the plate feigning more interest in whatever this jelly-like stuff on your plate was than the conversation currently being had. “So I figured we’d put him to the test, lads. Sniping, clearing house, I mean the works, see how good he really is. If we win he has to admit that the UK, and more importantly Scotland, is better than the US. If he wins we pitch in and buy him a bottle of the good stuff.”
They all acted as if they weren’t interested in what Soap was selling, but anything having to do with competition and bets had more than piqued their interest. The woman on the other side of John spoke up next, “So then what am I doing here Soap? I’m not involved in this.” Another American? Huh, that was interesting.
The Scot held up a finger and nodded, “Aye ye are Laswell. You’re gonna be our neutral party and therefore our scorekeeper.” She seemed to think for a moment before finally nodding her agreement and Soap cast his glance around the others sitting at the table, “So how’s about it lads?” Sounds of agreement rose up from everyone at the table then as Soap turned your way, “Whenever you’re done eating then, Speck.” You smirked his way and lowered the tray below the table.
Cerberus finished off the rest of the food on the tray before you slid it back on the table and shrugged at Soap, “We’re ready.” Soap pushed up from the table, beckoning everyone with a wave of his hand out of the still crowded mess hall. The group followed in staggered packs, Laswell talked quietly with Watcher and John while Gaz and Ghost muttered together and Konig and Soap were joking together as they led yall. You lagged behind the group, watching them all with quiet interest. They’d definitely been together a long time, and they obviously had deep roots with one another.
“First up,” Soap’s voice drug your attention up from the asphalt you’d been watching pass underfoot, “Who is the better sniper?”
You glanced between the sniper rifles on display and the men who were obviously pleased with this being the first challenge, “You know Soap when I said we’d beat you at anything I meant more like cleaning house drills.Things that tested both Cerberus and I, not seeing who the better sniper is.” The dog barked unprompted at that, as if he agreed and wanted something to do now that yall were up and moving.
Ghost huffed as he grabbed one of the rifles off the table, inspecting it for a moment before he said, “Cause you know you’re going to lose. Now hurry up,” he started towards the three stations already setup. You lost track of him as you turned back to the tables.
Two more rifles were currently waiting on the table in front of you. Your head tilted as you looked at them taking a step forward and jokingly asked the Scotsman, “What’s this one for Soap? Is Cerberus supposed to be taking shots now too or something?”
A deep voice made you tense then as it answered for Soap right by your shoulder, “That would be mine, Speck.” John took his rifle off the table and followed Ghost to the three stations currently set up for yall. You shook your head and let out the breath you'd sucked in, a quick glare flashing down at the rifle. “So what then yall get two tries and I only get one?” You questioned Soap as you followed behind the other two men.
The Scotsman shook his head following beside you, “You’ll get two tries, the best of those two will be what Laswell scores. They each get one try,” he pointed to John and Ghost in turn. You gave a slow nod of understanding before Soap added with a grin, “Unless Cerberus wants to take your second set of shots for you. He might be better than you, Speck.”
Your eyes locked onto Soap before you muttered, “Brummen,” listening to Cerberus’ growl rumble out of him towards the shorter Scotsman. The little flinch made you smile as you reached down to run a hand over the dog’s head, chuckling at his reaction.
“Would ye stop doing that?” Soap sounded exasperated but you could see smiles from the others behind you. “He’s going to start thinking I’m lunch or something!” The man grumbled at you before pointing to your target down range, “Get ready. Or you won’t be winning shite,” another light chuckle left you as you knelt. Casting a glance to your left and right where Ghost and Price were already sighting down range you knew this was going to be bad. Christ you were about to get fucked in this first competition and you could already taste it. Just swallow the bitter pill and get this done with, you’d hit it out of the park with the next one…hopefully.
Setting the rifle down you laid on your stomach, glancing to your right and muttering, “Platz.” The dog sunk down to his belly and you set the stock against your shoulder. Aiming down the sights you let out a sigh, muttering to the Dutchie beside you, “Hope you’re ready Cerb, we’re gonna have to blow it out the water after this.” You caught sight of Ghost on your left turning your way, watching as you fiddled with the scope for a second and adjusted yourself on the ground.
The Scottish voice behind you caught everyone’s attention, all three of you on the ground rolling to look behind you at the man, “Ok boys! You each get five shots at five hundred yards. Except for Speck he gets ten, five on each of the two targets down range.” They both glanced your way before nodding and letting the Scot finish, “The best out of Price and Ghost gets judged for us, and the best out of both of Speck’s gets judged for him. Laswell is keeping score. Got it?” The Scotsman received three quick thumbs up as the three of you rolled back to your stomachs.
It was the woman who took over after that, “Ghost you’re going first. Ready Lieutenant?” It took a few long moments before Laswell finally said, “Fire when ready then.” You watched the man closely, his chest rising and falling with slow breaths until the gun finally went off. A resounding bang echoed by your ears, the other four shots coming in quick succession once he’d gotten a good feel for the trigger.
He flipped the safety back on and let the stock of the gun settle back on the ground as he sat back on his knees. He turned back to Laswell and you listened as the woman said, “That’s gonna be hard to beat.” You turned to catch sight of her with a pair of binoculars up to her eyes as she stared at the target Ghost had been aiming at.
“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. Running a hand over your forehead as you turned towards Ghost, “How bad is it?” The Lieutenant glanced your way and you heard the laugh from him rather than see it with his mask still on. The big man shook his head as he continued to stare down range. Well that was definitely not a good sign.
Shifting on the ground you picked the stock of the gun back up, holding it to your shoulder as you sighted down range. Ghost was still chuckling to your left while you could hear the others whispering behind you. “You’re fucked Speck,” the deep British voices on either side of you were finally kind enough to inform you.
You cast a sideways look at them before sighing out, “Yeah no shit, Sherlock.” Aiming at the target you took in a breath and flipped the safety off. As you let out your next breath you squeezed the trigger, nearly surprised when it finally went off. A bit heavier than you were expecting but hey you hit the target. Half a foot below the inner red. “Son of a bitch,” you adjusted slowly to the quiet laughs around you, putting them out of your head. Never had you claimed to be a sniper, and thank fuck for that or this would have been so far past embarassing.
Another shot and this one was three inches too low, and it drew out another round of laughs. Again you adjusted and the shot went high this time. Too much. “Are you even trying, Cowboy?” Soap asked behind you and you raised a hand over your shoulder, middle finger high in the air in a one finger salute. “No sniper school in the US then?” You shook your head and adjusted again, this time the bullet hit the edge of the red at least.
The next two shots danced around the red and then your first set of shots were done. Laswell hummed behind you and said quickly, “That certainly isn’t gonna do it Speck. You’re up John,” your eyes flicked over to the man on your right. He was stock still, but you didn’t see tension in his form. You could see the rise of his back with every inhale, and the fall every time a breath left him. He held the stock of the rifle against his shoulder, staring down the range at his target.
The sight was akin to watching a painter envisioning their masterpiece before putting it on canvas. Or a composer hearing a tune in their head before they played it. To be completely frank he was beautiful and 100% without a doubt completely in his element. And you, well you were so completely distracted by him he could have aimed the rifle right at your head and you'd have been none the wiser. Too busy admiring the way his body seemed to relax into the rifle at his shoulder, more than comfortable with the weight against him.
He took a few moments longer to set up his shots than Ghost had, adjusting the scope of the rifle a couple times, whispering something to himself about wind and bullet drop. However when he took them it was in much quicker succession, emptying his clip in under seven seconds, you counted every single one, before lowering the stock to the ground and sitting back on his heels. “Nice grouping John, you’re getting a bit slow though. Should start taking more shots at the range,” he huffed to your right and when you glanced back Laswell was smirking behind the binoculars. They were obviously joking, so they’d definitely known each other for a while.
It brought the question to your mind again: Who even was this woman? You had yet to be formally introduced to her but the rest of the squad seemed familiar with her. It was just you in the dark at this point then it would seem. Though you wished you had been acquainted with the only other American on your new team. "Last round for you Speck, fire when ready." Her voice broke you from your thoughts and you shifted on the ground again, aiming to the target on the right this time.
Just breathe and squeeze the trigger slowly, and don't make a fuckin fool of yourself. That's it, that's all you gotta do. Deep breathe in, stock of the gun to your shoulder, safety off, deep breath out, squeeze the trigger, gun fires, red dot hit. It was the first one you'd managed to get a clean shot on yet and pride ran through you at the accomplishment. Don't get cocky now though, you've still got four more to hit. Another shot, and another clean hit through the red, nearly flush through the first hole. Another shot and it veered an eighth of an inch to the left, but it was still cleanly through the red. Three down and two more to go, you've got this Speck just keep breathing. Another shot and you're over adjusting again, calm down, half in the red and half off, you could hear the woman behind you already docking your score. One last shot then you were done, and that's when it always falls apart isn't it. A beautiful pattern and grouping thrown off by a wind you couldn't possibly have foreseen.
The shot goes wide to the left, missing the red by an inch. You push yourself up to sit back on your heels, hands bracing on your thigh as you glance over your shoulder at the woman. It wasn't necessary though, you already knew you'd lost. She shakes her head, "141 gets the first win." Soap pumps a fist in the air, quietly celebrating their win as you turn back to look at the targets set up down range.
John and Ghost stand up on either side of you, the Lieutenant asking Laswell, "Who did better? Me or the old man?" Old man? John was far from old, or maybe you were just saying that cause he made you feel like a teenager again. That was certainly a possibility. Laswell however wasn't divulging that information as she handed Soap his binoculars and stepped away from the two men. "Come on Laswell, who won?" She merely shook her head much to the Lieutenant's annoyance.
Standing up you grabbed your rifle, putting it back where you'd found it on the table and glancing at Soap. He was smirking as he watched you, but he was quick to stop when you gave a little smile and chuckle. Losing at this wasn't worth being upset over, "I'm not a sniper Soap. I got a dog so I never had to do all that math and bullshit." John laughed as he put his rifle back on the table as well and joined the others of the group, shaking his head as he went. It was the truth though, you'd gone to EOD training before you'd let them throw you into marksman training, fuck math. "What's next Soap? I'm dying to know."
The Scotsman cleared his throat and caught the attention of everyone once again as they all quieted around you, "We're running the obstacle course next, get ready!" Groans resounded from many a mouth as Soap shot glares around to the rest of the squad, "This is for our pride as men, as Scots and Brits and Germans. Git yer heads on right lads, we have a competition to win." They all looked at one another, he was surprisingly motivating when properly motivated himself.
John however was not taking the Scot's bait, "I'm not running the obstacle course Soap. If he manages to beat every single one of you at it with a dog strapped to his waist then he can have that win as far as I'm concerned." You smirked at the men in front of you, now an obstacle course that you could do. Both you and Cerberus were more than capable of giving them a run for their money on that.
The Scotsman seemed to think on it for a moment before nodding, it wasn't worth it to argue with John on this, "Fair enough, Captain. You can go with Laswell and wait for us at the end then." With that the blonde American and the brunette Brit headed off in their own direction, muttering together as they went. Soap turned to the rest of you and beckoned you all with a wave, "Alright so it's a five kilometer circuit. Speed and stamina, you've gotta have both if you want to win this." You most certainly did, five kilometers so that was three miles. Shit that was easy pickings for you and Cerberus, that was less than a daily run for the two of you.
Stopping next to a wooden marker, Soap turned back to you, "There are obstacles along the way that both you and the dog have to get over. Don't cheat, man that's just sad, aye?" You gave him a nod, like momma always says God don't like cheaters. "Unless there is physically no way for Cerb to do it, like with the tire flips." Another nod and he pointed at the line drawn in the dirt in front of you. "Line up then, I'll let the Lieutenant count it down though. Have at it Ghost," the Scotsman shot the big man a smile as he joined the growing line of men. 
It was you, Cerberus, Ghost, Gaz, Konig, Watcher, and Soap all at the line as you unclipped the lead from Cerberus' collar and whispered, "Fuss." He was attached to your hip, looking up at you with his tail wagging behind him. You had to give it to the Dutchie, he was always up for some friendly competition. Especially when it came in the form of showing off his athletic abilities.
Ghost cleared his throat and took a look over everyone's head down the line on either side before saying, "On go. You go before I'll drag you back and have you doing push-ups till you pass out." He got quiet noises of agreement from the men around him, including one from you and a soft yip from Cerberus at your prompting. Another glance down the line before he said, "3, 2, 1," he paused to glare, assuring no one was making an early break, and then yelled, "Go!"
You took off, Cerberus bounding at your side along the clearly marked trail. Your thigh was already starting to burn, and fuck if that bandage wasn't chaffing the shit out of you. You would be aching all over by the end of this thing and you knew that for a fact. Ignore it. You had a task right now and you would be damned if you weren't about to clean up at this thing. Watcher and Konig were the first two to fall behind the speeding group, though to be fair neither seemed all that interested in the competition to begin with. Especially not when it came to running the course, the two two seemed more than happy just to watch everyone else duking it out. They were probably just in this for the PT at this point, the PT and the laughs.
Coming around the bend you hit the first obstacle, a crawl through the mud under rope netting you dove to your stomach. Cerberus was right behind you, you could feel him inching forward between your thighs as you both crawled through. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were on par with you, trudging through the silty dirt at your shoulder. The second you were out from under the netting you were back on your feet and running. Cerberus let out a few loud barks behind you before he caught up, sticking to you like glue as he always did. Though you had to admit he was pushing you faster than you were used to, it was like the Dutchie knew you were competing and was trying to get you moving faster.
None of you seemed willing to give in at this point, arms pumping as you all urged more speed into your already grueling pace. It was doubtful they were even considering the length of this course at this point, more focused on not letting you and Cerberus out of sight. They weren't considering that you'd been running at a dog's pace for nearly twenty years straight, even longer than that really. This pace was as close to a jog as Cerberus would let you run. Having to keep up with the most athletic animals in the world had made this easier than they could ever imagine though.
The tire flips were where you finally started to pull ahead. Despite the burn in your thigh and arm at every flip of the huge rubber obstacle you made it to the end first. Ghost was right behind you and the dog that was near howling at you like a drill sergeant to go faster. The big man was struggling though, he was fast but could he keep that pace up the whole run? Maybe if it weren't for the thirty other things you had to do in between all that. 
Your stomach nearly dropped at the sight of the next obstacle ahead. A moment of doubt in Cerberus' abilities wormed into your mind as you hesitated. Two platforms about ten yards apart from one another with thin rope nets, the holes big enough Cerberus could get his leg stuck if he wasn't careful. The two platforms were about twenty feet up in the air, with a ladder on one side and a rope down the other. Ghost pulled ahead of you as you hesitated a bit, reaching the ladder before you and starting the climb up with ease. Damn you should have been the first one on that ladder. You had to get up there before Soap and Gaz got here or else you were gonna be out of this. Fuck it.
You were right below Ghost as you started the climb, glancing down to the pacing dog beneath you and saying, "Hopp." It took him a second as he worked it out in his mind, looking up at the both of you climbing and turning the command over in his mind. This wasn't the first time Cerberus had climbed a ladder though and you were certain it wouldn't be the last. You were a quarter of the way up as the Dutchie started up the rungs finally. Just as Soap and Gaz came around the bend in the trail and watched the climbing dog with surprise in their eyes.
A smirk found your mouth as you focused again, pulling yourself onto the platform behind Ghost who was already crossing over the net with ease. By the time he was dropping down using the rope on the other side you were hauling Cerberus up onto the platform with you. "Hier Cerberus, kriechen," you started over the netting as he crawled behind you, albeit slower without the addition of opposable thumbs to grip onto the rope with. And the added danger of his limbs falling through the ropes. 
Ghost had disappeared around the next bend but you could make it up, you had time. God you hoped you did anyway. Gaz and Soap both made it over to the other platform before Cerberus could get across to you, but as the Scotsman was climbing down he finally got to your side. Barking excitedly at you before you issued a quick, "Bleib," watching him settle as he inched towards the side. You grabbed the rope and climbed over the side of the platform, sliding down quickly. Feeling the burn in your hands as you did.
The second your feet hit the ground you yelled up to the dog who was still peeking over the side down at you, "Hier," and the missile came off over the side in a second. He was insane, Cerberus would have literally trusted you with anything. You held his very life in your hands with every decision you made and command you issued to him. The second he hit your arms his body turned to liquid and you softened his landing on the dirt. Forearms braced underneath his torso and feeling the way his muscles jarred at the impact. Within the next rapid heartbeat the two of you were running again. Ignoring the now climbing Watcher and Konig in favor of catching up to the disappearing Soap and Gaz.
There was no time for pacing yourself, not anymore. It was an all out sprint right by the two Sergeants even as Soap seemed to kick on another gear as he tried to keep pace though eventually he fell behind again. It took you longer than you expected to catch back up with Ghost though. He was halfway across the poles by the time you made it there. His elbows bent and his feet just above the ground as he used his hands to walk over the twenty yard span. Your shoulder was aching just thinking about it, but your pride would be aching more if you didn't get on with it and let yourself fall behind again.
Fuck it. Hands bracing on the metal you pushed yourself up on bent elbows. "Good lord," you muttered, an amused laugh coming from the man in front of you at the quiet curses falling from you. Pain was lancing through your whole shoulder now as a grimace bloomed on your face. But you were right behind the Lieutenant now, Cerberus pacing the twenty yards beside you and very nearly taking off with Ghost before he remembered he was with you, not the big man.
The second you were at the end and your boots touched the ground you were leaving Soap behind on the bars with the other quickly approaching Sergeant. "Christ, how is he so bloody fast!?" You heard the frustrated comment behind you from the Scotsman. There was no time or breath to answer him, you could only smile as you rounded the bend chasing after the Lieutenant.
As you came up on Ghost you could hear his rapid breaths. He'd been pushing too hard for too long, letting you and Cerberus run him at your pace rather than the pace he was used to. You pulled ahead, gliding by him seemingly with ease, though the hitch you could feel forming in your thigh knew otherwise. It couldn’t be too much further now, just keep ignoring it and finish strong. With no one left to chase it was just you at the pace you were comfortable with. Thigh and arm burning with the shocks of pain, still not really recovered from the aches and injuries of the day before but never would you willingly admit that. Lose or win you would take it in stride.
God, how long have you been running now? Just as the thought crossed your mind you caught sight of Laswell and John, both standing with crossed arms just beyond your last obstacle. A fifteen foot vertical wall with two ropes attached to either side. Could your shoulder even handle that? It hadn't even been able to hold your weight with the help of a climbing harness before. Oh this was gonna suck ass so much.
We're not stopping now, you didn't just run this whole course to give up at a frickin wall. "Bleib," the Dutchie stopped dead in his tracks, tail waving behind him as he watched you run towards the wall. Your foot found the wall first as you ran up, fingers wrapping around one of the ropes as you started the grueling climb, barely even glancing over your shoulder when you heard a curse. Cerberus’ barks followed after him but you didn’t have time to look behind you.
Ghost was here then. Move faster, Speck, because this big bitch will scale this wall in no time at all if you don’t. You slung your good arm over the top of the wall as you hauled yourself up. Cresting the wall you finally glanced down, he was halfway up this side. A smile found your mouth and you saw his eyes narrow behind the mask before you grabbed hold of the rope on the other side and slid down with a loud, "Oh fuck me!" Pain stung up your leg as you picked your foot up for a moment, but you could whine about it later. "Cerberus, hopp," you yelled back at the dog still waiting for you on the other side of the wall.
The Dutchie broke out at a sprint, Ghost stopping his climb as he hooked his arm over the top and looked back. Even from this side of the wall you heard the quiet comment from the Brit, "No fuckin way." Oh hell yeah. One of the most athletic animals in the world and you were so proud of the fact Cerberus was about to be able to show off in front of all of them. 
Soap didn't stop his run for the wall as he came around the bend but you could see him staring wide eyed at the dog with Gaz right beside him. The two paused as they both grabbed hold of a rope and looked up. Cerberus scaled the wall faster than any man or woman could have. Running up the side with pure power and determination. He slowed as he reached the top, Ghost watching him hook his front paws over right beside him. His hind legs scrambled at the wood for a moment and worry coursed through you that he wasn’t going to make it. Fifteen feet was more than he’d ever climbed before. Shit had you pushed him too far?
A quiet whine echoed down from the Dutchie before you saw a gloved hand wrap into his scruff on the other side and give him the boost he needed to perch on the top of the wall. Right before he shot his body off the top and over the other side like the rocket he was born to be. You could see his eyes searching for you, your arms lifting to cradle his belly as he slammed into your arms and you softened his landing. You couldn't break it completely but you could minimize his risk of injury. It didn’t stop your own body from hurting but that was secondary to the pain of the animal’s. Protect him first and you could handle yourself afterwards.
The last couple of feet were easily yours as you finally collapsed beside Laswell and John with Cerberus barking wildly beside you already wanting to run the course again. The Brit was looking down at you with a smirk and his hands in his pockets, while Laswell was watching with narrowed eyes. You lifted a finger and said between heaving breaths, "One for me,” you held up your other hand with a little wince before finishing, “One for you." John shook his head and glanced down at his phone as he pulled it out of his pocket.
There were a few seconds of silence before he leaned over to whisper something to Laswell and then said to you, "That's a new record Speck. Congratulations. You beat Ghost’s old record by half a second." You gave him a thumbs up before letting the tired arms fall back over your eyes. Trying to get your breathing back under control.
Listening to Ghost hit the ground a few feet away before he too joined you with his heaving breaths, taking a seat with Soap and Gaz in tow. Konig and Watcher showed up a minute later, dropping down on the other side of the wall not breathing nearly as heavy as the rest of you had been. John didn’t seem too happy about their seeming laxness though as he told them, "Keep slacking like that, you'll be running the course for the next week. Until you pass out. Pick up the pace next time you two."
Watcher and Konig both nodded as the ginger answered for them, "Of course Captain. Sorry," and a few silent minutes passed as everyone caught their breaths.
Laswell finally broke it though with a quick, "Speck won that round just in case anyone was wondering." You shot a pleased smile at everyone gathered in the group then, rubbing Cerberus between the ears with a few quick and quiet words of praise for him.
Soap rolled his eyes though, "Yeah Laswell. Figured that one out when I watched his dog fly off the top of the wall like he was about to elbow drop a fucker through a table." A low laugh escaped you at the thought. God you loved this dog, "Alright whatever, next up we're cleaning house. Let's go," the Scotsman pushed himself to his feet helping Gaz up next to him.
A groan nearly fell out of you at the thought of moving now. You'd put everything into winning that obstacle course without any regard to the challenges that would come after it. Now your shoulder was aching and your thigh was burning. A break was what you needed but the reprieve wasn't coming any time soon sadly. Instead a hand was thrust into your line of sight, the familiar calluses drawing your eyes up the long arm to his ocean hues. Taking hold of John’s hand he helped you to your feet, waiting as you clipped Cerberus' lead back on his collar before you both trailed after the rest of the squad.
His voice was quiet, meant only for you as he whispered, "I didn't think you would be able to beat Ghost honestly. That was impressive. He has held that record for a long time now," his eyes found you for a quick moment before he focused on the group ahead. The praise pulsed through every limb, invigorating your once tired body. Striking new life into your exhausted limbs, "You're looking a bit tired though, Speck. Does that mean you're not coming with me to my bunkhouse tonight?" 
Oh fuck. Your abdomen tightened at the words he was using to hide his intended meaning. At the dirty thoughts now running rampant through your mind and completely unchecked. Pressure was building and you needed to stop it before anyone else caught sight. Looking up at the Brit you caught his smirk. That asshole, he knew full well what he was doing. Man was playing dirtier than a five dollar whore. And the worst part was you couldn’t stop the reaction he was getting out of you either.
Your mouth turned into a scowl as you muttered back to him, "Keep it up and I'll make you regret it tonight John. Quit trying to distract me." Speeding up you merged with the rest of the group, putting him at the back of your mind for the moment. You couldn't afford to be distracted by the thoughts of that beard between your legs or those eyes looking up at you. Fuck no, not right now. You had a bet to win. Then you could have the Captain for as long as you wanted, or as long as you could manage anyway.
The next building you entered, by the grace of God, was air conditioned. You and Cerberus both needed to cool down after that long ass run. Ghost didn’t bother to stick around for Soap’s little summary of this competition as he made his way up a set of stairs to a viewing platform overlooking the whole thing. He must have already known what the Scotsman had in store for you.
This time only two automatic weapons were awaiting you on the table and you gave a thought at how long it had taken Soap to set all of this up. It had to have taken a long time to get the obstacle course setup for y'all, and not to mention all the targets he had to set out for the sniper competition and all at five hundred yards. He’d certainly put a lot more thought into this than you had originally thought he was going to. The man seemed to live for competition. It also made you wonder what the hell else you were all supposed to be doing today. 
The Scotsman turned to you then with a smile on his face and a cocky tilt to his head, “Just me and you this time, Cowboy.” It’d been a long time since anyone had the balls to call you that. He really was an endearing one you had to give it to him, “We clear each room till we hit the finish line. You have one pistol and one automatic weapon, two pistol magazines and two automatic magazines.” He gestured with a jerk of his chin to the other half of the table before continuing, “We have a Fennec for you since that’s what you were using when we found you but the ammo isn’t live.”
You nodded slowly as you moved towards the table, lifting the gun with your good hand to test the weight. “Alright, I’m following you so far,” you gave him a quick smile. At least you could still lift it comfortably without having to use your other arm too much. Especially after that damn obstacle course. God you were never going to get over that damn thing. 
He cleared his throat to capture your attention again and your eyes found him quickly, “You hit a non-combatant you get a penalty. We both get one chance, that’s it. You can watch from up top because I’ll be going first. Get a feel for it,” Soap grabbed his pistol and M4 with you watching quietly for a few moments. The Scotsman added over his shoulder as he made his way to the starting line, “The situations will also be changing with each round. Sometimes there will be hostages, sometimes you will have potential bomb threats. Your approach to the situation will be judged just as much as your time, so keep that in mind.” He did a once over of his gear real quick and turned to look at you, making sure you understood the rules.
“Got it,” you answered him and threw him a quick thumbs up. “Break a leg Soap,” you said before looking around when a hand tapped you on the shoulder. Gaz nodded to the stairs that everyone else was heading up prompting you to follow after them. You looked down at the rooms with people milling about inside as you leaned against the railing, resting your leg while you had the chance. Hostages it seemed was the first scenario picked for the Sergeant. You looked down at Soap standing outside the door as he readied himself. The second the door flung open Price hit start on his stopwatch and the Sergreant’s time began.
The first room had three enemy combatants, and it only took three shots for Soap to count them out before he moved on to the next door with surprising rapidity. He didn’t even take a second to slow down as it too flung open, a man with a gun held to a hostage's head shouting at Soap in Arabic to back up. The Scotsman didn’t bother to attempt to negotiate though, he simply pulled the trigger and before the other man could even try to react he was being called out. Soap freed the hostage and frisked them quickly for weapons before directing them to remain out of sight and behind him.
The third room was an ambush zone, you could see it before Soap even opened the door. One wall was longer than the other and as he moved to clear the left side an enemy combatant rounded the corner on his right, grabbing the gun in his hand and forcing the barrel down to the floor. A hard kick to the stomach and a quick flip of the pistol out of its holster to double tap the man and he was continuing on though.
Damn this kid was fast. Not once had he slowed down and stopped moving yet and he was very nearly done. The next door swung open before he reached it and he put a splatter of paint on the man’s chest, shoving by him into the next room. Three hostages were tied on the ground and he worked to cut through their bindings quickly. With his back to one hostage you watched as the woman slowly turned and pulled a pistol from her waistband. 
Before she even got the weapon all the way out though Soap had her arms trapped at his side underneath one of his own. His own pistol under her chin as he said, “Drop the gun.” When it clattered to the ground he released her hands and reached down for the weapon to shove it in his own waistband and out of reach. Still pointing the pistol at her he ordered her to the ground, securing the woman’s hands before directing all the hostages safely out of the training room with his own hostage at the head of the group like a body shield.
“Time!” Laswell said to your left and you watched John click the button to stop the timer on his phone. You glanced their way as he showed the phone to the woman and she gave a slow nod at the numbers. Soap was at the top of the stairs in a heartbeat with a smug look on his face, he knew he was good and he didn’t care who else knew it either. “Two minutes flat Soap, good run. No penalties either.”
The Scotsman gave a quick nod, “Nobody’s faster than me, Speck. That’s why I hold the record.” Huffs of amusement rose up and shaking heads were seen from around the group but no one had anything to say in terms of disagreement. Even if Gaz did look mildly annoyed at the arrogance on display. “You’re up next, good luck,” your eyes narrowed at him as you headed back down the stairs with Cerberus at your side.
Grabbing the gun in your left hand you tested the weight again, experimenting with the pain in your shoulder as you stretched it out. “Just like the apartment buddy, we can do this one, yeah?” You knelt beside the dog, running a hand over his head and muttering, “Time to work for real this time.” His eyes bore into yours, still panting from the heat outside and the run. “Gib laut,” he barked once but as you gave the command again several echoed throughout the indoor training area.
“Zurück,” you muttered watching him back pedal slowly towards the door, until you held up a palm to him. He froze, even the barking stopped as he watched expectantly for whatever he was supposed to be doing next. Your eyes shot up to Soap then as you asked, “Rules of engagement for the dog?” It seemed he hadn’t thought of that based on the look in his eyes. That was like half of your kit and he hadn’t even thought about it?
Finally the Scotsman said, “No biting anyone, not in this scenario anyway.” He turned to yell at someone on the other side of the training area, “Go get the bite sleeves, Wade!” When he turned back you looked back down to the dog and set your shoulder to the side of the door.
Just like any other training session, except now you had people watching and you were down an essential tool you were very used to. And why did this feel like more of an audition than a fuckin competition at this point? Oh well, make do with what you’ve got. Adapt to the situation at hand and blow them out of the water. “Fuss, Cerberus,” he moved to your side and you pushed open the first door.
The second you stepped inside the first room you spotted your first hostile. One shot and one down. A sweeping arc around the rest of the room but no one else was in there. “Voran,” you muttered and the dog ran a sweep of the room, searching as you made your way to the first door quickly. As you lined up on the door he regrouped on you and you pushed into the next room.
A splatter of paint hit the doorframe near your head as you moved into the room and you raised the rifle to splatter paint all over his glasses. He stepped back and your eyes flicked around the room catching sight of a man hiding behind a desk. You fired a shot at the last second into his chest watching the man step back into the corner. Checking the rest of the room a growl came from Cerberus, and in the next second you heard the door opening behind you into the next room. Swinging around you double tapped two shots into his chest.
Keeping your eye on the now open doorway you muttered, “Voran,” again, watching Cerberus move quickly into the next room with you right behind him. It was the ambush point, the room Soap had almost gotten shot in the first time. This time though the dog froze and you watched him sink to the ground. An explosives scenario then, lovely. You checked the first corner and then around the second as well before you looked down at Cerberus.
His eyes shot up to you and then to the last door before you whispered, “Bleib,” and left him laying down behind you. He couldn’t assist so no reason to put him further into danger right now. Don’t slow down, your time couldn’t afford for you to stop now. You pushed into the final room and very nearly took a fist to the face as you side stepped. Instead the fist smacked into your right shoulder, the limb going numb at first before pain ran through your fingertips.
“Oh fuck you!” The barrel of the Fennec slammed into his chest as you fired off three paint rounds into his chest. A foot slammed into his chest next as you kicked the guy back with a growl. Your arm was still dead but at least the room was empty now. Except for the decoy bomb in the middle of the final room staring back at you. A grimace painted your face as your arm curled into your stomach and you knelt beside it.
The timer ticked down from forty-five seconds and you glanced up to the group staring down at you. Your next decision depended on how many people would be affected if you left it. This was a role playing situation though, and you didn’t have enough information to make a decision to disarm or get the fuck out. So you asked them quickly, “Is this a heavily populated area?”
Surprisingly it was John who answered your question rather than Laswell or Soap, “Affirmative. It’s a school and the children haven’t been evacuated yet.” You nodded slowly as you continued to inspect the bomb, pulling a knife out of your pocket as your eyes wandered over what you could see. Another spasm of pain jolted down your shoulder as you shifted but you could ignore it, for a few more moments anyway. You traced the wires carefully from what would have been the actual bomb to the timer. Disarm the timer first and worry about the possibility of a remote detonation second.
Unless the timer has a backup detonator, fuckin hell. Thirty seconds, was that even enough time? Three wires, all of them going into the same port on the timer, so the likelihood of a secondary detonator on the bomb itself was unlikely. Safe to remove the timer from the equation then, hopefully. It’s been too long since you were in EOD training. Which wire to cut, you ran your finger up the length of each wire again, inspecting it for a few more moments before you finally shook your head, you could be wrong but you only made a real mistake once right? The muttered, “Fuck it,” fell out of your mouth before you severed the wire.
The timer went dead and you inspected the rest of the bomb. Remote detonation was still possible. Removing the face of the timer with the knife you stared down at it carefully. The wires connected only to the timer then. A smile lit up your face as you stood back up, still hugging your arm to your stomach, feeling the pins and needles in your fingers as the sensation came back. “Let’s go Cerb, fuss,” he was at your side in a second as you swept your way out of the rooms.
Crossing over the last doorway you heard a loud, “Time!” You laid the gun on the table and reached for your shoulder with a quiet grunt. The pain was finally working its way into the foreground of your thoughts, no longer content with being in the background. Slowly you made your way up the stairs, joining the rest of the group as you hid the grimace once more. “Two minutes and fifteen seconds but that was great situational awareness, Speck.” The woman paused as she seemed to think, considering the two runs carefully before she finally said, “Soap was faster though. I’m gonna have to give this round to him.”
You sighed and shook your head as the Scotsman pumped his fist, “Aye, ye hear that lads. Soap has done it again.” There were groans and mutters to tell him to shut up, but you stayed quiet. It drew the azure hues to you with a furrowed brow before the man seemed to realize you were still holding your shoulder, “We should take a break though. Pick it up tomorrow?” Thank God he’d suggested it because there was no way you were going to do so.
“Hell yeah,” you mumbled and leaned back against the railing for a moment. Soap stepped towards you, his brows raising and you shook your head, “Nah man I’m good. Just need a break. Besides it’s getting late, we’ve been at it all afternoon.” You let your hand fall away from the pulsing limb, heading back down the stairs. A shower and some food sounded heavenly right now.
The rest of the group were quick to follow out of the indoor training area. Everyone seemed to be done with the competition for the day, including Soap who called after you, “Come see me later for some fresh bandages. Ye need to keep changing them!” You gave him a thumbs up as you turned to find Laswell. You still had the whole clothes issue, to sort out before you were walking naked around this base.
The woman raised her brow at you questioningly before you spoke, “Hey Laswell right?” She gave you a quick nod before you continued, “Soap and Price said you could handle my clothes situation? And I figured I should ask you about getting Cerberus some more dog food? He’s nearly out and I doubt yall are gonna let me leave base to go get it myself.” She smiled at that but you didn’t know if that was her agreeing with the statement or not.
Finally she answered, “The clothes should be in your bunkhouse already. Fatigues and civilian clothes. I’ll get someone to handle the food this time, but Wade handles all the supplies for Bravo team so you’ll need to talk to him next time you need something.” You gave a quick nod as she departed with another smile, heading in the direction of the mess hall.
The rest of the squad seemed to have cleared out as well, all except for John who still had his hands shoved in his pockets and a smile on his face. And his eyes, God he had bluest damn eyes, they were glued to you. “You gotta stop doin that, John,” his head tilted questioningly as he stepped towards you. “The watching, the smiling, someone is gonna notice. Your team aren’t exactly idiots. They can be stupid, but they aren’t idiots.” He shrugged as he took another step closer, his eyes traveling down the length of your body.
The guys you’d been shooting at inside the training op filed out of the building behind you, and for the most part he ignored them. You did as well, they weren’t your problem right now. Until the door shut again and he glanced back to watch the group disappear around the building. As the last one rounded the corner his eyes snapped back to you and his fingers shot to your shirt, pulling you forward to press a hungry kiss to your mouth. It was shocking but certainly not unwanted, not even in a place so open as this.
He tasted better than any meal you’d ever had, the hand in your shirt not nearly enough contact to satisfy the growing need in your stomach. Just as fast as his mouth had covered yours, the hungry, devouring heat pulled away again. You watched his tongue reach out to wet his lips, that smirk finding his mouth again as he tasted you on his mouth. “What was that for?” You looked nearly taken aback by the suddenness of the kiss, finding yourself already aching for more. 
His voice was dangerously quiet and you recognized the desire in his voice the second he spoke, “You’ve been walking around with my name on your arse all day, Love. I’ve barely been keeping myself at bay,” he started by you, a hand sliding down beside him to grab at the ass he had mentioned. His fingers were squeezing at your flesh with a promise for more. Damn. You hummed at that as you turned to follow him with your eyes and he kept walking. He glanced over his shoulder for only a moment before jerking his head in a quiet signal for you to follow him.
A smile spread over your mouth as you followed against the wiser wishes of your brain which knew you needed a break. The wrong head was thinking now and to be honest, if it kept having great ideas like this you might just let it. You dropped Cerberus off at your bunkhouse, filling his food and water bowl before you left. Before you even knocked on the door to John’s bunkhouse the door swung open and his fingers latched into your shirt again and pulled you inside before he slammed the door shut.
His mouth found yours again and his tongue teased at your lips, seeking to rediscover the passages he’d mapped out eight months ago. Your back found the door as he caged you in with his body, his form seeming to block out the only light source in the bunkhouse. You heard the lock turn behind you before his hand ran across your lower back, seeking something and you were pretty sure you knew what it was.
Oh yeah you definitely knew what it was. Slowly his fingers slipped lower and he dipped below the waistband of the pants to get a handful of your ass, kneading at the soft flesh. He hummed into your mouth, and you felt his mouth turn up with a satisfied smile. He’d finally found what he was searching for, “Love this arse.” His other hand reached around to join the other as he pulled your hips into his. Grinding his hard erection into your own hardening length through the thick fabric of both of your pants.
A moan fell out of your mouth at the friction, pressure building quickly below your belt and you were wanting more, needing more. His tongue dipped into your mouth, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he finally tasted your mouth. The man was near feral after keeping his hands to himself for so long, and God so were you. Yesterday in the showers hadn’t been nearly enough for either of you. 
His lips pulled away from yours and he rolled your hips forward against his own again. Both of you savored the feel, wanting more but not willing to break apart just yet to get to one another. His nose pressed into your cheek a couple times until you finally looked up, eyes locking on his. “I want to see this arse bouncing on my cock, Love. Now.” Your head tipped back into the door as his mouth found your neck, sucking and kissing at the exposed skin greedily.
God he was intoxicating. You would have never let anyone else talk to you like he does, but everything he said, and it didn’t matter the situation or even what he was saying, it always went straight to your cock. And good Lord you wanted him inside you just as bad as he wanted to be there.
A hand reached up, leaving your skin to hook a finger into the neckline of your shirt. It drug down your heated flesh, exposing it to him slowly. And then his lips were sucking hard at the skin of your collarbone, teeth capturing it with a nip hard enough you knew he was going to leave a mark but you didn’t care as he drew out another low moan from you.
It didn’t occur to you that you were doing it until your hand was pushing him back. Gaining a moment of reprieve to get control of your thoughts and your body. That dark look was still in his eyes but he stayed put, watching you with a smug smile until you were turning the tables on him. There was no sense in trying to act like you didn’t want this just as bad, he was all you thought about most of the time. Your mouth was on his again in a moment, devouring every inch of him you could get ahold of. Tugging at his shirt to pull it out of the clean tuck he always walked around with. Always so meticulously dressed and groomed, and damn if you didn’t want to be his undoing.
His smile against your mouth drove you insane as he mirrored every movement you made. Pulling at your shirt with his rough fingers, dragging it up over the planes of your stomach until you were forced to break away. Neither of your shirts lasted another heartbeat as you flung yours to the floor with his following right behind it. Then without missing a step you were attached at the lips again, backing him up slowly to his bed in the corner of the room. Waiting until his knees buckled and he sat back on the bed, letting him watch the sway of your hips as you took a seat on his lap, straddling him as he tried his best to muffle a groan.
Strong hands grabbed at your waist, grinding the swell of your ass down onto his rock hard length barely contained in his pants. The noises he was making were driving you up the walls. He pulled away from your mouth again, taking a moment to catch his breath as his hips rocked up into yours, “I’ve been wanting you all day." His lips pressed into the skin just below your jaw, his beard scratching an itch you didn't even know you had. "I couldn’t even run that course cause you made me so hard when I saw you wearing my name on you like a tattoo. Bloody hell, Love, your arse looks so good in these,” his fingers ran over the bare skin of your waist, hovering just above the waistband of the pants.
Slowly his mouth kissed a trail down your neck and over your collarbone until he found what he was looking for. Teeth nipped at the sensitive bud before he sucked your nipple into his mouth. A gasp left you at the sensation, your chest pressing up to seek more of his mouth even as your hips ground down onto him. Listening with a satisfied smile as he moaned out against your flesh. Your hands were in his hair before you could even think about it, your own head tipping back to enjoy the attention he was paying you. God you just wanted him to fuck you already. You needed to cum and this had already gone on long enough. "God John your mouth is fuckin perfect," you felt his smile against your skin and his hum vibrated your chest before he pulled away, kissing his way to the other side.
His mouth went to work again, the sensations lighting your mind up with pleasure and building the pressure below your belt even more. It was too much, the ache was starting now and God you needed him. Needed something touching your length or at least that deep place inside you. Your hands fell from his head and you looked down, finding his blue eyes already watching you curiously. "Feels so good, but I need you. Want you to fuck me already," his eyes closed at the request. Mouth pulling away as he rolled your ass down against his erection again, feeling him twitch at the words even through the fabric.
Your fingers found his pants, working at the buttons quickly as he did the same for you. It wasn't until a loud knock came at the door that you saw his eyes dart up and his look darken with something akin to malice rather than the lust that had been there moments before. Watcher's voice pierced through the door at the worst moment it could have, "Captain! Laswell sent me are ye there?" His lip curled at the words even as the doorknob rattled, the Scotsman was trying to open it only to find that the deadbolt in fact was locked. "Captain? Are ye asleep in there or something? Dinnae make me walk to go get yer bunk key. Please Captain, just answer the door," the young man sounded near desperate.
Nearly as desperate as you sounded with your face burying in the crook of John’s neck to muffle your quiet groans as your hips rolled across his lap. Searching for something to ease the ache as his disruption did nothing to put a cork in your overflowing desire. Another knock as John sighed into your bare shoulder, pressing a light kiss to the skin as he rolled to lay you down on the bed. "I'm coming, hold on," he called back, pressing a kiss to your mouth and lowering his voice to mumble against your mouth, "Won't be long, Love. I'm sorry," he stood back up and you watched as he bent to grab his shirt and pull it back on. His fingers worked quickly to rebutton his pants even after you'd diligently worked to undo them.
God you were wearing too much, your skin felt feverish now even after he'd already moved away from you. Sitting up you worked quickly at the laces of your boots, glancing up only for a moment when John opened his door and the orange light of the setting sun outside filtered in. One hand on the door and his other on the doorframe you were suddenly very thankful that it opened in on the other side so you didn't have to worry about Watcher getting an eyeful of you currently stripping in his Captain's bunk. With your boots finally off you laid back on the bed again. Finishing undoing the rest of the buttons and fishing into your underwear with a quiet sigh of relief as your hand finally found the aching length as you worked slowly.
Your eyes flicked back to John, catching sight of his furrowed brow and tense jaw as he shook his head, "Now? Seriously?" A sound like a yes came from the man outside whose voice was considerably lowered now that he wasn't having to yell to get John's attention. "Fuckin hell Watcher, fine whatever. Tell her I'll be there in a minute," the door slammed shut and the deadbolt clicked again. Your eyes shut tight as you twisted your wrist, another sigh falling out of you at the feeling, and you rocked up into your own hand chasing your high. "Fuck you're a perfect sight, Love," your head tilted on the pillow, eyes opening lazily to find him as your abdomen flexed on a particularly pleasurable stroke.
The burning desire in his eyes was back now even as it was clouded with annoyance that you desperately wished wasn't there. "Need you, John, please," his hand reached down, cupping himself through the thick fabric in an attempt to soothe his own aching member. He took a step towards you, and a pulse of heat ran down to throb at the base of your cock. His hand was what you wanted, not your own. You could have your own any time, but right now? Right now you could have his and it was all your mind could think, chanting for him to touch you.
A sound edging on pain clawed up his throat as he tried desperately to adjust himself again. "I've gotta go for a few minutes," your hand stalled for a second before starting back up again. "Stay here, I'll be back." You nodded quickly as your hips left the bed, still thrusting into your own hand, "Fuckin hell I swear I'll be back. Just stay here, yeah?" He knelt beside the bed for a second, leaning over to press another kiss to your mouth even as you moaned. "Here," he fished into a bag and pulled out a bottle as he handed it to you. "You better not finish without me, you understand?" You forced yourself to nod to him again, eyes shutting for a second as you fought back your climax with a groan. When your eyes opened again he was giving you that smug little smirk before he backed up to the door. He left quietly after that, though you heard the lock click into place as he did. At least no one was gonna walk in on you…hopefully.
How were you supposed to keep yourself from finishing though? Did he just want you to edge yourself into overstimulation? Knowing him he probably did. "Please don't be gone for too long," you muttered, glancing down at the bottle he'd given you. Lube, that man was a frickin boy scout if there ever was one. He always came prepared no matter the situation. Popping the top you poured some over your length, smearing it up and down your shaft as you bucked into your now slickened hand again. The image of blue eyes danced in your head, as well as the body you knew he sported beneath his clothes.
Teeth drug across your bottom lip at the thought, a hum rumbling up your throat. That man was too sexy for his own damn good, and he had you wrapped around his finger. God you were playing right into his damn games. Laying here in his fuckin bed jerking yourself off right to the edge before you were pulling your hand away with shaky breaths. Not even able to control your head as it jerked and your eyes shut tight as you staved off your orgasm. "Mm fuck, please," you begged but he wasn't there to hear your pleas, wasn't there to see the need on your face as your climax danced out of reach again and you hungrily began the chase it once more.
------(John POV)------
Christ he was aching. He couldn't get his thoughts off the man he'd left in his bunk. The way every muscle he could see had tensed with need, your sweet little mouth begging to be fucked. Another pang of arousal shot down below the belt and he had to stop the groan in his throat. Nails digging into his palm as he was nearly running across the base at this point.
Watcher had said she was waiting for him in the office which thankfully meant no OP, so he shouldn't be away for too long. He threw the door open, eyes staring hard at her for a moment before she looked up and he shut the door behind him. If looks could kill his friend would have been dead before he'd even opened the door, "What's so urgent Kate?" His arms crossed over his chest, protecting himself from the hard gaze she was currently leveling right back at him.
Holding up a file she laid it on the other side of the desk. "The rest of his personnel file came in from the contractor he was working for. Do you want to read it all yourself or do you want the short version?" So that's what was so urgent? He had told her he wanted to know the second it came in. To be fair though that was before he'd pinned Speck to the wall in the showers and fucked his frustrations out yesterday.
John waved off the file she was trying to hand him with a shake of his head, "I'll read all of it tomorrow, I have something to do. Just give me the short version right now." She nodded and sat the file down in front of her. Leaning back in her chair as she thought quietly to herself.
It took her a moment before she finally figured out where to start and then she shrugged, "He was a SEAL. A good one according to his AARs. In the Navy for twenty years right out of high school. He was Bravo One for a long time and he ran a good team, one of the best. Remember about a couple years ago though, that team that got taken out in Afghanistan?" She waited for him as he thought, finally nodding when it sparked a hint of familiarity in him, "That was his team. He was the only one that got out. Lost his whole team, all eight of them, including his dog at the time. The Navy tried to railroad him. Tried to pin everything on him, all the fault. He was investigated, but the case was dismissed after it went to trial. They never had anything on him, they just wanted to make a show of it I think." Laswell paused to look up at him, watching his now guarded expression. "He retired from the Navy after that, got divorced, and he's been working for the same contracting company since. Nothing notable since that happened though, not until now anyway."
The man nodded slowly as he took the information in, tapping his finger against his bicep as he thought. "And what did they say about it? About why they tried to have him killed?" His head tilted at the question while he watched her.
She merely shook her head and offered him another shrug, "They said it wasn't them. That his handler has been off the books for nearly four months. And with Speck in deep cover the only one who knew how to contact him was his handler for safety purposes. They have no idea where the handler is or why they've been doing all of this. My guess is they probably bought them off." The Captain let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, still trying to sort through everything she'd already said. "I think he'd be a good investment though, John. I've read his AARs, he's good, and you've seen him in the field and in training. He knows what he's doing."
He shook his head, "Don't make any moves yet. Let me think about it. Now if that's all you needed I've got something to do," she gave him a slow shake of her head in response. He very nearly growled in frustration but managed to ask with a mostly neutral tone, "What else?" His brows raised when she slid the picture of the man they'd taken into custody across the desk to him.
Laswell watched as he picked it up, nodding slowly down at it before finding her eyes again, "I know who he is, but he is refusing to talk. Won't speak a word of English to me. We brought in a translator but that apparently isn't good enough for him, he wants the guy with the dog. He wants to talk to Speck." John's eyes found the far wall as his jaw tensed. What could the man possibly want with you? "Do you know where he went after Soap's little competition?" The brunette nodded his head slowly in affirmation and she said, "Great, I'll send someone to get him."
Blue eyes widened and he shook his head, "No, Kate. I'll go get him. I need to talk to him anyway," her eyes narrowed, inspecting him closely now with his untucked shirt and his pants riding just a bit too low on his hips. She was about to say something, make some kind of guess as to why his shirt was so wrinkled and covered in dirt even though he hadn't crawled through the obstacle course today. Fuck he'd picked up Speck’s shirt again, he had to stop doing that. "I'll be back, Kate," he huffed and was out the door in a moment. He needed to hurry and get back to you or he was gonna lose his mind.
------(Speck POV)-------
Moans fell out of your mouth as you fought back your climax for what had to be the hundredth time now. "Fuck John, hurry up," you groaned fingers digging into the sheets as your heart raced. Forcing your hand away from your throbbing cock, he'd been clear about you not finishing while he wasn't there and you had every intention of listening to him. What you wouldn't give to hear him right now with an answering groan though. To have his fingers caressing your skin, the rough pads of his fingertips catching along every scar. Just the thought was enough to have you fighting back your orgasm again as your lips fell open in a silent scream. "Please, fuck, need to cum. God John please," you were begging to no one though. He wasn't there to hear you, to release you from the promise you'd given him.
Not until the lock clicked and the door swung open. His eyes found you, barely keeping it together on the bed as relief flooded you at the sight. The throb in your cock was aching to be soothed. You needed to let go. He needed to get the fuck over here and he needed to do it now. The door shut behind him and he locked it again. You watched his hand grab at himself through the fabric again, working to soothe his own aches, watching your now naked body with a hungry look as you stroked yourself with a slow rhythm. "Please, I need you John," the quiet whine left your mouth and you could see him melting as you begged for him.
He was at the bed in a second, leaning over you still fully clothed as his mouth found yours. His hand ran down the tense muscles of your abdomen as he reached down to stroke you just once and you couldn't stop it this time. Sucking in a gasp of air your whole body tensed with the effort, back arching off the bed and heels pressing into the mattress as you bucked up into his hand mindlessly. The world around you ceased to exist even as your arms wrapped around his neck and you pulled him closer. You were fucking yourself into his hand with reckless abandon, the overwhelming pressure finally being released after you'd fought it back for what had felt like forever.
When you came back to yourself you realized you had buried your face into the crook of his neck at some point. Your moans were muffled only by the skin of his throat and his own quiet coos of encouragement while he worked you. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes and you hadn't even realized you were crying, relief flooding through you in a crashing wave after finally feeling your release. He was still stroking your cock slowly until you whimpered quietly into his skin and he pulled his hand away, letting you relax back into the mattress. The calluses ran up the length of your side and caught across your sensitive, burning skin to stoke the fire in your limbs without even meaning to.
Your own voice sounded foreign to your ears as you muttered a quiet, "Shit I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I tried not to, I really did," his fingers squeezed at your ribs as he pulled your body up against his despite the mess you'd made all over your stomach. A soft shh came from his mouth as his head shook, fingers running soothingly over your back. You felt him shift you so you were sitting on his lap once again. It was as if he'd never been gone to begin with. He ran his hands up and down your back slowly, his nails dragging over your skin and making you shift on his lap turning his quiet shushing into a low hum of satisfaction.
Pulling you out of where you'd buried your face he looked up at your flushed features with a smug smile. God that fucking smile, it did things to you that were truly unholy. "Feel better now, Love?" You shut your eyes and let your forehead fall forward against his, shaking your head slowly in answer. Sure you'd reached your peak, but it hadn't been how you wanted to reach it, with him buried inside you driving every thought from your mind and leaving only room to think about how good he felt. "No?" Your head shook again in another quiet answer as his nose bumped against yours, his words whispering across your cheek. "Good," he muttered as his mouth finally found yours again, his mustache tickling your upper lip and drawing out a smile against his mouth.
You couldn't stop yourself from grinding down against his still hardened length, his moan like music to your ears. He was just barely muffled by your own hungry and searching mouth. "You're sorry right?" He whispered against your mouth and you gave an affirmative hum as your mouth kissed a trail across his jaw and down to his neck. You could taste the sweat on his skin, had he run back here? Damn he was just as horny for you as you were for him. "Make it up to me then, Love," good Lord he was a vicious man. But how could you deny him when he asked in that needy voice.
Your hands pulled at his shirt quickly, bunching it up in your hands as you lifted it over his stomach and chest. Your mouth left his neck for barely a second as you helped him strip free of the confining fabric and muttered, "Your skin tastes like sweat. Did you run back here?" He nodded as your mouth worked over his collarbone, tongue flicking out to taste the salt on his skin again. "Did anyone see you, John?" Your fingers worked slowly at the buttons of his pants even as he grinded your hips down on his lap again.
A low hum vibrated his chest before he growled out, "I don't fucking care if anyone saw me. Couldn't wait to be inside you, Love," his chin tilted down to rest on the back of your head as your mouth pressed into the dip between his pecs. Kissing at the patches of dark brunette hair along his chest. God his dick wasn't the only thing that was huge, huh? Each pectoral felt like a pillow underneath your lips as you nipped and sucked at the soft flesh, but when his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass you felt the muscles harden beneath your unwavering attention.
Finally you finished your slow progress at opening his pants, your fingers dipping inside to palm him through his underwear. His forehead fell further down to rest against your shoulder, eyes traveling down your naked front to watch your hand as you groped him through the fabric. Lighting every one of his nerve endings on fire with your relentless teasing. He huffed out in a quiet threat, "If you don't hurry up I'm gonna do this myself, Love." His beard scratched against your cheek as you pressed your face against his. You earned a gasp as you delved into his underwear finally. Lips pressed against your shoulder, his breath playing across your bare skin as he fought to control the noises escaping him.
"Oh fu-" his next gasp cut off mid sentence, teeth sinking into the muscle of your shoulder as he fought to muffle his moans. A pained growl left you but you didn't stop pumping his member, reveling in his quiet huffs for air. Your shoulder was on fire even when let go, whispering a quiet, "S-Sorry. Need you. Right now I n-need you."
Nodding you squeezed the base of his cock, driving back the orgasm you knew was building, edging him just like you'd edged yourself until he’d come back. He sighed against your skin before you muttered, "Lay back." His head lifted, hands coming up to cup your face as he watched you curiously for a moment. You leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before tilting your mouth to whisper against his ear, "Please lay back.” A quick nod followed your request and he laid back on the bed, that burning gaze staring up at you as he propped his head up with one arm. His other hand rested on your thigh, his thumb stroking your thigh in slow, little circles.
Interest sparked in his eyes as you slid back along his thighs, pulling at the waistband of his pants until you couldn't pull them down anymore. Starting to slide off his lap completely he stopped you with a strong grip on your hip, shaking his head slowly. Without even needing to ask his hips lifted off the bed, and you couldn't help but admire the way his muscles tensed below his skin. You were lost to the sight until he cleared his throat beneath you and you hurriedly pulled the pants and underwear down to free his cock.
Reaching across the bed towards the pillow you grabbed the bottle of lube he'd given you earlier. Squeezing some out on his length as he hissed at the cold. And then your hand was around him again, warming the slick liquid and spreading it over his length. His lips parted, his breath quickening as your hand worked him. The man couldn't stop his needy moan. Neither could you when your own length came into contact with his, and you could feel the throb of his pulse against your own skin. Your hand wrapped around the both of you, pumping a few times before you asked, "Still want to watch my ass bouncing on your cock?"
The noise he made was near enough to send you over the edge again as his fingers tightened around your hip, "Fuck yes. Want you to ride me till you're screaming my name," your wrist twisted at the tip, thumb sliding over the head of his cock. His head tipped back and his eyes shut tight as he fought to keep himself still underneath you. Groaning out his impatience when your hand released him again.
You turned around in his lap, sliding backward along his length as his leaking erection glided between your cheeks. His hand slid up along your back before you glanced over your shoulder at his face. Those blue eyes were captivating, especially when he glanced up at you with his teeth dragging over his bottom lip humming quietly in satisfaction to himself. Lifting up you saw his other hand reach down, his cock slapping against your ass until he pressed himself at your entrance. He obviously felt how slick your hole was because in the next second he asked, "Bloody hell, did you prep yourself while I was gone too?" A slow nod had him slamming inside you, too pent up to hold himself back any longer. "Oh my- Feel so fucking good, Love."
Your muscles tightened and spasmed around him, a strangled gasp in your throat at the sudden fullness. God you hadn't expected that. He burned your walls as he tried to move but your hands on his hips stopped him. Short, quick breaths were all you could manage for a second as his hands rocked your hips forward and back slowly, needing to feel some kind of friction. Why did he always feel so big? He'd just been inside you yesterday too, he shouldn't feel like there was this much of him. Should he?
Moving your hands from his hips to his thighs your chin fell forward, finally catching your breath and loosening around him. You lifted off him slowly about halfway before the hands at your waist were pulling you back down with a vicious slam. He pressed against every wall, every corner of you driving you near madness at the sensation. “‘M feel so big Price,” you moaned loudly, lifting off again and bouncing back down.
You set a steady rhythm, letting his hands wander over the expanse of your skin. The pad of his index finger ran across the bullet scar at your hip as you rode him. The memory of when you’d told him the story of that one flashing in your mind. He’d asked so many questions that night, and not all that you’d been willing to answer. “Call me that again,” he breathed out and you smiled as you slammed back down, rolling your hips back and forth. Grinding on him and running his length over the bundle of nerves that had you gasping out in pleasure again.
You glanced over your shoulder again at him, head tilting in question with a smirk on your mouth, “What? Big?” He groaned and you watched his eyes flick up from where he’d been watching himself disappearing inside of you. His gaze turned into a glare letting you know that was not what he had meant. “Price then? The name I walked around with on my ass all day? That name?” His eyes shut and his head fell back, hips thrusting up off the mattress reaching somehow impossibly deeper inside of you.
Resuming your steady rhythm your teeth grazed over your bottom lip. He liked being talked to, and that worked both when he was in control and even when he wasn’t it seemed. “Give me another pair and I’ll wear your name all week,” his fingers squeezed hard at your flesh, spreading your cheeks with his hands. You caught sight of him nodding along to your words where he was laying. “I don’t think I could wear it on missions though. You seem a bit distracted by it. Can’t have your thoughts back here in the bunkhouse when you’re supposed to be keeping me alive.”
It didn’t take long for the image to dance behind his eyelids of you running a real mission with them, his name still stitched into the pocket on your pants. He sat up as he jerked your hips flush with his. His mouth right beside your ear when he growled, “I don’t need you to wear my name. I’ll make sure everyone knows this arse is mine one way or another.” His beard scratched against your shoulder as he flipped you over, bending you over the edge of the bed and pressing your face down into the mattress. One hand still holding your hips as the other tangled into your hair.
Oh, he was gonna be the death of you. There was no doubt that his face would be the last you saw because you were certain you could never let him out of your sight again. He impaled you relentlessly, bruising your insides with the force. The pressure that had been building at the base of your cock was becoming unbearable. You needed to find your release and you needed to find it now.
The same thought seemed to be crossing his mind as well, as the hand holding your hip slid around to your front. He stroked your length in time with his thrusts, angling his hips down to hit the place that had your abdomen tightening at the shock of pleasure. “You close?” You nodded vigorously into the mattress, turning your head to look up at him as best you could with his hand still tangled into your hair. “Gonna cum for me Love? Let me finish inside you again?” Another quick nod but the look he gave you made it clear he wasn’t satisfied by a mere nod this time around.
“Please fill me up, Price,” the words slipped out of your mouth before you could even really think about them. “I wanna be leaking with you when I leave here,” he smiled and it didn’t take but a few more thrusts before you felt him spilling inside you with a moan. His body fell over your back as he kept rocking into you, drawing out the shocks of his own orgasm as he pushed you ever closer to your own. His hand was still tight around your own erection as he stroked your length. A twist of his wrist at the head of your cock though and you were spilling across his fist and sheets.
The second orgasm was just as strong as the first, your toes curling and back arching underneath the heavy weight on top of you. Both of your chests were heaving with effort as he slowly pulled out. You could feel his seed dripping out of you, already leaking down the back of your thighs with how much he’d spilled. He pushed himself up with one hand, the other landing a firm smack on your cheek causing you to flinch before you smiled. “Love, this arse is perfect,” you glanced up catching him in the act of watching the muscle jiggle after he’d slapped it with a smug smile on his face.
Climbing up onto the bed you laid yourself out, relaxing across the sheets as you watched him pulling his pants back up and fastening them with deft fingers. You watched him lean down to grab the two shirts on the ground, looking between the two before he finally pulled one over his head. Then he was grabbing your clothes off the floor, folding them quickly to lay them on the bedside table. Looking down at you, still naked on his bed, his head tilted and while his mouth no longer had that smile you could see it in the corners of his eyes as they crinkled, “Feel better now?”
A yawn escaped you before you managed to nod, “I feel great now. Can’t say I’ll feel the same in the morning but for right now yeah I feel good.” He smirked and sat beside you, his hand running along the expanse of your shoulders. His fingers massaged into the muscles, running over the place he’d bitten you earlier. Soothing the sting as he leaned over to press his lips to the spot with a smile. Then both his hands were working at the aches from the past few days, his strong hands digging in with barely any effort on his part.
You let out a groan at the tension being released and a small smile turned up the corners of your mouth. “Good to hear, Speck,” he seemed to hesitate then. You caught the look in his eye but you failed to find the reasoning behind it. Not until he cleared his throat and finally said, “I need you to get dressed though. Laswell needs your help. Well I need your help.” Your eyes closed, a sigh nearly escaping you. Should have known better than to get comfortable, right?
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drabbles-mc · 1 year
Text
Tossed Out
Gilly Lopez x OFC
Based of a request by @darqchilddaydreamz from This Post
Warnings: 18+, alcohol, language, men being The Worst
Word Count: 2.6k
A/N: I feel like this went off the rails a little from what you had requested but my brain got away from me I apologize 😂 But as one of the few other people in this fandom who seem to be as pro-OC as I am, I figured you would understand. I've been marinating on a longer story for these two in my head for a Hot Minute and letting out a little glimpse of the pairing was just too tempting to turn away from 😅
Mayans Taglist: @buckybarneshairpullingkink @thesandbeneathmytoes @paintballkid711 @queenbeered @kelpies-shed @yourwonkywriter @chibsytelford @gemini0410 @mijagif @amorestevens @garbinge @justreblogginfics @rosieposie0624 @choochoo284 @littlekittymeow @anditsmywholeheart @artemiseamoon @nessamc @withmyteeth @crowfootwrites @beardburnsupersoldiers @winchestershiresauce @frattsparty @fanfic-n-tabulous @justazzi @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)
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It wasn’t a quiet night at the clubhouse by any means, but Tasha made a point to make it a quiet night for herself. She holed up on a stool at the bar closest to the wall, giving her a decent vantage point of what was going on but also making it easy for people to walk right by her without noticing. The only person that she’d really spoken to since she got there was Cielo, and that was only because she was the person trading out empty beer bottles for full ones.
She’d watched as a majority of the men in the Santo Padre charter exited Templo. Not all of them, though. Not the person that she had shown up at the clubhouse to see in the first place. That being the case, she stayed put and more or less kept her head down. She watched as the guys leaving Templo immediately started to blend in with the rest of the people in the clubhouse. There was a handful of women hanging around, but there were also men from other charters, ones that didn’t have Santo Padre stitched into their kuttes. There were also a few men around who didn’t have kuttes on at all. None of them were people that she knew, or was planning on getting to know.
She was hoping that the door to Templo would slide open and that the three men missing would come striding right out, but there must have been more important conversations to be had. There must have been decisions to be made away from the loud mouths and heated personalities of the younger men in the club. The logical part of her understood that. The impatient part of her just wanted them to wrap it all up already.
Reaching forward, she wrapped her fingers around the neck of her beer bottle and brought it up to her lips. Her eyes were still locked on the door on the opposite side of the room as she took a long drink. She finally set it back down, landing it on top of the bar with a dull thud. She could’ve finished it, could’ve asked for another one, but she didn’t want to start getting carried away just yet. There were conversations to be had first.
She was drumming her fingers along the side of the glass bottle when she caught someone in her peripheral walking up to the bar. She clocked it, but she didn’t pay it any mind. She was sitting at the bar, after all, so she couldn’t just give dirty looks to anyone who walked up.
The man leaned, bracing his arms just over the edge of the bar as he waited for one of the women behind it to come up and ask him what he wanted to drink. Tasha could see him out of the corner of her eye, but she made an express point to not look directly at him. All too often that resulted in men thinking that she wanted to actually converse with them. And she didn’t. If her thick curls hadn’t already been pulled up and out of her face, she would’ve let them fall in front of her face like a curtain.
She settled for the next best thing, though. She kept her eyes glued to the woodgrain of the bar in front of her as the man asked for a few beers, one for him and a couple for his friends. She could feel the way that his gaze shifted once the bartender walked away to grab the bottles. When he was no longer looking at the bartender, he started looking directly at Tasha. She purposely didn’t look back at him. For a moment, she wondered if she would be quick enough to hop down from her stool and make it over to the Templo doors without him or someone else being able to stop her.
She didn’t have time to hedge her bets as the man said, “You’re awfully quiet over here, sweetheart.”
The pet name made her want to throw up, made her want to punch him. From that intro alone, she had the feeling that this interaction wasn’t going to go anywhere good. Still, though, she didn’t want to make a scene without a good cause. She noticed that one of the other men from Santo Padre was walking up to the bar. She hated that she knew some of their names, but she didn’t know really which name belonged to which guy, except for the two men that Bishop was close with. Unluckily for her, all three of the people she knew by name were still in Templo.
Taking a deep breath, she pried her eyes up and looked over at him. Even if the circumstances had been different, even if he hadn’t immediately come off like such a tool, she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with him.
“That’s because I don’t really want to talk to anyone.” She kept her tone controlled, but still firm. There was no smile on her face as she said it.
The guy turned so that he was facing her head-on. “Come on, now. Why show up here on a night like this if you’re not looking to make some friends?”
She clenched her jaw tight for a moment, almost cracking a tooth in the name of not snapping and beating this guy’s ass in front of god and everyone else. “I’m waiting for someone,” she ground out.
“Oh? Who’s that?”
“None of your business,” she snapped, her voice was still hushed but it was sharp enough to get the attention of the man who had walked up to the bar a few moments before.
She wanted to look over at the man from Santo Padre, give him a look that would essentially be her asking for permission to cause a problem in the middle of the clubhouse. She had the feeling, though, that if she took her eyes off of the guy in front of her, he would try to move closer. That was the last thing that she wanted.
The bartender set the man’s beers down, and for a moment Tasha thought that that might be her saving grace. Maybe this guy would just take his drinks and go back to his douchebag friends and leave her alone while she continued to wait. She held her breath, hoping for the best, but it didn’t happen. Of course it didn’t happen.
“No need to get mean,” he said with a chuckle as he grabbed one of the beer bottles for himself. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“If you want to be nice,” the amount of self-restraint she was showing was evident in the strain of her voice, “then just leave me alone. Take your beers, and go talk to your friends.”
Despite her making the warning to him a verbal blinking neon sign, he still continued talking. “Whoever it is that you’re waiting on, is an idiot for keeping you waiting.” He paused, grabbing one of the other beer bottles and holding it out to her. “Why don’t you come and wait with me?”
There was the sound of two heavy footsteps as the man from the club walked up behind the guy who was talking to Tasha. She raised her eyebrows slightly when she saw the way this guy dwarfed the man who was talking to her. She could fight her own battles for sure, but she was almost curious to see what it would look like for this man to fight this one for her.
“Hey.” He brought one hand down hard on the guy’s shoulder. “Sounds like she wants you to leave her the fuck alone.”
The guy in front of her almost dropped his beer bottle out of fear when he felt the tight grip on his shoulder. The fear only intensified when he heard the voice coming from behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he let out a nervous laugh. “Gilly. Hey,” he tried and failed to sound casual, “you who this girl’s been waiting for?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “But if I can tell that she doesn’t want you fucking talking to her, then you should definitely be able to fucking tell.”
The guy tried to fumble to his own defense, which was a stupid move but it was too late to backpedal once he started. “Nah, nah, it’s not like that. We were,” he looked over at Tasha, an almost pleading look in his eyes, “we were having a good time, weren’t we, sweetheart? Making friends.”
She looked at the man, and then to the guy she now knew was Gilly. She saw the way that Gilly was chomping at the bit, waiting for any kind of cue from her to be able to take the man and throw him out onto the street. As much as she had wanted to be the one to make a big deal about it, to get some satisfaction, she had to admit that maybe it was in her best interest to let this guy, Gilly, take care of it.
She locked eyes with Gilly and gave a slight shake of her head. “I don’t have any friends here. This guy won’t leave me the fuck alone.”
Gilly nodded, a smug grin on his face as he looked at the man whose shoulder he was bruising with his grip. “That’s what I thought.”
“Gilly, man, come on—”
“Time for you to go.”
It was only then that the guy tried to struggle against him. It was useless, of course. It looked like Gilly could’ve tossed him across the clubhouse and through the doors with one hand. “Let it go, man. You don’t gotta fucking do me like this.”
Gilly laughed as he started to pull him away. “Yea, I think I fucking do.” He stopped, turning back around. There was a look on his face that Tasha couldn’t quite read as he pushed the guy in her direction. “Apologize first.”
Tasha bit back a laugh at the demand and the guy turned back around to Gilly. “What?”
Gilly nodded to her. “Apologize. Come in here, fucking bother her and try to ruin her night when she’s minding her own fucking business. Say you’re sorry.”
“Seriously?”
It was only then that Tasha spoke up. “Yea,” she didn’t even try to hide her amusement, “I think it’d make me feel a whole lot better.”
He looked back and forth between the two of them. “You’re not fucking serious.”
Gilly nodded. “Oh I’m super fucking serious.” He paused. “Wasn’t a question, man. Apologize.”
It looked like the guy was about to try and argue again, but when Gilly clamped his hands down on both of his shoulders this time he changed his tune. “Sorry. I’m, I’m sorry,” he sputtered out.
Tasha nodded. “You should be.”
Gilly nodded in approval. “Alright.” He balled his fists into the fabric of the man’s shirt. “Let’s go.”
He was already being dragged towards the door but he was still trying to protest. “You don’t gotta do this. I can, I’ll just fucking go, man. Just let me—”
“Shut the fuck up, dude,” Gilly cut him off. He dragged him out onto the front steps. He yoked him up, bringing him so that they were face to face. “I hardly knew who you were before tonight. You were better off that way.”
He let go of the man’s shirt, letting his feet land flat on the deck of the clubhouse. The guy probably thought that he was getting off easy. He was halfway through brushing his hands along his shirt when Gilly gave him one good shove so that he went stumbling down the stairs.
“I sure fucking know who you are now, though,” he said as he watched the man try not to faceplant into the dirt, “and I better not fucking see you back here again.” He saw it on the man’s face that he wanted to try and argue. “Alright?”
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but in the end, he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, wasn’t worth the beatdown that Gilly was very much itching to give him. Instead of arguing, he just gave a tiny nod and scampered off to wherever his car was parked.
Walking back inside, the clubhouse seemed relatively undisturbed. Someone getting tossed out, by Gilly of all people, certainly wasn’t breaking news. He scanned the expanse of the room and saw that Tasha hadn’t moved from where she was sitting. He didn’t want to be another person bothering her, but it felt wrong to not go over and say something.
She was grabbing one of the beers that the man had gotten for his friends when Gilly walked up. He cleared his throat, the energy he was giving off completely different than before. “Hey, you, uh, you good?” he asked.
She looked up at him, laughing as she nodded. “I’m alright, yea.” She motioned towards the door. “Thanks for that.”
He chuckled as he gave a small shrug. “No problem.”
“Wish I could’ve been the one to toss him down the stairs though,” she said with a laugh.
“Still wanna toss someone? I’ll get the prospect over here.”
She laughed and shook her head, a few long strands of curls fell from the bun on top of her head as she did. “That’s alright. Appreciate the offer, though.” She tapped her bottle against one of the others that was sitting on top of the bar. “Want a beer?”
Gilly chuckled and shook his head, but he reached forward and took one for himself. “I’m Gilly, by the way.”
Tasha nodded before taking a swig from the bottle in her hands. “Yea, I gathered that.” She held out the hand that wasn’t holding her drink. “Tasha. Ash.”
“Ash,” he repeated as he shook her hand.
“Gilly,” she followed suit and said his name back to him.
It was only then that he took the time to really look at her. Something about her seemed familiar, and it had him wondering if he’d caught a glimpse of her at the clubhouse or around town before. He looked a the tattoos that covered her arms, simple dark linework etched into her light brown skin. Despite the anger and discomfort that she had been wearing on her face before, the playful smile that was starting to tug at the ends of her mouth seemed just as genuine.
He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a little awkward as he stood there in front of her just staring. “Are you, um, actually waiting for someone? I can track them down if—”
“No, no,” she said with a small smile on her face. “That’s alright. I’m actually,” she let out an awkward laugh, “I’m waiting for Bishop.”
Gilly’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”
She chuckled. “Yea.”
“Yea, you just gotta wait then. I’m not fuckin’ going back in there,” he joked, even though it was the truth.
She smiled as she shook her head at him. “Trust me, I get it.” There was a beat of silence between them before she said, “Thanks again for the assist there.”
“Yea, I, I got you.” As much as he wanted to stay and keep talking to her, he didn’t really have anything left to say. He also knew that she probably really didn’t want to be talking to anyone. He took a small step back as he nodded towards where he had been sitting with the guys before he got up to get a drink. “If you need anything, you know…” his voice trailed off.
“Except getting Bishop out of Templo?”
He choked back a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand for a moment as he nodded. “Yea, except that.” He paused. “I’ll see you around?”
She brought the beer bottle up to her lips and finished it off before looking over at him with a smile. “Maybe, yea.”
40 notes · View notes
honeycombstrawberry · 2 years
Text
everything you got
pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, has a vagina)
rating: e+ (pwp)
word count: 3,730
one-sentence synopsis: after adrian's been hard at work all day repairing his armor, you offer to take the edge off-- even if your motives aren't entirely selfless.
author's note: okay TAKE TWO!!!!! i'm sorry i fucked up posting this the first time!!!!!!! also i'm so very VERY sleepy but man WHEW a demon or something SOMETHING very lustful possessed me. there's just something about thinking about adrian completely falling apart....... WHEW!!!!!! TAKE ME AWAY!!!!!!
>>> read on ao3! <<<
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“Am I doing this right?” Adrian asks, holding up his mask for you to inspect.
You take it from him, needles and thread and fabric and all, to examine his handiwork. When the two of you had first gotten together, you have to admit, you hadn’t known a tremendous amount about stitching armor for a superhero. Now, though, you’d consider yourself a self-trained expert at it.
“Looks good,” you tell him. There’s a couple of gaps in the stitches, and you rework them for him. You move quickly, hand threading in and out with grace born from experience.
Adrian sighs, scooting down on the sofa so he can lay his head in your lap. Despite the fact that he’s maybe about twice your size, he loves curling up into you, and around you, and under you. You don’t know if it makes him feel small so much as he feels loved, and held, and cared for. You’re happy to give that, anytime you can; he always makes you feel that way, after all.
“You’re so good at this,” Adrian comments, watching from below as you expertly stitch the fabric back together.
“You’re better at it than you think,” you remind him. Fixing the last stitch, you pass it back to him. “There you go.”
Adrian sighs again, taking the mask and returning to his work. He’s spent the entire day plugging away at fixing his suit while you lounged around and offered encouragement, as well as the occasional fix to his stitches.
Once Adrian gets a task in mind, it’s difficult to break him from it. If you don’t stop him, he can easily spend an entire day doing the same activity, determined to finish it in one sitting. As it is, he’s spent the last several hours working on rebuilding his armor. The entire time, you’ve listened to him rambling, and leaned against his shoulder, and handed him different needles and various threads when asked.
You could get used to this. Even more— You are getting used to this.
It seems like you’re starting to spend more and more days at Adrian’s side. The two of you are hardly ever apart, and you don’t see that changing anytime soon. In fact, you’re fairly certain it’ll be that way for the rest of your lives.
Glancing over at the mask in Adrian’s hands, you tell him honestly, “That looks great, Adrian. Like, expert quality.”
“Ah, c’mon,” Adrian replies. You can hear the smile in his voice all the same.
“I mean it,” you tell him. You shift to kiss his forehead, then nudge him upwards. “You can’t stitch like that, you can’t see it right.”
“But I’m tired,” he complains, “and you’re comfortable.”
You can’t help smiling, yourself. You reach to take the mask and needle and thread from his hands; as you set them aside on the coffee table in front of your sofa, you ask him, “Ready to do something else for a little while?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, there’s a beat where he considers you, head still in your lap as you bend forward. When you pull back, he reaches up, catching your head with his hand at the nape of your neck, guiding you downward into a kiss.
His lips part yours, and at this upside-down angle, he leads you into an open-mouthed kiss, licking slowly into your mouth. His tongue glides along yours, lazy, searching. There’s a touch more hunger when he draws back and comes in again, his heat starting to rise as he begins paying more attention to this, waking up a bit.
Adrian is smiling when you break the kiss, pulling in air. He shifts to sit up, falling back against the couch cushions and dragging you into his lap. You changed your clothes a while ago to be comfortable, which left you only in your underwear and one of Adrian’s soft, worn t-shirts, something he’s owned since high school. The broader his shoulders have gotten, and the more muscular he’s become, he’s stretched the cotton out completely. As a result, it hangs off of you, too big to fit properly, slipping off your shoulder as he drags you into his lap.
It’s easy for him to maneuver you, his big hands fitting over your hips. He practically lifts you, his strong muscles working, pulling visibly in his bare arms as he brings you up and over. He’s barely got anything on, himself, and you can feel the half-hard line of his cock already through his sweatpants.
Your breath catching in the back of your throat, heat starting to pool low, you dip your head down to kiss at the hinge of Adrian’s sharp jaw, his soft cheek, the corner of his mouth. He huffs a breathless laugh, twisting to catch you in a kiss.
You can’t help the instinctive roll of your hips, grinding down into him over his cock. He breaks off a soft noise, and you swallow it before responding in kind, murmuring, “Fuck, Adrian—” as he grabs your hips again and rolls you in.
“Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all as he thrusts up again, a purposefully, slow, measured scrape of his body against yours. Your core tightens; you feel impossibly empty, starting to get soaked already. You can feel yourself leaking, soaking into your underwear, just beginning to slick the soft insides of your thighs.
Adrian tilts his head up, biting into another kiss with you as you lift yourself up over him, perched in his lap. When your mouths meet again, he draws you down into a rougher kiss. He doesn’t break it as he lowers his hands with a measured drag to grip the meat of your thighs, rolling his body up into yours again, letting the line of his cock through his sweatpants push against your damp underwear, into your slit.
You whimper without meaning to, the sound tearing up out of the back of your throat. You feel so fucking— empty, and you plead with him, “Can I—” before you’re moving back, shifting to get yourself between his legs, not even finishing your question in your hungry urgency.
“What do you want?” Adrian asks, desperate. “I’ll do anything, I’ll—”
It seems like he understands what you’re asking for once you’re actually on your knees between his thighs, pushing his knees apart so you can reach to hook your fingers into his waistband. You untie the loose knot he has there, pulling at the soft material of his sweatpants, feeling the dramatic contrast of his sharp bone and strong skin pulled over hard muscle beneath those comfortable clothes.
“I want you inside me,” you tell him. “I want you in my mouth, and then you can fuck me.” You tug his sweatpants down about an inch, he whines, and you add, “If you can last that long.”
“I can,” he pants, chest heaving as he stares up at the ceiling. There’s sweat starting to bead up at his temples, hair curling a bit more with the humidity he’s bringing to himself. His glasses slip a little bit down his nose. “I can, I swear, I will, I can—”
You pull his sweatpants the rest of the way down, revealing his bare cock. He wasn’t wearing any underwear, you realize with a jolt, which is why he’d felt so fucking close to your entrance. Your face flushes with heat, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire as you lean in to drag your tongue along the inside of his thigh, enjoying the salt taste of him.
He makes a broken sound above you, his hands slamming down into the sofa. You smile against his flesh.
“You can touch me,” you tell him, lips brushing his sensitive skin as you speak. His muscles are impossible strong, corded and defined here, and still his skin is soft when you press another kiss to it. “If you want to. You can pull my hair, or—”
His fingers fly to your hair, and you laugh, a huff of warm breath against him. You drag your tongue up, hands gliding to follow. At the juncture of his abdomen and his leg, where his hip creases in and he has a strong jut of muscle, you bite in, sucking a mark there until it’s dark beneath your lips and teeth.
He writhes beneath you, unable to stop moving for even a second. He twitches, attempting to keep his body in place, trying not to displace you, but he can’t help it. He’s always moving, desperate for more, hungry to touch, starving for you. His hips shift in aborted, tiny movements; his hands tighten in your hair, then relax, then tighten again, hard; your name keeps falling from his mouth, between broken, harsh sounds and pleas.
His cock is like the rest of him: big, and much bigger than you. You can’t take the whole thing in your mouth; you can barely take it in your cunt, and he always fucking fills you, huge and satisfying and deep, like he reaches the back of your throat.
To accommodate what you know you can’t take on, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock before you do anything else. You take an evaluating moment to glide upwards, stroking up the rock-hard, white-hot line of his cock to the head, thumbing at the beaded moisture gathering there.
You spread his slick down, dragging to wet your grip as you fuck him with your fist once, twice. Your heart throbs in your chest in time with his pulse in his cock; you’re already hungry for this, starving, wanting him in your fucking mouth already.
You’re the only one holding you back, so you nose in closer, letting your cheek rest for a moment against his thigh, like you’re laying down against a pillow in bed. There, pillowed on his lap, you briefly let your eyes flick up to meet his. He’s already looking back at you, pupils blown, chest heaving, glasses at the end of his nose, flushed red everywhere you can see. You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face; you adore him, it just happens.
“Love you,” you tell him, and let the flat of your tongue press to the underside of his cock.
The hand Adrian doesn’t have fisted in your hair slams down into the couch cushions beside him, a heavy whump before his nails dig in the fabric with a scratch.
“Fuck— Fuck,” he gasps out. “Ah— Fuck, you feel so fucking good— Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
He breaks off on a sharp whine as you let your eyes drift shut, letting him settle in your mouth, for a moment, your tongue curling up briefly. This is what you’ve been aching for, and you take a second to just breathe through it, to enjoy it as it happens, to relish the glide of him filling your mouth like you’re taking a deep breath, satisfying in the natural, atavistic way it fills you, all the way down to your core.
You take as much of his cock into your mouth, and then into your throat, as you can. You’ve had practice, with him, but he’s still huge compared to you; loosening your throat can only do so much. What you can’t take, you keep your hand wrapped around.
Between his thighs, you shift yourself, getting into a comfortable position on your knees so you can rise to suck his fucking soul out through his cock in earnest. You want him to feel how he makes you feel, this devouring sort of hunger he instills in you. Even though you want to touch yourself, to put your fingers on yourself or slip them inside and work yourself until you’re collapsing, you hold off, for now.
Instead, you use both hands to work the rest of Adrian’s cock. His back bows when you wrap your fingers around him, stretching to take his girth.
The satisfaction that gives you, of watching Adrian fall apart like this, because you’re sucking his cock, has your cunt pulsing, throbbing, clenching around nothing. You smile without meaning to, hungry, happy, overwhelmed, overjoyed—
Adrian must feel the stretch of your smile, because he huffs, then looks down at you. You blink upwards, meet his eyes through your lashes, and he groans, the sound punching up and out of his chest.
“Fuck,” he curses. You feel the corresponding pulse in his cock, against the flat of your tongue.
You tilt your head, put your back into it, let him fuck your mouth and give as good as you get in return. He collapses forward over you, cradling your head between his hands, trying not to choke you. You take it, swallow around him, grab at him and pull him closer and moan, the vibration in your throat making him cry out your name.
He’s trying so, so fucking valiantly not to cum yet. His grip on your head is tight, fingers bruising where they stretch over your face and your throat, and he clings to himself, trying to keep it together like he promised you.
When you hollow your cheeks, though, and twist, and pull back so he can fuck back in in earnest, he makes a sound that’s barely a sound, more air than anything else.
“Fuck, I need— I need to fuck you now,” he tells you, urgent, desperate, an edge in his words that has you wanting to reach between your legs, needing any kind of friction. You nod slightly, just a tiny movement, and still Adrian moans, a broken sound that tears up and out. “Fuck, oh, God, I need— Fuck, I wish I could take a fucking picture of you like this, oh my fucking God, you just— You just—”
He makes a keening sound, reaching down as far as he can, trying to haul you up. You’re the one with the presence of mind to get off his cock first, pulling out of your swollen lips with a wet, slick drag of a noise before he’s sealing his mouth with yours.
“Let me— Let me,” he’s begging you, hungry, eager, tearing your underwear down your thighs. He rips them apart, throws the torn fabric aside so he can shove your shirt up— his shirt up, his shirt on your body.
His large hand glides up purposefully over your belly, to your chest. Your nipple fits in the center of his palm, and his fingers dig into you, your heart racing just beneath his touch. A burst of sensation joins the touch, rocketing through your body, down your spine from your chest. His thumb drags over your nipple, and you gasp again, jolting.
Adrian hauls you up, throwing you back on the sofa until you’re laying down flat, your legs bent up, Adrian sucking a hungry bruise into the inside of your knee, teeth biting up your thigh.
He gives as good as he got, teases you up to your slick entrance, but he doesn’t have the time to waste that you did. When he realizes how wet you are, how ready you already are for him just from sucking his cock, his breath impossibly quickens, eyes flickering up to meet yours again.
“You’re so fucking— wet, for me,” he says, words soaring out of him.
You shift your hips, wanting more of his touch. You promise him, “Yes, for y—”
He surges up, pulls you into another searching kiss as his other hand guides his cock to your entrance. You’re soaked, and he’s still slick from your mouth; it’s an easy glide, the way he pushes into you. He knows that he has to take his time, to go slowly, to let your body open up around the enormity of him inside you, and he does, as best as he’s able.
There’s still a burn, just as hard as you love it, when he goes fast and keeps moving. When his hips meet yours, you swear he’s fucking you deeper than anyone else has ever been capable of, tearing you apart under his hands and his mouth and his cock because he can’t satiate his own hunger for you without it.
Adrian can’t stop kissing you, his hand threaded up through the hair at the nape of your neck, wound in tight. His other hand holds firm to your thigh, your ass, your hip, spread across your body, holding you in place so he can fuck into you as hard as he wants, as fast as he wants, keeping as much of a rhythm as he can. You’re falling apart under him, a pleasant heat coiling and building and choking you off.
It swells to fill you, and Adrian can’t stop begging you, even though he’s the one fucking you. He begs you, “Please,” and “Fuck,” and “Yes,” and “More,” and “God,” and your name, and nonsense, just— mumbled, garbled nothings, praising you and telling you he loves and insisting he’s dying all in equal measure.
You can feel him drawing closer to his climax, can feel the coiling tension of his body, the stiffening of his muscles. He draws nearer, his kisses growing sloppy; he kisses in a wet drag to your ear, buries in your throat as he fucks you, so close to the edge.
“Mm—” he starts, then bites off, “Ah— Ahh, motherfucker, please, please, please—”
You can’t help the sharp sound you make, this time, tearing up from your belly up to the back of your throat and out. You’re so close, so close, and you grind up into him, trying to get that last bit of friction.
He comes back around for another kiss, digging you back into the cushions. His hand threads down between your bodies instead, getting his fingertips against your core, and you roll your hips, pushing into him, chasing your edge.
Your mouth has gone dry, your climax just within arm’s reach. You grapple for Adrian, and he does the same for you, pulling you into a kiss as he breaks off a soft cry into your mouth and cums.
His hips work, twitching into you, his mouth going slack, jaw falling as he tips his forehead into yours. His glasses are at the end of his nose, pressing into your cheeks as you tilt to kiss him. He keeps fucking you through his orgasm, even as he fills you, floods you, chest heaving as he surrounds you from above. He pins you down into the sofa and just keeps moving, doesn’t stop until you’re cumming, too, crying on a broken breath as you cling to him and let sensation take over you, mind, body, and soul, or whatever the fuck fills the place your soul should be. You think that might have Adrian in it right now, too.
Your own chest is heaving as you come back to yourself, your hazy mind unable to think of anything except the pounding pleasure coursing through your body is relaxing waves as your brain circles the thought, Adrian, Adrian, Adrian, and nothing more.
Adrian, for his part, collapses into you, nuzzling down, burying himself in you.
“You were right,” he says. He kisses your cheek, shifting to turn the both of you, arms wrapped around you. “I definitely needed a change of pace.” You laugh as he continues, “Like— I really do love my job, I do, but sewing my stupid costume is nowhere near as cool as getting my dick sucked my an Olympic pro cock-swallower—”
“Adrian,” you laugh, throat still a little rough. “Jesus—”
Adrian tips his head up, kissing the column of your throat. He lifts his head up, propping himself up over you. His cock’s still inside you, impossibly filling you even as he’s softening. You don’t want him to go, so you tighten your thighs around him.
He makes a soft, broken little noise. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and there’s patchy color on his cheeks.
“Don’t go,” you say. He laughs.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises you. “Not until dinnertime, anyway.”
You glance backwards, then sigh. “We should’ve eaten, like— Two hours ago. I didn’t even notice, I’m sorry—”
“Hey, don’t worry,” he replies. He reaches up, strokes his hand through your sweaty hair before he smacks a kiss down on the line of your jaw. “You had something to eat, at least.”
You take a beat. Then, you laugh. “There is no nutritional value—”
“Says you!” Adrian exclaims. “You don’t know! You—”
You tip him up into another kiss. He smiles into it, lets you devour him. The kiss turns lazy, just slowly searching each other’s mouths, a sweet exploration before you pull apart again.
His heart is racing; you can feel it against your own chest. He pushes up your shirt again, lets his hand come up to rest just beneath your chest, holding you close. When he tucks in close to you again, he shifts you just enough that you can rest your head on his chest.
“Here, hold on—” he says, and shuffles around.
The sensation is— sending shockwaves up your spine, but Adrian does actually manage to use his strength to maneuver the two of you until he’s on his back and you’re pillowed on top of him, your cheek pressing into his chest, his cock still buried inside you.
He kisses the top of your head, then says, “There, okay. Now we can rest.”
“Before dinner,” you remind him. He groans. “I’ll make you something, if you want.”
He perks up a bit. Even your worst meals, he’s declared on more than one occasion, are better than him at his best. Everyone else in the 11th Street Kids disagrees, but you think it’s more evidence of how much Adrian loves you than any genuine culinary talent here.
“Well,” he says, as your hand comes up to cup his cheek, your fingers starting to thread through his hair, pulling through the drying waves. “If you insist.”
You laugh, tucking down into him. You bury your face in his throat, kissing the strong line of it where he’s closest to your lips. His pulse rabbits beneath your lips, slowing into a calmer, sweeter pace as you both relax together again.
“I do,” you tell him, “actually,” and kiss his cheek again before tucking back in, burrowing, holding on tight.
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requests used:
"Caution: nsfw content please don't read if you are uncomfy: Everyone talks about how Adrian loves to eat pussy and gets off on it. But he'd be oh so responsive to getting head. I'd love to just have him fall apart as u take care of him. And then make him some food and the sweetest of aftercares" (anonymous)
"Can I send a request too? 😁 Reader asking to Adrian to be their pillow (rest their head on his arm and lap an even sleep on his chest... And hump him like a pillow 👀) Tell me if I don't follow any rule, I tried to send it right" (anonymous)
"i have a THOUGHT i conjured up from looking at the hospital adrian gifs u reblogged: they still have his suit and everything right???? Like he’s gonna have to make a new one since the fandoms collectively decided he makes his own (tbh he’d have to anyways after what it looked like after ep 8 but I digress) so like imagine trying 2 help him with it but ur ass at sewing so u just kinda sit there handing him stuff and swooning over his weirdly good sewing skills instead while he talks and talks and talks to u abt the most random shit cause he’s so happy to have company this time that isn’t just himself and u just both act so lovingly domestic towards each other <3 mmm he makes my brain good" (anonymous)
"hey!! i love your writing with adrian :)) i don’t have a specific request in mind, but i would love more with the size difference trope! the one fic you wrote about it was so adorable!" (anonymous)
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adrian chase taglist:
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badcountryofficial · 3 years
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more of the He/They
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riku-writings · 3 years
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ADMIRATION
Pairing: Mitsuya Takashi x Fem! Reader
Summary: Reader likes to fantasize about The Home Economics Club Leader's Hands.
Warnings: Smut with a smol plot, Fingering.
A/n: I am not really sorry about this ꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡,,, inspired by that one megumi oneshot in wattpad that i read ages ago. . .((edited hundred times since i just realized now that some of the smut parts were messed up even though i checked it multiple times,,, I'm sorry for the confusion i hope i got the order right ಠ,_」ಠ)
Wc; 2k
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It started with just an innocent admiration of him being a charming dude, that's all. The guy's a good student, an overall husband material with his sewing and cooking skills. He was heaven sent with his overall visual ( dyed hair, piercings and his eyebrow slits). Everyone knows he's a delinquent because of that Pehyan dude who would fight with Yasuda-San just to excuse mitsuya out of the club. Despite his delinquent bg, Mitsuya was respectful and patient. Making every girl and boy swoon over him.
A bad boy with a soft hubby side. Best of both worlds they would say.
You were part of it. The Home Economics Club, they were lying if the whole club wasn't a simping club for the one and only Mitsuya Takashi. It was only yasuda and you who took the club for extra credits. The others well, you could say they were there to see him. Eitherway everyone was cooperative and hardworking.
Not only were you with him in that club. You were his classmate. Even better, his seatmate. You always get a view of his charming side profile.
You find yourself just staring at his features, from his long lashes to his pointed nose, down to his lips. Sometimes his tongue would dart out, out of pure concentration. (You noticed this whenever you try and get his attention to check your work in the club)
Your eyes always latching itself down to his hands. Not that you're a complete freak but you appreciate it. Like if someone asked you what body part attract you the most. You would definitely answer, hands.
His hands were the prettiest especially when its enclosed with those rings that has a cross engrave on it. It was veiny, fingers elongated and a bit bony. Nails cleanly cut. His wrist always had a silver bracelet on it. You don't know why was that attractive.
You had an unpopular opinion that it was soft to touch. You wonder if your thoughts were true. You can feel yourself blush at the thought of him just holding your hand.
You can't help it but you just stare at them with pure admiration. Due to this, you noticed how he liked twirling a pen around his middle and index finger. Fascinated, you tried it once, though you failed. You not knowing he was looking at your failed attempts. Grinning.
"y/n are you listening?" A voice called pulling you out of your own embarassing thoughts. You look up at the owner of the hands you've been staring at for a while now.
"U-uhm yes?"
"Tell me how did you end up with this then?" Mitsuya raises his brow, your messed up fabric lifted up by him. The girls around you giggled at your clumsy behaviour. You retrieved it. "Ehm, I'm sorry leader can you explain it again?"
"Alright, listen this time dummy" He says with a teasing grin, ruffling your hair gently. He sat next to you. Using the seam ripper to remove your mistakes. You just stared at his fingers pointing at where you should redo it.
You wondered how he would shove it in your mo—
You mentally slapped yourself. As you crossed your legs together at the sudden image that came over your mind. "You okay? y/n?" Mitsuya stared at you noticing how you pressed your thighs together. "Hmhm" You responded.
"Leader! can you check this?" Another called out for mitsuya. He stood up and pats your shoulder.
"alright, I'll leave it to you then" He smiled.
The next days you tried to scold your mind for having intrusive thoughts of Mitsuya and his hands. Unfortunately, your mind developed a sudden kink with it. Making every imaginary situation more. . . . lewd.
"Hey Y/n! Hold up your hand" Your classmate suddenly called you lifting his hand towards yours. You knew exactly what he was trying to do, since he's been busy tryna do that with the other girls this morning. "Eh? I don't want to." You replied.
"Bet if mitsuya did it, y/n would do it!" Another classmate of yours shouted from the back. You raised your middle finger, continuing on cramming your homework.
"Leader~ Can you do that for us~" The boys teasingly called mitsuya. Who was back from his lunch raising an eyebrow at them. Hands pocketed "Do what?"
"We're just comparing hand sizes" They shrugged lifting up their hands. "Y/n won't let us~~"
"Eh? Stop bothering y/n." Mitsuya say in his deep voice his feet landing a hit on their butts, before proceeding to you. The men in the back groaned.
Bending to meet your gaze. He grinned "Now you owe me, work on your missed templates with me later" The lilac haired boy reminded. You just rolled your eyes on him mocking a tongue out. He chuckled. "And I thought you just saved me, leader."
You stayed with him in the club room. Doing your templates beside him. Him just handstitching a bunny like doll. The room slowly darkening as the sun sets. He turned on a lamp beside his table. Slowly the other girls started to leave the club room, waving their goodbye's to Mitsuya.
"Hmmmm you've been spacing out lately, are you okay?" He coughed softly referring to your messed up works recently. Eyes going to you.
"Me? spacing out?" You acted dumb, you scoffed in a fake manner. Brushing your hair with your fingers to shake off your stiffening state.
Not meeting any of his gaze, you just continued to sketch.
Did he figure it out? Did he catch me staring at his hands? Nah I need to stop overthinking.
"Alright then." Silence invaded the whole club room again. Your eyes roamed around realizing the rest of the girls left already leaving you two alone.
"Hold your hand up." Mitsuya suddenly commanded. Eyes going to him, you raised your brow. "I wanna know— our hand difference." He explained raising his hand infront of you. Placing his doll down the table.
"You know the boys in our class are just a bunch of perverts right?" Speaking like a fucking hypocrite, your actions didn't match up with your words. Almost instinctively, you faced him holding them up. He pressed his against yours.
Your insides melt at this gesture. Your theory confirmed that he has actually, soft hands.
"You have cute small hands" His lips curled up, slowly his fingers intertwined with yours, locking it with his. "Well yours rough" You lied, cheeks burning as you looked at your connected hands. "Is that so?"
Abruptly, mitsuya pulled you close to him. Making your other hand rest on top of his shoulder. His face centimeters away yours. Lips almost brushing.
"So is this what they're trying to do with you?" He asks in a low voice his eyes piercing through you. Craning his neck, curious.
"Yeah. . . " You broke eye contact. "Good thing I stopped them." He chuckled, eyes closing. He leaned back. Patting your head.
Funnily, that interaction with him didn't stop your thoughts. Actually it made your whole dirty secret worse. Just seeing him tapping his fingers on his lips as his chin rested on his palm. Made your mind run thoughts about the things his hands would do to you.
You leaned back looking around the morning peace in the clubroom. You were always the first one to go here. Since it's more quiet that way.
You closed your eyes craning your neck side to side. Loosening up a bit.
What would his fingers feel wrapped around your neck— no. no.
You shifted on your seat, pressing your thighs together. Mentally slapping yourself.
Changing your attention, your sight caught your pen. Picking it up you tried to do that cool trick again. Trying to twirl it around in between your middle and index finger.
"Ohhh you're trying to do it again?" Mitsuya popped out of nowhere. You jolted a bit, making him laugh. You clearly didn't see him coming in.
He hovered behind you, his chest pressed on your back as he rested his hand on your desk right beside yours. He leaned in observing your half-done project. "Again?" You asked head turning towards his face.
"Well I saw you trying to do this"
He pulled his other hand up grabbing your pen, his fingers did it in ease. "no need to brag leader-san" You tell him grabbing your pen back. "Looks like you're gonna stay with me again later" Mitsuya mentioned pointing at your work.
After classes you proceeded to your clubroom already, knowing you're gonna take so long with your project. Though you were greeted by yasuda leaving you with her tasks because apparently she also had friday plans like the others. The others always had friday plans that it would leave you, yasuda and mitsuya with the work.
"It's okay yasuda-san! I promise to clean up and remind leader to lock the door!" You assured her, she then finally nodded. "Fine fine— Also don't let that slimy delinquent distract leader" She added, you nodded giving her a big thumbs up, she then waved her hands leaving you all alone with the mess of excess papers and fabric from this morning.
You tied your hair as you clean up the place before doing your own project. You actually sat on the front desk as you look around feeling satisfied. Finally continuing your hand stitch. (You gave up after breaking 3 needles into half with your machine.)
You stay seated on the front desk, comfortably doing your own project. Humming a few songs here in there. The door then slid open.
"I'm guessing yasuda san has plans?" Mitsuya came in seeing you on his desk. "yup" You nodded eyes focused on your stitch. Sudden fingers gripped your knees.
"You should stop manspreading in that skirt" He scolded you pushing your knees together. You shivered at his touch against your skin. Due to this sudden awareness of his hand still gripping your lower thighs— you accidentally pricked your finger on a needle.
"Ouch." You hissed as you saw your finger starts to ooze out blood. "You're so clumsy" Mitsuya clicked his tongue removing the cloth on your hands bringing it down to the side. He grabbed your hand and started sucking on your finger.
"U-uhm" You widened your eyes as you saw the sight of mitsuya sucking your index finger. You blushed profusely at this. "Eh? I- I — you didn't have to do that" He finally let go of your finger.
"I don't have bandages on me—plus that always does the trick" He says wiping it. You just nodded looking around. "Tsk what is it that got you distracted again hm?" He questions furrowing his brows he leaned closer to you. He layed his hands on the table, locking you in.
"Ugh you really want me to say it huh?" You groaned. He craned his neck to the side. Waiting for you to continue. "Okay— I may have a small admiration towards your hands. . ."
"Admiration?"
"Well it was honestly innocent at first until it got all dirty and as much as I wanted to get it out of my head you suddenly do things to me"
"And what was my hands doing?"
"Mitsuya . . "
"No dove tell me" He said as the choice of endearment shoot straight to your core. Making you shift on your seat.
"hm shoving it in my mou—"
Mitsuya shoved his middle and index finger inside your mouth. Your cheeks burn at the sudden action. His other hand held your waist, holding you closer. "You like this?" He asked with hooded eyes. Your tongue twirled around his finger, he slowly discarded them letting out a popping sound as it came out of your lips. Feeling your chest warmed up down to your lower belly.
"Is this why you're so distracted lately? because you're too busy thinking about my hands?" He then held your chin with his fingers as he hummed. Lips inching closer to yours. You just nodded feeling feverish. "Do you want me to kiss you?"
Once again you nodded. You can feel the growing lust underneath your skirt. Pressing your thighs together to relief the heat. Mitsuya following the movement. His eyes went back to pierce through yours.
"Say please" He smugly commanded. You pouted.
He taps your lips. Wetting it with your own spit.
"Please kiss me."
Mitsuya leaned in to claim your lips, you lightly gasped as his lips finally touch yours. Closing your eyes, you melt into his kiss. He smirked at his before his hand on your waist went up to your hair tie, pulling it to let your hair flow against your shoulders.
He then licked your lips, instinctively you opened your mouth allowing him to enter his warm wet muscle inside. You whimpered at this, feeling your feverish state get warmer. Spreading all over your body. He caressed your cheek as he kissed you deeper. His other hand caressing your side, slightly brushing up against your chest. You hummed against his lips.
Biting onto your bottom lip he licked it. Before leaning back, placing a soft kiss on yours before taking in your whole panting visual.
"Do you want me to touch you, dove?" He questions, his thumb now pressing onto your bottom lip. His left hand went down on your thighs, softly pinching them.
"Please touch me, takashi"
With that his fingers indulged inside the band of your damp underwear. "Hm you're so wet, princess" He hummed letting his finger brushed up against your folds. You squirmed under his touch, your pussy clenching around nothing.
"Is this what you're thinking about in class?" He whispered next to your ear, placing a hot kiss on your cheek. You nodded, biting onto your red lips. As his middle finger continued to slide so easily with your wet slick. Up and down teasing both of your sensitive clit and your pleading hole.
You then felt the pad of his fingers teasing circles on your entrance, you looked at him with glossed eyes. He licked his lips seeing you practically begging for it.
His other hand held the back of your knees spreading your legs to gain more access. You leaned back supporting your weight with your hands.
Letting your skirt ride up, He bit his lips as he saw your ruined flimsy panties with his hand in it. You just looked at him with a pout wanting his fingers to penetrate your hole. "Please" You plead him trying to grind into his hand. Without caution he plunged his two fingers in your heat.
You bit back a moan. "Don't hold back now, dove." He said with a smug as he felt your hole clench around his fingers. "I-I can't takashi" You say feeling little under him. He chuckled at your pouting lips before placing a kiss on them. "Acting shy now huh"
Mitsuya curled his fingers inside making you squirm. "Don't move." He warned before pounding his hand into your writhing pussy. His long fingers hitting your soft spot almost immediately. You moaned letting your forehead clash itself against his. "You're taking my fingers so well baby. So noisy" He said referring to the slick slapping sounds of your wet pussy. You blushed at this ashamed on how you were making a mess on his hands.
"Aa you're so lewd— bet you've touched yourself multiple times thinking about this" He said adding another finger in your hole easily. You sobbed at the sudden feeling of fullnes inside "Hmm too much"
"Too much? you're a good girl you can take it" He says kissing your cheek once agaib. He thrusted his three fingers into your hole curling it up to feel your spongey walls clenching into him tighter.
"Mmn t-takashi—k-kiss" You mumbled feeling yourself itching up to your own orgasm.
"You want a kiss baby hm?" He hummed as his thrusts got harder and faster. Knuckles deep, the tip of his fingers hitting your sensitive spot. You purred nodding, He kissed your lips deeply making your moans muffled. You felt hot inside you as you panted trying to comprehend everything that he was doing to you. With that you felt your orgasm continue to build up. Your head leaned back breaking off his kiss, grinding back into his hand. Mitsuya felt yourself tighten continuing to hit on your sweet spot. Your own wetness beginning to drip down.
His thumb finally taking notice of your abandoned nub. He played with it. You squirmed as you feel it burn against his thumb.
"'m close" You squeak biting onto your lips. "Go on baby cum on my fingers" He said littering kisses on your neck, hands pounding into you harshly. With those words and his thumb rubbing your sensitive clit. Your thighs started to fidget. You closing your eyes shut as you panted.
You came onto his fingers. You let out a whiny moan as His fingers slowly ride out your high.
"Good girl" He said pulling his fingers out your panties. Your eyes opened seeing him cleaning his fingers clean with his tongue. He smirked as you lolled your tongue out. He placed his fingers on your tongue, letting you lick and suck them clean.
"You look so pretty like that, dove" He say as you finished pulling his fingers out popping out of your lips. He held your waist with his arms, moving you closer again. Leaning in to kiss you softly this time on your forehead. "How was that?"
"Better than what I imagined actually"
"C'mon it looks like we have friday plans too" Mitsuya said kissing your lips. Bringing you down the table. You smiled.
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divine-mistake · 3 years
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bitter fruit
Summary: “The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”
“Because you were going to die.”
Characters: Bucky Barnes/(f)Reader
Warnings: 18+ smut (oral fem receiving, Bucky is a slut for consent), language, graphic depictions of violence, blood
Word Count: 9338
A/N: This is a tumblr request for @buckybarnes101 who requested an enemies to lovers with eventual smut and I got so so carried away with this request and ended up writing this 9k chonker! (5k of it is smut so, carry on) HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! Enjoy!!
main masterlist | AO3
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“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” you snap, “maybe about saving all the innocent people that’ve been trapped in HYDRA’s basement for god knows how long?”
Bucky snarls at you, grabbing the front of your tac-suit and pulling you up until your nose is inches from his. A striking pain shoots through your side like a bullet, which is funny, considering the hole he stitched up for you what seemed like seconds ago.
But just like your relationship, numb one second and blazing the next, it’s like some switch has flipped in his brain in a matter of minutes.
You should really give him some more credit—the man describes his brain as spaghetti most days. And as funny as it sounds, it really isn’t. You’re keenly aware of the haunted look that fills his eyes when he struggles with his past.
Except when he acts like this, it’s hard to remember that.
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Something smells of smoke and gunpowder. People are screaming. The men who just ran through the door are shouting in Russian, you know, because you’ve heard the same language from Bucky’s mouth when he’s having nightmares. Faintly, you realize there’s a pain just above your hip. You don’t have time to look. The gun is in your hands and you’re firing. Someone—innocent, crying—bumps into you as they flee the scene. Your shot goes wide.
Bucky’s voice crackles over the comms. “Where are you?” He sounds panicked.
“Got held up,” you respond. “I’m on my way. Civilians headed to you.”
He curses your name. “I told you to get back to the jet!”
The butt of an assault rifle is hurtling toward you and you duck, rolling across the dirty concrete. The pain in your side flares up, burning. You think you might’ve gotten shot. You return the favor, killing two more HYDRA agents.
“I took a detour.”
A moment to breathe. Your eyes roam over the cells that you uncovered in the base, checking for any signs of life you previously missed. It’s all dead bodies and blood. You’re starting to feel weak.
“Get back to the fucking jet, agent! The base is rigged to blow!”
Before you can reply, someone grabs you by the hair, the muzzle of a gun pressed into your neck. On reflex and instinct alone, you thrust your elbow into his side and disarm him just in time. The gun goes off, bullet lodging in the concrete. Fucking slug would’ve ripped right through you.
“Bit busy,” you reply to Bucky.
Your name is lost to the sound of you firing the last few rounds into your attacker. When you’re sure he’s dead, you slump to the wet floor, knees unable to hold you any longer. The pain in your side is killing you—probably literally. A gasp escapes you when you press your fingers to the wound, trying to staunch the blood from the bullet hole, but at this point, you guess it doesn’t matter. The base is going to go up in flames in a few more minutes and you don’t have the strength to get back to the quinjet.
And really, you don’t want to. Bucky’s gonna be pissed.
“Hey, Barnes,” you wheeze through the comms. He doesn’t reply. “You know how you got all pissy at Sam when he ate your last loaf of that banana bread, and you put all those laxatives in his brownies and he was shitting for like, days? Yeah, that was me. I ate your banana bread.”
He never replies, but you chuckle all the way until you fall asleep, cheek pressed into a pool of someone’s blood.
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He says your name now, catching your attention again, and when you roll your eyes at him he shakes you again. With a hiss of pain, you try and shove him away from you, but his dumb super soldier ass is too heavy.
“That hurts!”
“Good!” Bucky finally lets you go and you slump against your seat, wincing. “Maybe the pain will make you stop being so fucking reckless! You defied a direct order from your captain. You could have died.”
“Maybe I should have,” you mutter back, not looking at him.
“I should be so lucky,” he seethes. “If I hadn’t gone back for your dumbass, your body wouldn’t have even been recovered. You would have rotted in that damn HYDRA base. Is that what you want?”
You snort. “Ain’t like I got a family who wants my ashes.”
Bucky throws up his hands, exasperated, and then decides to pace up and down the aisle of the jet. He doesn’t look at you, and you only sneak glances at the rage painting his face when you’re sure he isn’t going to see you staring. He looks just as worn as you, the sole sleeve of his tac-suit bloody and ripped up, charred remains and soot skimming his boots where he’s tied the laces tight. Sweat-matted and probably dried with blood, his hair is falling in chunks from the bun he usually keeps it in for missions now, and he has to brush it out of his face every few paces he takes.
In another phrase, Bucky is fucking hot right now.
Maybe death would have been tragic, you muse, since you wouldn’t get to see the absolute specimen of your partner anymore.
For as much as you two hate each other, you can’t deny how gorgeous he is. Ripped to match the gods, carefully trimmed beard only a little more bristled than the one Steve sports these days, and god, the man wears a sweater like it’s Armani.
When you blink, you realize he’s looking at you, and your face flushes. It isn’t the first time he’s caught you staring at him hungrily, you’re sure, but most of the time he gets this stupid smug look on his face, lips wide in a smirk, and sometimes he’ll even throw you a flirty little line that has you gnashing your teeth and snapping at him to fuck off.
But this time, he’s so angry that he just stares at you, eyes narrowed in a glare.
“When we get back,” he says, nostrils flaring, “I’m benching you.”
“What?” you cry out, eyes wide. “Why the fuck—who the—who the fuck do you think you are?”
“Your captain!” he roars, and you almost swear the whole jet shakes with his fury. “You disobeyed my direct order to retreat to the jet and instead you almost cost us both our lives. Why the fuck shouldn’t I bench you?”
“I didn’t ask you to come save me!” you shout back, trying to stand from your seat. Almost immediately, Bucky shoves you back down.
“Not only am I your captain for this mission, but I’m your partner. I’m responsible for you. What, you just expect me to leave you behind?”
“The mission was already a success!” you say and you can feel tears burning the back of your eyes. You will yourself to blink them back. “You had the files, the base was set to detonate, I don’t understand why you didn’t just stay on the fucking jet.”
“Because you were going to die.”
The way that Bucky is looking at you right now steals all your breath away, steals all the fight you feel in your bones. You watch the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the way the vein in his neck jumps, the way he holds his jaw tight. His eyes, a blaze of blue, are looking at you like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve right in front of him, leaving behind a body bag of skin and bones and teeth. That’s all you are, maybe.
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“Stay with me,” he says, voice so close to your ear. “Please, just stay with me, doll.”
It’s all hazy. The world is black. You can’t open your eyes, they’re so heavy. Your body hurts so bad, so fucking bad. Someone is jostling you and it hurts so bad and you just want to open your mouth and scream.
“You’re okay.” It’s Bucky, you realize in some vague fog of a dream. “You’re going to be okay, I’ve got you.”
Your leg feels like it’s on fire. The air smells like the fourth of July, all fire and gunpowder and barbeque. Burnt flesh. It’s hot and thick, the smoke you’re breathing in.
“I have so much to tell you,” he whispers, maybe. Or maybe that’s just how it sounds in your mind. “So much to say to you. So much to apologize for. I need to tell you something. You told me about that dumb fucking banana bread. I have something I gotta tell you, doll.”
What? What does he have to tell you? You want to ask but your throat is so dry and your lips are glued together.
You want to tell him you aren’t dying, and god, he’s being so dramatic. But you can’t, because you might actually be dying.
Instead, you try so so so hard to open your eyes, and a sliver of light invades your vision, and even with the way your eyelids shudder, you can see Bucky’s face. Just a little bit. He’s covered in blood, you think.
Oh, but his eyes. Fuck, you love his eyes. Thank god you opened yours so you could stare at his eyes before you go to sleep again. So blue. So deep. So icy and sad and hurt and beautiful.
“Please,” he says, and you swear it’s the only time he’s ever begged you for anything.
Of course, you tell yourself before your eyes close again.  I’d do anything for you.
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“Why do you care?” you whisper, and he blanches, because you swear his damned super soldier hearing can even hear your thoughts.
But fuck it, you’re young, wild, and free, and you’re alive now too, so fuck it.
“Why do you care?” you repeat, louder this time, very clearly addressing him. “Why do you care so much if I die? You’ve hated me since the day you met me,” you spit the words out like poison.
Bucky turns away, gaze trained on something other than you and your bloodied tac-suit.
“We’ve always fought about this,” you continue. “This isn’t anything new, Barnes. You knew I’d go down to save those people. You knew I’d risk my life to get them out. You know this and you still fucking went after me. So why?”
The silence eats at every edge you have until it consumes you, and Bucky never replies.
You watch him walk away, toward the cockpit, and you don’t have the energy to follow him and finish the fight.
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“Get it through your pretty little head before you go on a mission and get yourself killed, doll.” Bucky’s smirk sends a shiver through you and you aren’t sure if it's anger or arousal. You bite down on your tongue to keep from lashing out. “You can’t save everyone.”
“Bullshit,” you say before you realize. Bucky’s eyes go wide. “I took this job because I have the ability to save people, so I’m going to save everyone.”
His mouth opens but you cut him off.
“I don’t care if you can’t save everyone, but me?” Your finger is braced against his hard chest and he doesn’t recoil. “I’ll save everyone or I’ll die trying.”
“Hey,” Steve says, trying to move between you two, but you barely notice his presence.
“You’re stupid,” Bucky hisses.
You smirk. “You’re not as skilled as you think you are.”
“Shut up,” he snarls.
“Make me,” you snap back.
“Guys,” Steve tries to interrupt.
“Meet me in the ring.” Bucky’s eyes are glaring down at you, heated. “Let’s see if you can handle me, doll.”
“Buck!” Steve’s hand falls on Bucky’s shoulder, working to hold him back from stalking off to the gym. But Bucky shrugs him off.
“Back off, Steve.” He looks over his shoulder at you as if daring you to follow.
And, fuck, you’ve never backed down from a challenge in your entire life, so you follow him all the way to the training room, watching the way his muscles strain through his tight t-shirt the whole way.
He’s kind enough to hold the ropes up so you can duck under easier, but you roll your eyes and leverage your foot against the spring and tuck your legs underneath you to jump the top rope easily. You throw him the same look that he did, a coy gaze over your shoulder, and then you beckon him forward.
His nostrils flare and you wonder what he’d look like on top of you in bed.
“Wrap your hands, for god’s sake,” Steve shouts, but you ignore him in favor of cracking your knuckles for good measure.
“I’m not planning on getting mine bloody,” you tell him, and Bucky laughs brusk.
“You should plan on losing,” he says, smirking.
With a twist of your jaw, you crack your neck. “Not planning on that, either.”
Like big cats, the two of you circle each other, toes so light the mat makes no noise. Bucky’s eyes are focused, narrowed, and beautiful like this, you think. He’s calculating every single movement you’re making and it sends a heat down to your core. This is all just foreplay to you.
Until he charges, and then it’s on. You’re a flurry of limbs, defensive stances and blocks. Bucky is unrelenting and the fucker is fast for his size. He never uses his metal arm to attack, but the manic whirr and click of it as he moves is alarming. There’s a window of opportunity when Bucky overshoots a right hook and you duck underneath his arm, and you’re able to get behind him and kick him the back of his knee. He falters for not even a second and then it’s back on.
It’s a dance, weaving between limbs and twirling kicks aimed at his head. You struggle to figure out how to take him down—he’s so big, like a fucking brick wall. There’s very little chance you can flip him. You’re going to have to try and get him in a hold, but there’s no way he’s going to allow you to do that.
But maybe you can bait him. You go on the attack now, whiffing a couple of good punches and sending a straight kick right at his jaw that he barely dodges. While you’re recovering, before your foot is even planted back on the mat, Bucky does exactly what you want him to do. He slides up with a fist and you feign a misstep, ducking right. His follow-through is too heavy and you grab his wrist, locking it in your grasp, and then your heel goes straight into his abdomen, right under his center of gravity.
He goes down and you relish in the moment his eyes blow wide with the shock of being caught off guard. You scramble on top of him but he rocks his hips up and starts to roll you both until you’re underneath him. In retaliation, you lock one foot around his calf and use your other knee to jab his stomach, and then you roll him underneath you instead. Your forearm presses against his neck, legs squeezing his middle.
God, he’s fucking pretty, his blue eyes all big and pants falling out of his pink lips. Sweat is dripping from his hairline and rolling off the bridge of his nose and it pleases you, the fact that you made Bucky Barnes bust his ass in a fight. You know you have to look like a drowned dog by now, so how the fuck is he still so pretty? For that, you press down on his throat harder until he taps the mat—a yield.
Immediately you’re off him, panting as you lean against the ropes, but a shit-eating grin is plastered on your face. Bucky looks anywhere but you, wiping his damp face on his shirt, which gives you the most perfect flash of his carved abs.
“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “we can agree to disagree, right?”
He stares at you for a hard moment, a longer moment than he has before, and you swallow as desire crawls up your spine. Then, Bucky ducks under the ropes, grabs his towel, and gets the hell out of dodge.
“Fuck you too, Barnes!” you shout, and you know he must’ve heard you.
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He helps you walk off the quinjet and you hate literally every second of every moment that you have to have his arm wrapped around your waist. Mostly because you’re pissed at him and you hate being babied, but also because god, you can imagine Bucky holding you like this in a different context way better than you should be able to.
Those thoughts are the demons in your brain and you need someone to exorcise you. Probably Natasha. No, Natasha will make fun of you. Wanda, then.
As soon as you’re out of the hangar, Bucky asks FRIDAY if there’s anyone in the medbay, and your neck about snaps in half from how fast you turn.
“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to medical.”
He cuts you a glare. “As if you have a say in it.”
“I do have a say! It’s my body! This is the twenty-first century, Barnes. My body, my choice!”
“You’re injured,” he grits through his teeth. “We’re going to medbay.”
“I don’t need to go!” You start dragging your heels, trying to make yourself heavier, but Bucky is a super soldier and probably throws mack trucks for a living or something. “You stitched me up! The burns aren’t that bad, either. I’m fine, I’m not going to medical.”
“God, can you ever give me a break?” he groans. “Why are you always so fucking difficult?”
“I’m not being difficult!” you snarl, trying to push away from him, but his grip tightens. “Why the fuck do you care so much?”
“You’re so fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, maybe I am, since I don’t know why the fuck you give two shits about saving my quote-unquote dumbass who almost got us both killed, and I don’t know why the fuck you care about getting me to medical when you’re gonna bench me anyway! Right, thanks a lot Barnes, I’m so stupid for not fucking figuring it out!”
“You are!” he roars, and then your back is against the wall, his hand cushioning your head from hitting it. He corners you there, covering your body with his, ducking down so your mouths are so close you would only need to reach up a little to kiss him, and god, that’s tempting.
Not tempting enough when you’re this pissed off, though.
“So that’s what it is, huh? You just think I’m some stupid, incapable little girl who is so impractical because all she wants to do is save lives? You think I’m so stupid that I don’t know that people are going to die? And they’re going to die because I can’t save them? Maybe you should think about how I could never live with myself if I didn’t do everything possible to save them, so I risk my life to get them to safety. I would never ever risk yours, you stupid, arrogant, ignorant—”
Oh, Jesus.
His lips are hot when they crash against yours, pinning you between him and the wall. It’s desperate, the kind of kiss you’ve never had before. It’s so desperate and you want to pull away and ask him, Bucky, what are you so desperate for? He kisses you like he wants to keep you, his mouth swallowing yours like he can’t get enough of you. It’s hungry and begging and you don’t ever want it to stop, your teeth nipping blood from his bottom lip as if it’ll stop him from leaving, but he pulls away, leaving you breathless anyway.
“You’re stupid,” he repeats again and you watch his tongue dart out to taste the blood you’ve ripped from his skin. It sends a thrill of pleasure through you. “You’re so stupid.”
And he kisses you again and you decide that sure, maybe you’re stupid, you’ll be stupid all day long because he’s going to kiss you stupid.
It’s your hands that move first, you realize in some random corner of your mind. Your fingers twine in his brown locks, tugging the hair tie away and flinging it somewhere. Vaguely, you realize you’re still in the middle of the hallway, on the way to the elevator, but you don’t give a shit. The hand that isn’t twisting Bucky’s scalp finds the material of his tac-suit and starts pulling at all the straps and buckles, searching for a sliver of his hot skin in any capacity.
His own hand, the one not holding the back of your head, skims over your waist and flutters down your uninjured hip, grasping at the flesh underneath your suit. Suddenly, you’re overcome with the need to get these fucking clothes off, and immediately, and you break the kiss so you can suck down air and ask the man you’ve been hating, been pining after, to take you to bed.
As you do, Bucky trails a hot path of sloppy kisses down your chin, over your jaw, against your neck, until he finds the juncture of your shoulder and attaches his teeth there, nibbling on a patch of skin that is so distracting you forget about your question for a minute. And then your fingers run over a rough spot on his suit and you remember.
“Bucky,” you gasp out, and it sounds so heady that you nearly throw your head back. “Bucky,” you repeat, more urgently, when he doesn’t let up, your hand is tightening on his sleeve and tugging on it.
His head snaps up now, eyes piercing yours, concerned.
“Are you okay?” he asks, moving your hair away from your face to look closer at you.
“Bed,” you rasp out, but barely. “Now, please.”
He doesn’t move for a second, just staring at you like he’s scared, like he’s surprised you would ask. You see his eyes sort of glaze over, a reminder of the nightmares he’s seen, the nightmares he replays over and over in his head, but you’re selfish and your core is pulsing with a heat you’ve never felt this hot before and you need him here, not wherever his mind is taking him.
“Please, Bucky,” you say, and he blinks, and then he’s present again.
“Anything for you, doll,” he whispers, and your legs nearly collapse beneath you at the thought. Bucky scoops you into his arms carefully, trying not to jostle your wound too much, and then he sweeps you into the elevator and you’re speeding toward his room and hoping to god that Steve isn’t prowling around.
In a haze of kissing and excitement, you barely recognize that Bucky’s opening his door until it’s closed behind you and he’s walking you through his room and to his bed.
God, you’ve wanted to be in his bed for so fucking long.
He drops you among the sheets gently, so starkly different from the harsh tone of his voice only a few minutes earlier when he was yelling at you, and you’re not sure what you like better. You want Bucky to fuck you, to rip you in half and put you back together like he always does. But you want him, so badly, to make love to you just as much, but you’d never admit that to him.
Bucky’s kissing you so sweetly now, and then his kisses get more forceful, more needy, and you suck on his tongue until he’s panting above you. His hands are everywhere, sliding over your suit, unstrapping and unzipping and unbuckling all your gear, and your hands fumble in tune with his, trying to help him get you out of your clothes.
Just before he takes off your vest, he kisses you and asks, “Is this okay?”
You rip the vest off yourself, sitting up on your elbows to rip your undershirt off with it, leaving you in a black sports bra.
And you revel in the way Bucky stares at this new flesh. His lips find your sweaty skin, covering every inch that’s been revealed now as your fingers start taking his tac-suit apart the way he did yours. Soon, you’re frustrated, and you whine and pull at it until he huffs a laugh and takes it off himself. His vest gets thrown to the side and his tank top follows, leaving him bare-chested.
Your fingers are shaky as they touch his tanned skin and you almost laugh at how nervous you are. You’ve spent so long looking at him, hating him, wanting him, and now you have this stretch of his wide chest in front of you and all you can do is let your fingertips glide over him, mouth parted, eyes hazy.
His pupils are blown wide, too, and Bucky takes your hand in his and presses it against him harder, and suddenly you’re feral.
Your hands slide over every part of him, taking in the expanse of him. His biceps, his strong shoulders, the hard planes of his body. As gentle as possible, you trail your fingers closer and closer to the scar where metal meets flesh, and you glance up at him, a silent question, and when he gives you the smallest nod, you smooth over the gnarled rift of skin. You don’t ask if it hurts. He gives no indication that it does. And when you reach up to press a soft kiss to it, he shudders above you.
“Please,” he whispers, so quietly. “Let me touch you, doll.”
You lay back and start to unstrap your holsters, gesturing for Bucky to help you with your pants. He unlaces your boots for you as you throw your weapons to the ground, the clink of belts and buckles mingling in the silence, a song that ignites the excitement inside of you.
Your core is molten lava, the apex of your thighs dripping and Bucky hasn’t even touched the most intimate parts of you yet. Every single fiber of your being is trembling in anticipation, and in your hurry to strip your pants off, a twinge of pain shoots through you as you bend the wrong way, stitches pulling.
Bucky curses—like he’s the one who’s hurt you and you aren’t the idiot trying to rip her pants off—and just like he can flip the switch on his attitude, he flips the switch on this, too. He’s off of you before you realize, sitting back on his haunches, staring down at you in panic.
“I’m—Baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I'm sorry.”
His hands are outstretched, reaching for you, trembling as he swallows hard. You watch as his eyes shift in the space between your face and the white gauze wrapped around the bullet wound in your side.
“Bucky,” you hiss and grab him by the back of his neck, pulling him down. He doesn’t budge, not much at least, but you meet him the rest of the way and your lips collide with his in a thunderous crash, and like instinct, he kisses you until you can’t breathe.
“Doll,” he mumbles against your mouth and you drink the word from his tongue, distracting him. “We can’t.”
“We can,” you growl back, teeth reminding him of the pulsing ache between your thighs. In search of more, your hips roll up and meet his own, causing a groan to tumble out of his mouth into your own.
Fuck the pain—you’ll grit your teeth and bear it. This is the only moment you’ll ever have him, and by god, you need him.
Your hands return to your pants. “Help me,” you plead, breathless, unable to shimmy out of them. Bucky’s already pulled your boots off, socks coming with them, and his fingers find the heated flesh right beneath your waistband.
“Are you sure?”
All you can do is whine his name until he understands, and then Bucky is peeling your black pants from your legs, the rush of cool air rolling over your hot skin feeling almost as good as his hands are going to feel if he’ll just put them on you.
When his palms finally fall upon your thighs, rough and calloused and big and warm, you need much more, so much more. The way he trails his fingers down your knees, caressing your calves, brushing atop your ankle, and then coming back up to have his thumbs follow the ridge of muscles in your thighs, it all makes you shiver in pleasure. You’re so hot, sweat pooling in the small of your back against the bed, the dampness of your core becoming harder to ignore.
You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to relieve the ache and Bucky notices—of course he notices—and his mouth finds your neck again, sucking until dark bruises begin to mar your skin, until you’re bowing off the bed, arching toward him, trying to get something, anything. Anything from him.
At some point, you realize he’s just torturing you on purpose, letting his hands roam the stretch of your stomach, smooth over the hills of your hips, and then draw down your legs until you’re shaking as he kisses you so softly, and then so roughly, like he can’t decide if he wants to grow old with you or if he wants to ruin you for whoever comes after him.
You sit up and reach around, fingers intent on unclasping your bra, but Bucky stops you with a nip at your bottom lip.
“Will you let me?” he asks, so sweetly. Bucky’s hand finds yours and bats them away, his fingers on the hooks as he waits for your answer.
“Yes,” you moan as his other hand tickles down the curve of your side. “God, please, yes.”
“Bucky,” he says, smirking against the side of your neck.
“Shut up and undress me, for fuck’s sake.”
“Well, when you ask so sweet like that, baby.”
With a quiet click, your bra comes undone and Bucky pulls it away from your body, and then your breasts are bare before his eyes. Now, it’s your turn to be doused in ice, to freeze, for the switch to flip.
You feel shy beneath his gaze, the way he looks at your nearly naked body with such reverence, as though this is the moment he’s been waiting for. Your knees close and your elbows draw in over your chest without your permission. It’s not like you want to hide from him, but he looks so perfect atop you, so beautiful in every single facet, better than any dream you’ve ever had of him, and you can’t stop yourself.
What have the other girls looked like underneath him? Better than you, surely. Prettier, skinnier, smaller, sexier. For fuck’s sake, you’ve got a nasty burn on the side of your leg and were shot through your left side only a few hours ago, your middle wrapped in medical tape. You can’t be that pretty a picture.
You’ve had your shot at him and you’re gonna lose it.
But when you look up, Bucky’s looking at you like you’re everything. His face is flushed, red creeping down his neck, and his eyes are soft, hazy, glassy. Gently, his fingers find your jaw and cup your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
“Let me look at you, baby.” His voice is almost as rough as the worn skin of his hand, dry and gravelly and thick with lust. When Bucky moves to grasp your wrists, you let your eyes flutter closed and nod, allowing him to peel your arms away from where they hide you, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes.
“God,” his voice shudders. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, doll. I couldn’t have dreamed you up if I tried, and I promise you, I tried.”
Your eyes fly open at this. “What?”
If it bothers him, he doesn’t act like it. Bucky leans down to nuzzle his nose against your collarbone, kissing and licking your skin like he’s making constellations out of your body—bruises connected only by his tongue.
“I’ve thought about this since the day you kicked my ass in the ring.” He sounds like he’s reciting a prayer, all whispered desires. “Your perfect lips, what they’d feel like, how soft they are. If you’d touch my scars, and how your fingers would feel on them all if you did.”
His mouth closes over the mound of your breast, the clash of tongue and teeth upon your nipple forcing you to arch into him in pleasure. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream and you aren’t quite aware that you���re even whining until his free hand crawls up from your hip and cups your other breast, thumb strumming over your peaked nipple. The breathy moans that pour from your mouth fill the room and only seem to make Bucky work faster, work harder, as he drags every drop of pleasure out of you with every instrument he has. Your hips buck up and into his, your thinly-clothed core catching the tent in his pants—his tac-suit, you realize, is still on—and it makes you both groan in a symphony of need.
“Need you,” you somehow manage to get out between your heavy panting, hips still searching for something to relieve the ache in your center. “Bucky, please.”
He releases your nipple from his lips, the chill assaulting the wet bud making you bow from the bed once again. Bucky places a kiss on the other, letting his tongue lave over it until it's just as wet and hard.
“I imagined what you’d sound like,” he says against your stomach, punctuating his words with a smattering of kisses across your skin. “Thought about what you’d—fuck, baby—I thought so much about how you’d look beneath me all spread out, just for me.”
The sound you make in reply is almost embarrassing as how soaked your panties are.
“Wondered how you’d taste.” He lets his tongue drag across the hem of your underwear and you press up, trying to get his mouth closer, but his hands settle on your hips and gently hold you to the bed.
“Bucky!” you try and growl, but it comes out an octave too high. “Please!”
“What is it, babydoll?” His fingers curl underneath, thumbs riding the line of skin just beneath your panties.
“I need you!” You throw your head back against the pillow. “I’ve thought about it too,” you admit, breathing hard. “How you’d touch me like this, how you’d feel inside me, please, so please just—I need you, Bucky.”
“You got me, baby,” he says and it sounds so fucking beautiful. “I’m right here. I got you, doll. Gonna take care of you, okay? Will you let me give you what you need?”
You answer by trying to press your hips up again, and Bucky shifts until his hands are cupping your ass and he drags you down the bed, closer to him, closer to his own hips where you can feel the bulge of his cock begging to be released.
“Your pants,” you remind him, wrapping your uninjured leg around the back of his thigh. “I want to feel you, please, Bucky.”
“Okay, doll,” he says, laying a kiss just above your panty line again, and then he’s pulling away and you whine despite it.
You listen as Bucky fiddles with his gear, going through the same motions as you had to go through earlier. The clink of his knives, the buckles of his holsters, the heavy soles of his boots as he throws them off. When you sit up, Bucky is standing in his black boxers, the faint light streaming into his room highlighting the shine of the scars that cover his body.
He looks as breathless, as flustered, as aroused as you feel. His hair is mussed from your hands, falling over his shoulder in the thick waves that feel so soft between your fingers. The lust is evident in the way his eyes roam over your body, his pupils blown wide, and then he’s moving toward you and fitting himself between your legs on the bed.
Bucky slides his hands over your heated skin yet again, a reminder of how much he wants you, how much he loves the feel of you, before his fingers hook inside your panties and begin to pull them down. Before he gets too far, he stops again, gaze flicking up to meet yours.
“Is this alright?” he asks.
You nod, lifting your hips as carefully as possible in order to keep from jostling your wound, and Bucky slips the last piece of clothing from your body. You hope, fucking christ you hope, he doesn’t realize how soaked they are when he peels them off, but maybe that’s a lost cause.
Because as soon as you’re naked, your glistening core bare to his eyes alone, all bets are off. There are no more barriers, nothing for you to hide behind, no sharp words to keep your feelings at bay.
His fingers skim over your lips, collecting all the honey you’ve made for him as his knees widen to spread your thighs. The simple movement has your hips rolling already in search of more, whimpers falling from your mouth as Bucky stares at your naked form beneath him. Eyes lidded, you watch as he brings his fingers, wet with your juices, up to his mouth.
“Shit, doll,” he curses. Bucky’s tongue envelops his digits and he groans at the taste, sending shocks like a fucking earthquake through your body, through your bones, straight to your core.
He moves closer to you, sliding your thighs onto his shoulder and locking his metal arm around the top of your hips, far enough away from your wound that it doesn’t hurt. Bucky peppers kisses along your inner thighs, biting and sucking in intervals that has you pressing your mound to him, begging for more.
“You taste so good,” he mumbles, breath ghosting over your quivering pussy, pulling a wanton whine from your throat. “Will you let me taste you, baby?”
“God, yes, please Bucky,  please, I need it so bad.” The words are frantic, strangled, a mess of moans of breathless gasping.
“I know, sweetheart,” he says. “I got you, baby. I got you.”
And then his mouth is on you, hot and slick upon hot and slick, his tongue parting the valley of your lips and delving into your dripping center like he’s a man starved and you’re the first meal he’s tasted in years. You keen in pleasure, thrashing your head against the pillows until your hair is a tangled mess as Bucky’s tongue flattens on your clit, licking a wide path until it’s well-traveled and your hips stutter, held back only by the cooled metal on your heated skin. Your hands find purchase in his hair, fingers tugging at his scalp, and the motion makes him groan into you.
You call his name like it’s the only word you know, chanting it over and over like it’s a spell similar to the one he’s weaving with his tongue upon your aching clit. He doesn’t let up, tracing words you can’t make out and drinking in all the wetness flooding his mouth. The gentle scratch of his wiry beard burns just right, contrasting with the curls of pleasure coming from your sensitive clit. Without realizing, you grind your core against Bucky’s mouth, the friction only serving to make you into a trembling mess, your insides throbbing with a need to be filled, pussy clenching around nothing.
As if he feels you, Bucky slides his free hand over your leg and to the apex of your thighs, the first thick finger entering you slowly, like he’s testing the waters. You cry out, begging for more, and Bucky relents. His second finger follows as his tongue continues to lap at your pussy, letting you gyrate against his face as you try to fuck yourself on his hand.
“Bucky,” you pant, each letter of his name a stutter with moans, “please!”
“Please what, babydoll?” His voice sends another wave of arousal through you, juices slicking his fingers up more than before. Your stomach is tightening, pleasure in tight curls between your legs, center so close to snapping that tears are beginning to leak from your eyes because Bucky won’t fucking let you move your hips in the way that you want. He chuckles against your pussy, breath teasing over you, vibrations making you quiver.
“I’m gonna—”
Bucky curls his fingers inside of you, stroking your spot, just as his mouth envelops your clit in its heat and he sucks, hard, and the thin thread coiling in your core snaps and you come apart, harder, and a scream tears itself from your throat as warm tears fall into your hairline.
He never stops. As his suckling turns into kitten licks upon your clit, his third finger breaches your opening and slips inside, pumping into you as you ride your orgasm out on his hand. Your hand is tight in his hair until it all becomes too much and it falls to cover your mouth, your teeth finding your knuckle to bite back the sound of your moans.
“Oh no, baby, no,” Bucky says, and when you look down, he’s between your legs, watching you in the aftershocks of your pleasure. His fingers leave your pussy and you clench around nothing, a whine leaving your lips at the emptiness, until Bucky’s metal fingers are pulling your hand away from your face.
“I gotta hear you,” he whispers, the hand covered in your nectar finding your mouth. “Need to hear all those pretty little noises you’re making, baby. I’ve dreamed about ‘em. Would get my cock all hard thinking about ‘em. You gotta keep making ‘em ‘cause now that I’ve heard ‘em, I can’t get enough, babydoll.”
When he moves to trace your bottom lip, red and swollen from his own, your tongue darts out to taste the salt and sin on the pad of his thumb. Bucky places his fingers at your parted lips and you suck them into your mouth, licking all the juice from his skin, tongue swirling around his digits. You wonder if his lips taste like this, too.
He groans as he watches you, his eyes lidded and hazy and lovely, and then his metal hand finds the waistband of his boxers and yanks them off his hips. In one perfect movement, his cock slaps against his stomach, hot and red and already leaking, which makes you flush at the fact that Bucky liked making you come.
Subconsciously, your tongue snakes out to lick your lips as you take in the length, the thickness of his cock, and Bucky gets that familiar look on his face—cocky, smirking, knowing that he’s pushing your limits. He presses you back down upon the bed, his arms bracketing your head as his nose brushes against yours, his heat pressing into the subtle dip where your hip and thigh meet.
The feeling of his cock, hard and heavy against your naked skin, sends you into a frenzy of arousal, of want, of need. You reach out and take him into your hand, your thumb brushing over the velvet head and smearing his precum along his length. Bucky’s jaw tightens, muscle twitching, as you pump your fist around him and drag your fingers along the blue vein riding up the underside. The groan that falls from his lips, the stutter and jerk of his hips, the way he shakes above you is addicting, and Bucky has to pull your wrist away from his cock in order to stop you from getting him off just like that.
“Baby,” he breathes, resting his sweaty forehead against yours.
“Bucky, please,” you beg again. “Please, I need you inside me.”
“You want me?” he asks, and even though his voice is scratchy and thick with desire, he says it like he’s surprised. As if you could never want him.
You’ve always wanted him.
“Yes, god, Bucky. I want you,” you moan, threading your fingers into his hair to smash your lips together in a sharp, bruising kiss. “I need you,” you say against his mouth. “I need you so, so bad.”
“I need you too, babydoll. Need to feel you,” he says, the sound strained, almost like he can’t stay away from you any longer. You feel it too, the ache without him, the way your pussy clenches in anticipation for him.
The head of Bucky’s cock nudges at your entrance and your slick coats him. The soft skin of him brushes your over-sensitive clit and you keen, and he does it again, and again, until you’re shaking, until you wrap your ankles around Bucky’s back and pull him into you, raising your hips to meet his.
“You want this?” His voice is heavy when he asks.
“Yes,” you moan out, rocking against him.
He says your name and it sounds pained on his tongue. “Are you sure?”
“James.” Your teeth snap and gnash on his name, and it awakens something within him that sets every place he touches you ablaze with a new sensation, and Bucky enters you with a slow thrust of his hips. 
And it feels so fucking good.
Like straining a muscle you haven’t used in a while, it aches as he enters while you stretch to accommodate his size. The way his cock feels inside of you—touching you in places you never thought you’d be touched, filling you in a way you never thought you’d be filled.
He’s finally, finally yours. If just for this moment, Bucky Barnes is yours.
Your nails incise his back, making new marks among the sea of scarring he’s suffered, as you cling to his body in any way to feel him closer to you. Bucky leaves kisses on every surface of your face, your jawline, your neck. He kisses you everywhere and you wish you could tattoo the feeling into your skin.
“Are you alright?” he mumbles faintly into your neck and you can feel how hard he’s trying not to move, not to hurt you, to give you time to adjust to him. Your fingers trail up and down his spine, drifting into his hair, scratching against his scalp.
“Yes,” you hiss, undulating your hips and making a similar sound fall from his lips. “Bucky, please.”
You don’t know how many iterations of that same phrase you’ve said all night, but you’ll keep saying it, over and over, if he’ll take you like this. Just like this, with his arms trapping your body to the bed, his hips flush against yours, panting above you as he stares into your eyes all lustful and dark and wanting. He smells like the Bucky you’re so familiar with, your partner, Barnes, gunpowder and explosions and blood, with the clean scent of whatever deodorant he uses. If he’ll keep you like this, where you can pretend your his for this moment, you’ll say it over and over
Bucky, please—Bucky, please—Bucky, please—please—please—
When he finally moves, thrusting into your heat with a growl, it feels like time stops.
Bucky fucks you like he loves you, slow and steady, pumping into you fully and deeply until you lose your mind. He fucks you like he wants to ravage you, fast and quick and hard as he holds your hips to keep you steady, and you ignore the dull pain that flares up in your side because he’s fucking you like he needs you, like he can’t exist without you. He fucks you like he’ll never get another chance to touch you. When he fucks you like this, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, out of time, he rests his forehead against yours and you lean up to capture his mouth with yours, tongues sliding over one another sloppily.
The heat is building up inside of you again, and when Bucky lifts your hips and drapes you over his knees, pressing you up with his metal arm, his cock hits the spot inside you that makes you scream over and over. The waves are cresting. The crescendo is approaching. Every grunt and groan he makes mingles with your moans and shrieking pleasure, and it’s all going to culminate into one big moment, you can feel it.
Bucky pulls back to slip his hand between your bodies, sweaty and hot, and his thumb presses gently into your clit. With one sharp thrust, your body arches off the bed as you snap, screaming his name, and Bucky holds you through it.
Your vision goes black—you aren’t sure if it's because your eyes are screwed shut in pleasurable pain or if it's because you’ve passed out. Bucky’s hips jerk wildly into yours and you tighten the grip you have around his waist with your legs, digging your heels into the small of his strong back.
“So tight,” he hisses into your ear. “So fucking wet, baby. Feel so fucking right, made for me, aren’t you doll?”
“Yes, James,” you moan out as you ride the waves of your orgasm. “Made for you!”
Bucky works at your clit again as his rhythm starts to fail, and even with how sensitive you are, you feel the pleasure curling inside you again, hot inside your stomach. You clench and jolt whenever his cock hits the right angle, and all of a sudden, you’re on the edge yet again.
“I can’t,” you cry out, nearly a sob lost to the sound of his hips snapping against yours.
“You can,” he says, so gently. “You can, baby, just for me. You said so, right?”
How is he still talking? For fuck’s sake, your tongue feels like its detached from your mouth and all you can muster are the moans and whines that come from the back of your throat Bucky is forcing out of you.
“Come with me,” you beg, you plead. “Please James, please, come with me.”
“Baby—”
You break apart silently, clinging to his body, holding him to you as every fiber of your being is torn into pieces, shattered. As your pussy clenches and spasms around him, Bucky stutters in his thrusts and you pull him into you, willing him to fall over the edge with you, and he follows dutifully.
He groans out your name as he comes inside of you, liquid heat searing the deepest part of you. Falling back against the pillows, you whisper his name and drag him with you, mouth meeting his for one last clumsy, haphazard kiss. Bucky stills inside of you, still throbbing, and then he whispers something against your lips.
“I love you.”
You freeze, eyes wide, and Bucky pulls away from your embrace to look at you.
“What?” you ask, swallowing thickly. “What did you say?”
“I—” He looks nervous now, but his blue eyes are so fucking sincere. “I’m—I’m so sorry, fuck.”
Bucky moves to pull out of you, to leave, but you tighten your legs around his hips and trap him against you. The cocky smirk he wears, the confident smile, even the look of desire he wore while fucking you—it’s all gone. Left in its wake is the ashamed look Bucky wears that makes him seem small, and you want to smooth it away until he looks at you like he wants you again. Like he wants you to be his. 
Like he loves you.
“Why are you sorry?” you ask him, stroking a hand through his hair.
“Because—fuck—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” He glances away from you and glares at the floor and a heartbreaking pain shoots through you. Now, he pulls out of you, shifting to get off the bed and clean up, but you can’t stop the words before they tumble out.
“You didn’t want me?”
“What?” Bucky turns and cups your face in his hand, searching your eyes for something, and his thumb wipes away a stray tear you didn’t realize had fallen. 
Oh fuck, here it comes. He told you he loved you in a fit of passion and now you’re the stupid, clingy girl that he needs to leave behind. You’re partners, first and foremost, and you shouldn’t have forgotten that.
But god, he made you feel like you were his, and you wanted that so bad. You want it so fucking bad.
“It’s okay,” you tell him, voice shaking and you wonder if you mean it. “I know I’m stupid, and I know you hate me, and I know it was just sex—”
“Baby, no, please.” Bucky brings your face to his and kisses you softly, sweetly, like he adores you. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry because someone like me shouldn’t love someone like you. God, I shouldn’t love someone as perfect as you. I can’t have you, doll. And I’m sorry.”
Oh. Bucky does love you.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
You surge up and slant your mouth over his, hand gripping the back of his neck to pull him down, fingers twining in the fine hairs where his scalp meets his skin. In this one kiss, you pour everything you think you can into it, everything you feel now, everything you’ve felt since you met him, everything you’ve ever felt at every moment you’ve shared with him.
“I love you,” you say when you pull away. “I love you so much, Bucky. I’ve loved you since the day I met you.”
His eyes are so wide, so afraid, so confused.
“You do?”
“I do,” you tell him. “God, I’ve wanted you for so long, Bucky Barnes, you stupid man.”
You expect him to kiss you now, but he doesn’t. Instead, Bucky cradles your head in his hand and pulls you to his chest, embracing you in his warm arms. He rolls onto the bed, carefully lifting you until you’re situated on top of him, where you wrap your limbs around him and lay upon his warm body. Bucky lays kisses on the crown of your hair, holding you so tightly against him you think you might suffocate.
“I’ve loved you since the day you kicked my ass, doll,” he admits. You laugh.
“Are you kidding me? I thought you hated me.”
“I could never hate you,” he says. “I hated that you would sacrifice yourself for others. I still hate it. It’s why you got hurt today and god, the threat of losing you, it scares me doll. I didn’t know what I would do if you died right there in my arms and I never got the chance to tell you all this.”
You glance up at him, at his beautiful face and his beautiful eyes, the man who you hated and who you wanted and who you love. God, you really do love him.
“I’m not going to leave you,” you whisper, pressing an awkward kiss to his bare chest. “Now that I have you, I could never leave you.”
He laughs at that. “Babydoll, you’ve always had me. I can’t believe you never knew.”
You think back to all the times he’s looked at you, dopey grins and cocky smiles and coy glances. You think about how long you’ve leaned on each other in the two years you’ve been partners, how he’s the only person you’ve ever trusted with your life, how you always work to come back to him. You think about the butterflies that stirred in your stomach the first time you met him, when he shook your hand and gave you the prettiest smile you’d ever seen, the same smile he has plastered on his face right now as looks down at you.
Sitting up, you look at Bucky Barnes, chin resting in your palm lazily.
“Maybe I’ve always known,” you say.
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe I did, too.”
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fandom-puff · 3 years
Text
Family, Duty, Honour
Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader
Requested by: anon ‘Can you do Tyrion with his arranged marriage wife on their wedding night/first time?’
Notes: the reader in this fic is a Tully cousin. Let’s see if I can actually get to the smut without almost 1k words of worldbuilding this time! (The answer is no- do u see why it takes me so bloody long to write!)
(Part 2)
Warnings: Arranged marriage, smut, loss of virginity, clearly not canon compliant lol
Gif creds to owner
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Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s office was never a pleasant experience. More often than not, it meant you were in serious trouble, and in Tyrion’s case, he was always in trouble; his father often referred to him as a drunken, lusty little fool. As Tyrion entered the office, he instantly did not like what he saw; his father was stood with his hands behind his back, rather than being sat behind his desk. He gestured for his son to sit, before he began speaking.
“As you know, your sister has been married to King Robert for some time, and is now pregnant with their second child. Their first, Joffrey, will be the next king of the seven kingdoms,” Tyrion nodded slowly as his father spoke at him, rather than to him. “In case that child is a girl, she must fall pregnant again to ensure there is an heir and a spare to fully consolidate the Baratheon dynasty. Your brother Jaime has sworn an oath that prohibits him from siring children,”
“Legitimate children,” Tyrion quipped, relishing in the way his father’s jaw tightened.
“Siring legitimate children. And I will not sit a bastard on Casterly Rock when I am gone. That leaves you,” Tyrion sat up a little straighter- was his father finally agreeing to acknowledge his claim now that Jaime couldn’t be lord of Casterly rock? “I have therefore arranged your marriage, and your son will inherit Casterly rock.”
Tyrion frowned. “My son? Surely it goes to me first,”
Tywin snorted. “Don’t remind me,”
Tyrion was quiet for a moment. “Who have you promised me to?”
“One of Hoster Tully’s nieces,” he said flatly. “What, disappointed? There aren’t many noble houses willing to marry off their daughters to a dwarf, even if he is a Lannister. You will marry YN Tully, splitting their ties with the North and the Vale with West. Your son will have Casterly Rock, and gods be willing, your spare will have Riverrun,”
“Hoster has other children, as well as his niece,”Tyrion reminded him.
“Yes. But Catelyn’s children will be shared about the North; Eddard Stark is unlikely to let them stray further south than the Neck. And Lysa has struggled to conceive, and her only child is sickly. If the it comes to it, one of the Stark heirs will take the Vale. Edmure Tully is a cocksure fool, and Brynden Tully has gone rogue. It’ll be easy to place your spare on that seat. But an heir for Casterly rock should be your priority,”
Tyrion sighed. “I don’t have a choice in this matter, do I?” When Tywin shook his head, he sighed. “Then I would like to meet this girl before we wed. To settle her nerves. Is she… of age?”
“She has flowered,” Tywin said sternly. “That should be enough for you,” with that he turned on his heel, leaving Tyrion to mull the concept of his wedding over. He sighed, returning to his chamber- he was in dire need of a drink.
**
As you walked up the steps to Casterly Rock your breath caught in your chest and you squeezed your uncle’s arm subconsciously as he escorted you.
As you entered the keep, Lord Tywin came around the corner, closely followed by his son. You gave a little curtsy to Tywin, before allowing Tyrion to kiss your knuckles. “My lady,” he said, his voice gentle. “I thought we might take a stroll through the garden. I’m afraid it’s not as impressive as the likes of the Reach, but it overlooks the sea,” your uncle gave a nod, allowing Tyrion to escort you on a tour of the gardens while he finalised the wedding plans with your soon to be father in law.
As you walked, Tyrion stole small glances sideways at you. It was undeniable that you were a Tully, possessive the sharp bone structure and deep red hair of your family. You knew your airs and graces, listening attentively as he told you about the history of Casterly rock. Sighing, he gestured for you to sit on an elaborately carved stone bench.
“My Lady… I know that this marriage is not… well it’s not anybody’s idea of perfection. I may be the ‘Imp’ but I promise to you I shall treat you well. I will protect you, honour you, treat you properly as my lady wife,”
You nibbled your lip nervously nodding slowly. “Thank you, Lord Tyrion,” you said softly, and he couldn’t help but stare longer than was decent into your piercing eyes.
“H-how old are you, Lady YN?” He asked gently, fearing the worst.
“My nineteenth name day will be in four moons,” you said. “Why?”
Tyrion shuffled slightly. “I only ask… these marriages usually do not take age into consideration. My father only told me you… were fertile. I feared that I would be wed to a child. And if that was the case, I would wait until you were older for the… I will still wait now, if that is your wish,” he promised, and you nodded, feeling much more at ease with the prospect of marrying the Imp.
***
The vows were said and you had been cloaked under the rich red and gold of house Lannister. Seated at the head table of the grand hall of Casterly Rock, you watched as the feast and the dancers went on. As Tyrion placed tidbits of the rich food on your plate, you were increasingly aware of the rising drunkenness in the room- over the hubbub of the feast, you could hear several bawdy jokes about the upcoming consummation of your marriage.
Tyrion noticed your growing anxiety, and placed his hand gently over yours. “Remember what I told you,” he said in a quiet voice, leaning close to your ear so that you could hear him. “If you want me to, I will wait,” you nodded at his reassurance, your shoulders relaxing slightly in your wedding gown, and you slipped your hand into his, giving it a gentle squeeze in thanks.
After the final course was served- small cakes decorated with and intricate motif of a lion frolicking in a river full of splashing trout in honour of the new alliance forged between the west and the riverlands- Lord Tywin and Lord Hoster rose from their table and made their way to the head table. Tywin gestured Tyrion away until you could no longer hear, though you were sure your father in law was lecturing him on his expectations for a son. Your uncle took a seat beside you, pouring you a half cup of wine.
“When your mother died,” he began. “I swore to the old gods and the new to protect you. The Lannisters are proud, and dangerous no doubt, but you are one of them now, my girl, and I’d rather you be married to the Lannisters with their power and wealth than to be treated like a whore by the Dornish or even the Baratheon… the Lannisters aren’t likely to let harm come to you, but I swear, if the imp ever hurts you, I will raise the men of the Riverlands, and I will get the Vale and the North on board as well. Even in Casterly Rock, you will be protected,”
You smiled. “Thank you, Uncle. But Lord Tyrion is a good man, kind and gentle. And even though I am a woman grown, he swore to me he would not force himself on me, nor would he betray my honour,” your uncle gave a tight smile, kissing the top of your head.
“Honour,” he said stiffly, stiffly, seeing Tywin and Tyrion returning to you. “Remember our words, My girl. Family, Duty, Honour,”
You nodded, squeezing his hand, before it was announced that it was time for the bedding. But instead of a boisterous display involving stripping both you and Tyrion out of your clothes on your way to your marriage chamber, Tyrion took your hand and led you out of the great hall alone, walking you to your new bedroom in relative silence.
As you shut the door, he looked at you, sighing quietly. “Shall we have some wine?” He said gently, gesturing to the table set out with wine and bread and fruit, in case the happy couple needed sustenance throughout the night. You gave him a small smile and nodded, letting him pull a chair out for you as you sipped on wine and nibbled on bread.
“I… expected a bedding ceremony, my Lord,” you said quietly, before quickly adding “I’m glad the traditional one didn’t happen though! My cousin, Catelyn didn’t have one, because her husband didn’t want to dishonour her,”
“Eddard Stark and I have that in common,” Tyrion said lightly. “And I told my father that I would not have his bannermen manhandle my wife to her room,”
You smiled gratefully, setting your cup down. Tyrion held up the jug, but you shook your head, not wanted to get too inebriated. You sighed softly, your fingers tracing over the embroidery on your wedding gown, and Tyrion watched as you worked over the stitched trouts- although Casterly rock glittered with jewels and gold, he had to admit that the embroidery of the riverlands and the north was superior to the rest of Westeros. “Are you nervous, My Lady?” He said gently, asking the obvious, before reminding you again of his promise.
“I am, a little,” you murmured. “But… I must do my duty and give you a son,” you looked away, taking a deep breath. “I am nervous because I’m a maid, and I am scared it will hurt, or I will not please you, or fulfil my duties to my family. But I… I trust, my Lord. I think I’ve trusted from the moment you invited me to Casterly Rock ahead of the wedding, despite that being only two weeks ago…”
Tyrion smiled gently as you rambled, taking both of your hands in his and leaning down to kiss both sets of knuckles. “I won’t hurt you. I’ll be gentle with you,” he promised. “I must ask one thing of you, YN… just call me Tyrion,”
You smiled gently, leaning down and pressing your lips gently to his. It was your first proper kiss, aside from the one under the eyes of the gods, and you were initiating it. Tyrion couldn’t help but smile against the cushion of your lips, finding your tentative gentleness endearing. He reached one hand up to curl around the back of your neck and was relieved to feel you relax as he stroked your deep red hair. He grazed his teeth against your bottom lip, before pressing them down gently, you let out a shudder and-gods- a moan.
“Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured.
“Please don’t,” you replied, voice breathy as you felt unfamiliar heat and… longing stirring within you. With your gentle plea replaying in his head, he slipped his hand into yours, pulling you gently towards the canopied bed.
Slowly, you undressed one another down to your smallclothes. Tyrion gulped as he looked over you, the peaks of your breasts pushing against your chemise. “Magnificent,” he murmured, and you smiled, ducking your head down to hide your bashful expression.
“What do I… what do I do?” You whispered, sitting on the bed. Tyrion smiled gently.
“We must prepare you,” he said gently. At your frown, he carried on. “If we are to continue with comfort in mind, we must ensure your body is ready to… accommodate me. This will relax you… make you… slick,” he explained and you nodded slowly, shuffling back so you could lay on the pillows. As Tyrion made to climb up onto the bed, you took a deep breath, lifting your chemise up and over your head to bear your chest and cunt to him. Tyrion suppressed a groan at the sight, urging himself to go slow. You were his lady wife, not some whore. He approached you slowly, coming up to your side and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, before trailing his lips down. You gasped as you felt his teeth scrape against your skin, before you let out a low moan as his lips wrapped around your nipple, suckling gently. He waited until your breath came in little desperate pants, your body twisting and pushing up to him before he trailed his hand down to the thatch of curls between your thighs. You gasped and tensed up, but as he began rubbing your thigh gently and you soon relaxed, allowing him to push your thighs apart.
“T-Tyrion,” you whimpered, feeling the palm of his hand cup your pussy. He was about to ask if you were okay, but your next words put his mind at ease. “Please… more…”
He gave a light chuckle. “As my lady wife commands,” he said, a slight smirk tugging at his lip as his finger dragged between your folds, swirling around your clit on every other stroke, until you were dripping and squirming with anticipation, grasping onto his arm, little moans tumbling from your lips. Tyrion smiled slightly, sucking his finger clean and groaning at the taste. “Are you ready for my cock, YN?” He asked, and you bit your lip.
“I-I think so?” You murmured, watching with wide eyes as he undid his underwear and shoved it down his thighs, his straining cock springing free. You bit your lip hard, and Tyrion smiled softly.
“I will be gentle with you, YN, I promise,” you gulped and nodded, reaching for him.
“Please…” you murmured. “I-I’m ready,” Tyrion gave a slight smile as he moved to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing his cock into you. You whimpered, back arching, and when he hit the barrier of your maidenhead, you hissed.
Tyrion petted your thigh gently, shushing you. “This will hurt for just a moment, I promise,” he told you, and you nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as he breached your maidenhead. What was an uncomfortable stinging sensation soon dissolved into a feeling of fullness, of being stretched. It felt… good.
“M-move,” you begged, bucking your hips up despite yourself, and to your delight, Tyrion complied, groaning as he grasped your hips, his hips beginning to roll against yours, his girth caressing all of your most intimate pleasure points, watching the way your eyebrows tugged together and your mouth went slack as you let out needy gasps and moans, increasing in pitch and volume as he dragged you closer to the edge. He was close himself, his movements becoming more sloppy, his head tipping back as he groaned and grunted. “Tyrion,” you cried, back arching, and his mouth practically watered at the sign of your bouncing tits. “Tyrion I’m- I feel-”
“Let it happen,” he groaned, and when he felt your channel spasm around his length he grunted, spurting his seed into you with a shout of your name, spurred on by your cries of ecstasy.
Shaking, gasping, you whimpered as Tyrion pulled out of you, and smiled gently as you watched him pour you some wine and get you some fruit. You curled into his side, now under the covers as you sipped the more watered down wine, humming softly as Tyrion fed you plump, sweet berries. Sleepy, you settled down under the covers, resting your head on his bare chest, and as you nodded off to sleep, Tyrion swore to himself that he would put his young wife and any children you had before all else in his life.
Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi
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demonmocns-archive · 2 years
Note
resending because i am a whore (certified) ! dumbification with shinso and his mind control quirk would be So Good and So Hot honestly. being a pliable little fuckdoll for hitoshi and absolutely at his command 🖤🖤 -cat anon
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▸ content warnings; dubcon/consensual noncon (mind control), very subtle pet-play, collaring, boot humping, oral (character receiving), deep-throating, female reader, not proof-read smut i just one-and-done'd this.
▸ wc; 1,786
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"y/n? you with me, pretty girl?"
the inside of your mind feels packed full of static, your body weighted down like you're suspended in warm honey. opening your eyes feels like an impossible task, but the first thing you see when your heavy lids finally cooperate are your own legs, bare and tucked underneath your body.
"there's my girl."
rough palms settle on your shoulders and work their way over your body, one gliding down to your breast and the other caressing the side of your face before cradling your cheek. his touch is comforting, grounding. the affection has something aching in your chest. you want to keen into his touch but your body refuses to move.
there's a firm grip on your chin as your gaze is redirected to the full-length mirror in front of you, allowing you to see the full scene. your body is pliant, kneeling dutifully in front of hitoshi, who is seated at the foot of the bed. his legs are spread, knees positioned on either side of your body to cage you in. his fingers trail along the swell of your breasts, other hand holding your jaw between his thumb and forefinger. you blink up at his reflection with sleepy eyes and his lips curve into a fond smile.
hitoshi gives his first command. "chin up."
your body obliges without hesitation. hitoshi steadies you with a loose hand around your neck before reaching behind himself to retrieve something off the bed – a collar. the inside is plush, soft against the delicate column of your throat, and you hear a faint clink as he positions and fastens it around your neck.
"look at yourself," hitoshi murmurs, gaze returning to your reflection. your eyes slowly follow. he examines each detail on the collar with his finger, from the stitching, the rivets, the pretty bow at the front and the large o-ring hanging underneath it. "such a pretty kitty for me."
your eyes stay fixed on your reflection, watching as hitoshi's hands start to roam your body. two fingers tuck into the ring on your collar and tug, tilting your head to the side and gaining easier access to your chest. he gropes your tits one at a time through the thin fabric of your lingerie, digging his fingers into the doughy flesh and feeling your nipples pebble under his palms. you keep watching as hitoshi's hand disappears under your lingerie, pinching and rolling each nipple between calloused fingers. the stimulation is muted, yet you feel something stirring in your tummy. your lips part with a choked moan.
hitoshi yanks the fabric underneath your breasts and leaves them on display. "turn around."
this entire feeling is foreign to you. everything is warm and heavy, like you're asleep, yet you're fully aware the situation. you aren't in control of your actions – your control is limited to staying in that fuzzy headspace and watching your body obey his commands without hesitation. it's alarming, but you don't feel afraid.
hitoshi helps guide you as you turn around, now settled on your knees and eye-level with his lap. his cock twitches in his jeans at the sight of you, doe-eyed and vacant.
"take my belt off," he orders, leaning back to allow you more room. your hands reach up and start unfastening his belt, pulling it through the loops and setting it aside. the outline of his cock is prominent through his jeans. the saliva grows on your tongue, mind registering what’s to come.
"take my cock out." you unbutton his jeans and tug the zipper down, hitoshi assisting by raising his hips enough for you to pull his jeans and boxers down to his thighs, cock springing out and arching towards his stomach. the head is flushed near-purple, a clear bead of precum rolling down the veined length. the look on your face is priceless to him, staring at his cock with heart-eyes and a drooling mouth.
"you're precious. i'll give you what you want, baby, don't worry." hitoshi sighs, voice low and rich. you swear you feel the vibrations go through your body and settle in your clit. a large hand cradles the back of your head, easing you closer to his cock until your lips are just a couple inches away from the head. your clit aches, mouth watering in anticipation. "stick that tongue out for me."
the moment your tongue juts out, hitoshi slots his cock between your lips and hisses as your warm mouth envelopes the length. the hand holding your head presses down, easing inch by inch inside. his cock is heavy, weighing down on your tongue and coaxing threads of drool from the corners of your mouth. he stops you halfway before bringing you back up, letting the head sit on your tongue.
"be a good girl for me, baby, suck on it." your lips close around the head, cheeks hollowing for a tighter suction and hitoshi groans. "good girl, good fucking girl."
your head surges forward again. hitoshi guides you at a leisurely pace, like he's stroking himself with your mouth. his cheeks flush red from the pleasure, chest heaving with labored breaths. he's already so in love with how your mouth feels, but this time is different. it’s so warm and soft and pliant, your jaw completely lax as your nose finds his pelvis. you wouldn't be able to take him like this in your normal state, your gag reflex would have you sputtering by now. you're breathing smoothly through your nose, tongue lulling against the veins on the underside of his cock.
he holds you there for a moment longer, savoring the feeling of having his cock fully sheathed in your throat, then brings you up for air. you're panting when his cock slips out of your mouth, unable to ignore the aching in your clit any longer. slick is soaking into your panties, cunt begging for any sort of friction but all you're able to do is kneel and suck obediently when his cock is in your mouth.
a broken whimper squeaks past your open mouth, catching hitoshi's attention.
"what, pretty girl?" he questions through ragged breaths.
touch me, you want to tell him. you'd settle for absolutely anything if it meant pressure on your pussy. you try your hardest to say something, to force some semblance of words out of your mouth, but all that comes out is another whimper.
hitoshi guides his cock back into your mouth, guiding your head with his opposite hand while the other reaches for your collar, fingers tucking into the o-ring and pushing you further down on his cock. each thrust of his length down your throat is echoed by a lewd slurp as your mouth sucks and drools. fortunately, he seems to have understood you. he slots his heavy boot between your thighs, pressing the sturdy leather into your cunt and your body screams in relief.
your clit pulses against the steel toe of his boot, pussy clenching and continuing to soak your panties. you want so badly to grind down on it to alleviate the ache, but you can’t move. hitoshi has always been a bit sadistic, you know he’s taking advantage of being able to tease you because he knows you can't whine about it.
"that's it, baby," he hisses out, tightening his grip on your head. his hips buck off the bed to meet the pace set with his hand, fucking deeply into your drooling mouth. to your relief, his foot flexes underneath you, pressing his boot harder into your cunt. "hump my boot like a good girl, yeah? gonna make me cum, but i want you to cum with me, baby."
your hips act on their own, rolling forwards and grinding your swollen cunt on the top of his boot. all your relieved whimpers are muffled around his cock as it pistons into your throat. you can feel the mess in your panties as you hump his shoe, the fabric thoroughly soaked and clinging to the shape of your folds. in any other situation you would be embarrassed, but right now you can’t bring yourself to mind. you can’t bring yourself to do anything at all, really, just float in that warm fuzzy headspace while your boyfriend ruts in and out of your mouth, flooding your senses with the taste and weight of his cock. your thighs clench tighter.
"ah, fuck," hitoshi curses, yanking your collar once again. your nose is pinned to the tufts of lilac hair on his pelvis, changing the pace to short and rapid humps into the back of your throat. his moans shift in volume as his orgasm approaches, louder, almost primal. his cock strains against the roof of your mouth, balls tensing and slapping against your drool-covered chin.
you're still desperately humping his boot, angling your hips so the sturdy material catches your clit just right. you can feel your release building in your tummy, hole clenching around nothing. you moan brokenly around his cock.
"make me cum," hitoshi grits. "make me fucking cum."
a few more thrusts into your suckling mouth and he's sent over the edge. his hips stutter as he cums, pushing down on your head and keeping every inch of cock down your throat. you sputter as he keeps your face buried in his lap, chest tightening from the lack of air, but the dizzying feeling somehow adds to the pleasure between your legs. you keep grinding on his boot as hot spurts of cum hit the back of your throat.
"cum for me," hitoshi pants, his voice raw. he stares down at you with heavy lids as your orgasm takes over much faster than you can anticipate. your fingers dig into his thighs, legs shaking as you bring yourself over the edge, eyes rolling back and pussy spasming against your messy panties.
hitoshi pulls his cock from your mouth, a few rogue spurts of cum painting your lips and chin before his cock falls wet against his tummy.
“swallow,” he pants, using his thumb to gather the drops on your face and push it back into your mouth. you oblige, tongue laving over his thumb before swallowing everything you can.
when you blink, the trance is worn off, but you have little time to react before hitoshi is pulling you in by the back of your head and slotting your lips with his unceremoniously. strong arms wrap around your waist, pressing your bodies flush together as he falls back on the mattress.
"such a good girl," he praises, pressing his forehead into yours as you both catch your breath. "did so fucking perfect for me, baby, made me so fucking proud."
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daemonprom · 3 years
Text
dolly.
Kishibe simps come get y’all juice.
pairing: kishibe (chainsaw man) x reader
warnings: age gap (reader is a college student), mentions of alcohol/tobacco, a lil bit of fluff ig, sugar daddy/baby relationship, degradation,  vibrator, facefucking, overstim, dumbification, breeding, uhh there’s a lot lolll, also needless to say mdni
also this is the first fic I’ve published on this acc so I hope you guys enjoy!! I haven’t found a lot of him but this man is so fine istg haha
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That moment he first laid eyes on you that evening, clad in nothing but a shiny latex white bodysuit, some bunny ears standing tall on your head, and some fishnet stockings that complimented your translucent pleasers, he couldn't stop thinking about you. Countless other girls, dressed identically, passed by his table–serving him drink after drink or feeling up on him teasingly–but your face in the dimmed neon lights never left his mind. God, he wanted you so bad. The older man knew he could capture the attention of any girl he wanted (well, almost any girl) just by looking at them–and he was going to capture yours tonight, without a doubt.
He frequented this club either for a good fuck, a good drink, or both. Call him a pervert, but nothing brought him more joy than seeing scantily dressed girls frolic around him as the scent of alcohol reeked through the air.
"Hey, Doll," his gravelly voice greeted you as you finally passed by his table. He was sitting alone with an empty glass in his left hand, dressed oddly formally in a suit complete with a long black coat. He wasn't the first old guy you've encountered at this club–hell, most of them were straight up weirdos–but he was different. He was probably one of the few customers you'd seen that was actually...kind of attractive. He was a bit rough-looking, with an unkempt beard and tired, aged eyes. But he looked strong, too, both physically and mentally. His piercings on both ears shined in the lights above you, and an unusual stitched scar trailed across his left cheek to the corner of his mouth. You didn't know who he was, but you found yourself intrigued.
"Hello," you said slowly. "Would you like me to get you a refill on that drink?"
" 'S alright, Doll." He let out his hand to the seat in front of him. "Why don't you sit with me? Haven't seen you around here before."
"Do you come here often?" you replied, instantly cringing at such a cliché remark as you lowered yourself at the table.
"Only when I need to" was all he said.
"Well...yes. I am new."
" 'S your name, dear?" You answered, to which he replied with a "Wow, that's beautiful." You looked down bashfully, appreciative of the compliment. "So what's your...you know, day job?"
"I'm inclined to ask the same of you," you responded, eyeing the stitches that adorned his hallowed cheeks like embroidery.
He let out a hearty laugh. "You'll find out soon enough." He lowered his voice as he eyed you. "But if you're interested, it makes a nice amount of money and there's room to share."
You froze. Was he...proposing what you thought he was? You had only been here a few days, and you had already encountered a potential sugar daddy? As a college student, working at the mall just wasn't cutting it, so your friend jokingly suggested you apply here. You didn't think you'd get it because of your rather reserved demeanor, but you heard back from the club almost immediately with an offer.
"Um, I--"
"Aww, you're flustered, dear? That's alright, just thought I'd subtly offer you some assistance. You go to the university a few blocks away, don't you?"
You stared at him, flabbergasted. "How...?"
"What a smart girl. I love smart women, you know."
You said nothing as you felt your face get hot.
"So how's about it? Gonna be mine or not?"
"Well...."
"You won't have to work here anymore. I can tell you just dread it. Drunk old men yelling at you to come over, serve 'em another drink, give 'em favors...." He chuckled. "Of course, I guess you could say I'm another drunk old man asking for favors. I'll leave you be if you just tell me to go."
It was true; who knew how many shots of sake he had downed since he stepped into the building. But unlike the other patrons that entered this club, he appeared calm, collected, and fully cognizant of his surroundings. If it weren't for the scent of the drink stinging your nose, you would've believed he was completely sober. You didn't feel too uncomfortable by his words; if anything, you were simply shocked by his forwardness. If he truly was who he said he was, then what was there to lose?
"Who are you? And what do you do?" you eyed him again with a raised eyebrow.
"You can just call me Kishibe," he answered vaguely. Kishibe. You recited the name like a mantra in your head. It was a common surname, but on him it felt...mysterious. Alluring, even. "And for what I do....dear, let's just say you'll be protected with me around."
"Oh-kayy. Well, Kishibe," you said the name slowly, "perhaps I'll take up your offer."
"I knew you would," he said with a smirk. He rose from his seat, and you followed slowly, confused. "Alright, let's book outta here."
"Um...right now? But my shift isn't over until–"
"Fuck the shift. You're quitting, remember?"
"Oh...right, yeah."
You followed him through the sea of tables and girls as he grasped your hand tightly with unbelievable strength, and not simply for his age. The two of you eventually made it out through the French doors and into the dark parking lot. It was nearly one in the morning, and though it was midsummer, you were absolutely freezing in your skimpy bunny girl outfit. You wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm yourself. Before you could look behind you, you felt cloth fall down on your shoulders kindly. You looked above you to see that the older–and much taller–man had removed his coat and was only wearing the flattering white button-up and tie.
“T-thank you, Mr. Kishibe,” you said softly.
He didn’t look at you, but coldly replied, “Just Kishibe.”
“R-right. Thank you, Kishibe.”
He led you to his car, a modest but still attractive red five-seater.
“Wanna start your new job now?” he asked, stopping in front of the car.
“What do you–“
Before you knew it, you felt his hand grasp firmly on your waist and his lips dive into your neck.
“Agh, Kishibe,” you uttered. His hands lowered to squeeze your rear, and you let out a small gasp.
“ ‘S the problem?” he asked as he lifted up his head.
“We should at least go to the car,” you huffed as he continued.
“Mmm, right,” he muttered. Still focused on your neck, he abruptly lifted you off the ground almost effortlessly with a single arm and walked to his car. You were absolutely shocked at how strong this man was. He opened the passenger seat with one of his hands and set you down as you looked up at him, dumbfounded. He then closed the door and walked to the other side, fastening himself in.
“Um, Ki–“ You opened your mouth to speak, but he pulled out a small object from his left pocket. He flipped the switch and you heard a subtle whirring sound from his hand.
He laughed. “Mmm, Doll, this is gonna be so fun.” His hands traveled gingerly onto your thighs, and you looked up at him and sighed. He gave each one a squeeze and smiled, muttering a “fuck” to himself. You remained silent as he used his strong hands to part your legs, then ripped with ease through your stockings and leotard. He chuckled as he looked up at you. “No panties? Naughty girl.” He took his fingers and messed around with your clit a bit.
“K-Kishibe,” you muttered, trying to resist his firm touch to the best of your ability.
“You’re just making it easier for me,” he laughed, shoving the active vibrator in without warning.
“Gah! Kishibe....”
“You’re not gonna cum, right, Doll? You’re gonna be a good girl on the ride home, right?” he asked, both hands now on the steering wheel.
“Mmmngh....”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Well, then, let’s get going.”
With that, the two of you headed off. You were honestly an embarrassing sight next to him: a writhing, moaning mess. The drunkard kept his eyes on the road, not saying anything but often smirking to himself as your curses grew louder. At stoplights he would pull out his remote and watch as you adjusted to the abrupt increase in intensity of the vibrations. Other than that, he acted almost as if you weren’t there, or so it appeared to you.
After what felt like an eternity, the two of you arrived at his condominium complex. He stopped in the parking lot, watching you still calling his name and squirming in the seat next to him.
“So, how’d you do?” You knew he was going to be pissed once he removed the device. He quickly removed the vibrator, to which he was welcomed with a flood of your clear fluids. You let out a sigh of relief.
“I’m s-sorry, Kishibe,” you begged. “I really tried not to cum, honest.”
“Bullshit.” He grabbed you by the shoulder and waist and flipped you over in one swoop. Then, lifting his hand, he smacked your soaked slit. You yelped in reply, still apologizing.
“Gah! I’m...h-hah...sorry!”
He ignored you and smacked you again in the same spot, smiling at your reaction. Then he did it again. And again. Then again, until your labia stung the impact.
“You couldn’t even wait till we got home, huh?”
“I–“
“Suck my cock.”
You were shocked once again at the bluntness of his orders, and tried to form some sort of sentence.
“Don’t just sit there. For a smart girl you shouldn’t be this confused.”
“I-I’m...sorry.” You lowered your head towards the seat next to you, grabbing the zipper of his slacks and pulling it down. The tent in his pants poked through his underwear, and you instinctively bit your bottom lip as you eyed it. You used your hand to caress his bulge teasingly, and he let out a low huff in response. You continued to react to the positive reinforcement, before his hand swooped down and slapped your cheek.
“I said to suck it, bitch. Don’t make me tell you again.”
Your face still burned, but you did as told and rolled his underwear down. His cock sprung before you, hitting your cheek. You moved your head back to get a good look at it. Needless to say, he was fucking hung–and once again, not just for his age. The shaft extended far above him, curved at a slight angle with veins protruding across like vines on a sturdy tree stump. Precum dripped at the tip, tinted a dark mauve, and you licked your lips again at the sight.
You dove in, firmly cupping your hands around the base to give his appendage a gentle massage. Then you planted a soft kiss on the head–to which he grinned–before opening your mouth and moving up and down his length. He let out small sighs, praising you for being a "good little cockwhore", and demanding you to "take more" of him. His words encouraged you to work more diligently to please him, and he was absolutely relishing in your efforts.
Then, without warning, you heard a grunt above you as he rammed his cock into the back of your throat. You reflexively gagged in surprise, to which Kishibe simply chuckled in reply.
“Aww, too big for my little Doll? Too bad.”
He grabbed your hair with his fist with those rough hands, yanking your face to make eye contact with him. “Look at me,” he whispered.
Flustered, you tried to obey him as he began to fuck your face mercilessly. You found yourself flinching every time his balls slapped your face with each movement. As he hastened himself, he found it more difficult to suppress his own voice, and you heard the man blissfully groan above you.
"Such a–fuck–pretty little mouth," he huffed. "You're gonna–huhh–gonna taste me real soon, Doll, okay?" You nodded in response, moving with him as he continued to propel into your face even more violently. He pushed, and shoved, and squeezed himself into your needy mouth, and he grinned at your embarrassing gagging sounds below him.
He released himself with a hefty grunt. You looked up at him, mouth full of his cum and eyes full of your tears, as he looked back down at you with the most devious smile on his face. “Mmm, don’t swallow it yet, Doll.”
He hoisted you again with one arm and pulled your naked body onto his lap in the driver's seat. Your chest rested on the steering wheel as you turned around to see the older man unbutton his shirt and throw it towards the backseat. Then, he forcibly pulled you back up until the back of your head sat on his shoulder.
“Mmm, my cute little Dolly’s gonna feel so good on my cock,” he growled, fingers trailing softly across your body. You gasped as he made his way towards your most sensitive parts between your legs. You could feel his breath, hinted with notes of sake and tobacco, tickling your ear as he whispered, “Spread these cute little thighs for Daddy, now.”
You did as told, feeling your hole stretch in response to his length squishing itself inside you. God, it was huge. You huffed as you arched your back onto his cool chest. He had his firm hands grasped on each of your hips, guiding you as you bounced up and down. Meanwhile, he was pushing himself further into your cervix, letting out bass-filled growls above you.
“Hhh, attagirl....You can swallow now....Go a little faster, will ya? Show me how bad you want this cock.”
“Mmngh, y—hah!—yes, sir,” you yelped in response, gulping as you savored his seed traveling down your esophagus. You picked up the pace, tightening your walls around him, rotating your hips as your tits bounced even more erratically.
You heard him laugh as one of his hands found its way to your chest, fingers toying playfully around one of your nipples. Then he lifted his other hand, squeezing it tightly around your neck. Your strained moans struggled to escape you as you tried to keep pace with his deep thrusts.
“That didn’t mean slow down,” he hissed. “I’m not choking you as hard as I can, Doll.”
“ ‘m sorry, sir,” you whined, moving faster.
You continued to ride him as you felt the buildup warm up inside you. You felt that same sensation develop: the same sensation from earlier when he had teased you with his toy, on the verge of cumming again.
“K-Kishibe...” you croaked.
“What—agh—what is it?”
“I’m gonna....I can’t h-hold it,” you told him, still limited by his firm grasp around your vocal chords. “Please l-let me cum, I’m b-begging.”
He just let out another hearty laugh, ignoring your cries while he fucked you even harder.
“P-please, sir....”
And then it happened. Your legs shook around him as your slick poured down his cock and tears rolled down your guilty eyes.
“I’m s-sorry!” you yelled, expecting him to chastise you for disobeying his demands. But he said nothing. Hell, he just pushed himself inside even faster, thrusting with that same focused determination. You cried even more, begging him to slow down, to stop, but the words wouldn’t reach you. You felt yourself growing brain dead, craving nothing but for his giant cock to bury itself deeper within you.
“Y’like that, Dolly? Like me fucking you like this, even though you want me to slow down?” You let out complete gibberish in response. “Or maybe you like it rough? At this rate, I could get you pregnant and you wouldn’t object, couldn’t I?”
“Nmggfsh,” you answered, trembling at his forceful movements.
“Gonna use your words? Or are you just gonna be a dumb slut?”
Your voice cracked and your brain clouded. You could understand him just fine, but you just couldn’t find the words to respond. You continued to let out unintelligible vocalizations as he fucked your hole with more intensity, with more vigor, with more abstractness, more–
"Gah!" The two of you screamed in unison as you felt his warm fluid splash inside your womb and down your thighs. You fell back into his arms as he cradled you against the seat. His sunken eyes looked down at you affectionately.
“You did so good, Dolly,” he said kindly.
Regathering your thoughts and catching your breath, you found the words to tell him, “Thank you, Kishibe.”
He rubbed your cheek with the back of his hand, and you felt his chest rumble as he let out an amiable chuckle.
“Gonna be mine now? Promise to treat you real nice, baby.”
“Mm-hmm,” you cooed.
“We can stay here for awhile, then you can come into my place to stay the night. We can head to your dorm to get your stuff in the morning.”
“That sounds great,” you replied sincerely.
Still warming his cock inside you, the two of you remained in Kishibe's car, closing your eyes to take in the ambient sounds of planes and passing vehicles outside. You weren't fully sure of what you had gotten yourself into, but if it felt like this...well, you guessed that you'd made the right decision.
820 notes · View notes
blessedlance · 3 years
Text
pretty baby.
[r18+]
[wc:] 4k
[cw:] sub!atsumu, softdom!reader, femdom, oral (f. receiving), riding, pegging, mommy kink, puppy kink, minor dacryphilia, collar-play, restraints
! haikyuu manga timeskip spoilers. atsumu is 24. !
a/n: oh my god i haven’t written for leisure in literally 10 years i hope this is bearable LOL. @luvsicksubs​ wrote a lil tidbit about sub!atsumu a while ago and i have not known peace ever since so big thank you to ari for the inspo! pls enjoi :9
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Atsumu’s been gone lately. A lot.
 Too much.
 You know it’s not his fault. The Jackals' practices have been brutal lately. So when Atsumu does eventually trudge his way back to your shared apartment every evening, he can only muster up enough energy to shower and collapse into bed. You’ve had to wake him more than once, chiding him to get up and at least dry his hair before bed.
“You can’t afford to get yourself sick by sleeping with wet hair, ‘Tsumu.” You’d whisper, shaking him gently awake. Usually he’d just groan in response and bury himself further against your body heat beneath the comforter--unwilling to give up even a second of precious, blissful sleep. You’d even gone so far as to physically pull his heavy, six foot athlete’s body out of the bed and into the bathroom to dry it for him once or twice.
It’s for his health, you reason. You can afford to pamper him a little--especially when he’s been working so hard. And the way his body slumps while he sits, his features softening--long eyelashes kissing the tops of his cheeks as he dozes off into half-sleep at the feel of your fingers tussling his hair with the gentle heat of the blow dryer… He becomes so soft in those moments, like putty in your hands.
It’s dangerous, because it makes you crave the sight of him like this--fragile and reliant on the comfort of your touch--even more.
You sigh. Reminding yourself again, for seemingly the millionth time since this excessive practicing for the championships started,
‘It’s not his fault.’
He’s been good. So, so good. Trying so hard to make sure you know he loves you and he’s sorry. Texting you to check in whenever he has the chance.
 > how are you today?
> how’s work going??
> what’s for lunch??? ლ(≧ڡ≦ლ)
 Sometimes sending videos of himself and Hinata hashing out new plays (only the ones they’ve mastered, though. You may be intimately familiar with every embarrassing piece of him, but he still wants to try to look cool in front of his girlfriend.)
And it helps. It really does. But you also know the texts are just as much for his own sake as they are for yours. You know how needy Atsumu gets when you two are apart.
 You remember the time he’d called you from his hotel room after an away game in Tokyo. How he whined into the phone at the sound of your voice when you whispered.
“Touch yourself for me.”
The way a soft cry escaped him at your command--your name leaving his lips with a breath.
 You want to feel him like that again. To see him beneath you, squirming and desperate--begging for you to just touch him, just sit on his face, his cock, anything you want just please--
 You abruptly stop your line of thinking--not daring to continue dwelling on this recurring fantasy. Atsumu doesn’t deserve the punishment you crave to dole out on him to relieve this frustration.
 … But he might want it.
 Championships are tomorrow. Just 24 hours stand between you and the feeling of Atsumu Miya’s taut muscles beneath your fingertips.
You take a breath, summoning the remnants of your willpower.
You could do this. You would make certain that the wait would be worth it.
For both of you.
 ---
 The Black Jackals win their first match because of course they do. Honestly, sometimes you feel a bit bad for the opposing teams. Their skill, their teamwork, their passion, their absolute willpower to win is stifling. Atsumu texts you that they’re going out for celebratory dinner and drinks. Bokuto’s idea. (Obviously). He promises he’ll be home as soon as he can. They’ve all got tomorrow morning off, and a whole day before the next round of matches. Some indulgence is well-deserved.
You type out your reply.
 > Take your time and enjoy yourself! You’ve earned it. 💕
 Knowing you’ve got at least two hours or more before the boys’ exhaustion ushers them all home, you decide to spend some time... preparing.
 You’re reclined on the couch, watching something you can comfortably give your half-assed attention to while scrolling on your phone. You hear the front door unlocking, the handle turning, and your heart leaps into your throat. The thought of finally, finally having Astumu all to yourself makes you absolutely giddy.
You turn expectantly, and can’t help the way your lips curl upward into a smile.
Atsumu pushes the door open and turns toward you, already smiling when he opens his mouth.
 “Hey.” You murmur.
 “Hey.” He breathes back, and you watch the way his features relax at the sight of you. The way the confident, assiduous Atsumu Miya--a man who wakes up every single day and strives for perfection in everything and every one---melts into something softer.
Something that’s silently begging for you to tear him apart and piece him back together again.
He slips off his shoes, drops his gym bag to the floor, and brings his long, heavy body to lay over yours on the couch.
His face--tinted pink (presumably from the drinks)--buries itself against your neck, lips pressed to your skin.
Your fingers assume their familiar position, nestled in the blonde locks atop his head.
 “Missed you…” You say lowly against his ear.
The small shiver that runs down his spine does not escape your notice.
 “I’ve been here every night!” He protests.
 “You know what I mean.” Your fingers press against his head, tugging on the strands the slightest bit.
 “Mmm…” He affirms softly--your skin keenly feeling the gentle hum against its surface. He knows what you mean. He’s been here, yes, but it’s felt more like the ghost of him--wisping into your bed for a few hours and gone again in the morning.
 “You were really in the zone today.” You comment. “I felt bad for the other team.”
 He huffs out a small laugh. “Don’t. They played fine. We were just better.”
 “Hmm…” You take your unoccupied hand and run a single finger up the curve of his spine.
 He exhales, and you listen for the tremble in his breath you know will be there.
Just a little more.
 “Either way, you were so good.” You can’t contain the coy lilt your voice takes on. You know damn well what you’re doing--using the very words that always make him quiver. He knows what you’re doing, too.
Atsumu thinks he doesn’t mind.
 It’s quiet for a beat. The two of you simply basking in the warmth of your bodies pressed against each other. You stretch beneath him, and… readjust yourself in a way that presses your breasts against him just a little bit more...
And Atsumu finally, finally breaks.
 He inhales sharply, and lets the subsequent exhale freely pass against your neck. A muffled word that sounds a lot like a plea leaves his throat.
 “What was that?” You ask, purposely grazing your lips against his reddening ear.
 “Please…” He begs.
 You consider being mean for a moment. Consider pushing him to his limit in desperation. The way those sharp brown eyes would turn glassy and tearful, his dark brows pulled together, pleading you to hurry up and take him--touch him--let him touch you--fucking anything. However you want, wherever you want. Make him vocalize that burning desire, and only concede when he well and truly begs.
 But that can always be arranged another time.
You’re far too heady with desire yourself to enact such cruelty on him right now. Not after he’s been so good.
 You shift your weight, moving to switch your positions by sitting up and pressing him beneath you. Your straddle his hips, purposely pressing your weight down against his pelvis ever-so-slightly.
 “You’ve been working so hard, ‘Tsumu…” You murmur, lowering the top half of your body to lean over his. Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, running up along the taut muscles that tremble at your touch. “Such a good boy…”
Atsumu’s bites his lip in an effort to stifle the deep moan that leaves his chest. The way his body almost involuntarily reacts to that phrase every. single. time… It’s just too good to pass up.
You wet your lips.
 “Let me make you feel good.”
 And you press those lips ever-so-softly to the juncture between his jaw and neck. Soft touch turning to a light bite, and then back to a soothing kiss.
 Atsumu is crumbling--his hardening length pressing insistently against you.
 “I got everything ready. We can use whatever you want: rope,” and you press a slow open-mouth kiss to his neck,
“your collar,” then one to his collarbone,
“a toy,” traveling down to his pecs,
“the strap…” ending just beneath his belly button.
You look up at him from beneath your lashes, watching keenly for his expression to shift in interest at any certain one.
 Atsumu doesn’t give an immediate answer, his gaze unable to meet your own. Your hands trail back down his body, grazing a nipple with your fingernail just to see the way he twitches at the sensation. 
 “C’mon baby, how am I supposed to treat my good boy if he doesn’t tell me what he wants?” You purr, bringing your hands to the hem of the worn, oversized t-shirt covering your top half down to the juncture of your thighs. You’d snatched it from his dresser earlier to lounge in. Another carefully plotted detail. You knew just how riled up he got at the sight of you wearing his shirts. Even more so if he lifted it only to find those black and gold lacy panties underneath… Or if there was nothing…
Stretching your body, you pull the shirt up and off of your torso, tossing it aimlessly behind you. Atsumu’s gaze immediately returns to you--spotting that very set’s match: a black bra with intricate gold stitching around the lace adorning your skin. His hands are on you in an instant--palms sliding up your ribs to reach your breasts and gently squeezing around them.
Astumu had never been good with the concept of patience.
 Normally, you’d stop those big, calloused setter hands in their tracks--admonishing him for not asking permission, first. But this was about him. About fulfilling every whim his exhausted mind and body had the energy left to want. You could allow a little insubordination tonight.
 “You even wore my favorite.” He grins, that cheeky, self important tone of his sneaking back out. You smile coyly and tilt your hips downward, pressing your bare core against his still-restrained cock. He inhales sharply--dropping the attitude once more.
 “Part of the reward.” You grin. “Now, what does my good boy want?”
 His eyes drift upwards from their fixation on your breasts, meeting your gaze.
 “I want…” He bites his lip. “Wanna make you feel good.”
 Your eyes widen at the admission, but he’s speaking again before you can inquire.
 “You’re always so patient with me when practice gets like this. I just want to... To give you a reward, too.”
 You’re taken aback for a beat, pleasantly surprised at the acknowledgement. Atsumu still manages to surprise you with how observant he is. One of the more unexpected traits he shares with Osamu. Your eyes soften and you reach up to gently cup his face. He turns his head to kiss your hand and murmurs against your palm.
 "Let me taste you. Please."
 He knows how you get when he’s busy like this. How--despite your authority and confidence in the bedroom--you still long for his affection and crave his touch when he’s gone.
And this… This is the perfect way for him to express his gratitude while still pleasing both of you.
 “Okay.” You breathe, moving to kneel over his face. “Whatever you want,” you gently drop your weight toward his mouth. “my sweet boy.”
 He practically preens at the praise, moaning against your core. Again, Atsumu demonstrates his struggle with patience and savoring the moment. In an instant, he’s gripping your thighs and pulling them closer against the sides of his face. You know you could sit your entire weight atop him and he’d thank you, but tonight calls for something gentler. It’s enough to know you’re the only person who gets to see him like this. The only one who gets to watch the diligent, cocksure Astumu Miya, one of--if not the--best setters in Japan, become so vulnerable and desperate beneath you.
 He flattens his tongue and runs it slowly up from the start of your opening to the top of your clit.
 “Fuck, ‘Tsumu…” You moan, hands rushing to grasp at his hair. He groans, too, at the sensation of your fingers tugging--the hum sending a vibration through your body. You grind your hips, silently urging him on, and his tongue laves at your clit with small kitten licks. The feeling of those tiny, gentle laps against your most sensitive spot, so diligent and soft--it’s like electricity coursing through you, running up into every limb.
 “Mmhmm.” He hums against you. He knows just how you like it. When he services you like this--like the obedient puppy he is. “So wet… Y’taste s’good...” He says, hot breath fanning against you while he catches his breath for a moment.
 You press yourself back against him insistently. “Who said you could take a break? Use your fingers, too.”
 His mouth is back against you immediately, right hand sliding beneath your thigh to reach your opening. Carefully, he presses two fingers against it--testing the give, while his tongue continues to lick and suck at that sensitive nub. Spit has dribbled down from his mouth to where his fingers are pressed, and he slides his digits against the wetness, adding to the natural lubricant. Then, finally, he pushes those long middle and ring fingers up and into you. They slide in easily despite the way you feel yourself clench around the intrusion. He was right--you’re soaked. He finds a comfortable rhythm to compliment his tongue’s lashings easily and your head falls back, a deep moan escaping past your lips.
 “‘Tsumu… ‘Tsumu, fuck just like that--you do it so well for me, baby… Right there--”
 You’re cut off by the feeling of his fingers curling within you--searching, and then pressing against that spot so nicely.
Your thigh muscles twitch against his cheeks--breath fleeing from your lungs at the sudden rush.
 “Yes, ‘Tsumu--fuck yes.”
 You chance a look down at his face. Those long lashes closed, brows knit together in concentration while he pleasures you. Atsumu’s a pretty boy, but you think he’s prettiest like this.
 Fuck, you want more of that desperate expression. Want to edge him over and over until he’s drooling and can’t remember his own fucking name.
 You’re getting close. That climbing ecstasy rising dangerously high within you. You pull yourself off him before you can climb too high, and the release of suction from his mouth makes a small, wet pop.
 “You eat it so well, baby. So, so good for me, pretty boy.” You coo, caressing the sides of his face. His lips are pink and wet and you return your hips to their place atop his length. His lip wobbles with a whimper, back arching against you in search of more.
 “I think you’ve earned your reward now, don’t you?” Your eyelids fall, half-closed seductively while you lean your chest toward his face. You reach behind your back and release the clasp of your bra. His hands tighten themselves into fists, trying to restrain the urge to reach up and touch. The fingers of your left hand splay out against his chest, holding your weight, while the right moves down to pull off his boxer briefs. Then, your wet folds are sliding against his erect, bare, length. Slowly, up and down.
 “Mmm please can I--can I touch--”
 You interrupt him with a small lick against those still-wet lips and chuckle quietly to yourself.
 Oh, so now he’s ready to ask first?
 “You can.” You affirm, reaching down to line him up with your entrance. His breath is coming harder now, those hardened pecs rising and falling beneath you. The anticipation is rapidly unraveling him. Atsumu’s hands are on your back, tugging your chest back down towards him. As they slide forward around your ribcage to grasp your breasts, his gaze flits up to you.
 “Can I--?”
 “Mmhmm.” You nod--knowing what he wants. His mouth closes around your nipple, sucking with that perfect amount of harshness to tighten the coiling pressure in your lower body. His tip rests right against your opening. You can see the precum dribbling out of him--can feel the way he’s pushing himself slightly further up--desperate to get inside. Were this any other time,  you’d reprimand him for such impertinence. Tie his hands above his head and deny him completely. ‘And you were being so good, too, asking permission and everything. You wanna be inside that bad, maybe I should remind you how it feels to be on the receiving end, hmm?’
But, honestly, he’d nearly tipped you over the edge with just his mouth earlier. You were becoming impatient, yourself. 
 Finally, blessedly, you sink yourself down onto his cock, revelling in the way his mouth falls open and his head flings backward against the couch pillow with a cry.
 “Mmm.. ‘s it that good, baby?” You tease.
 “‘S been a while… So tight…” He hisses, almost like it’s too much.
 “Yeah?” You tease. Your hips are gradually picking up speed. Slowly rising up, up, up, as far as you can go before it feels like he might just fall out of you, and then your hip fall again, taking his full length deep inside.
 “‘Tsumu…” You say, rising back up again. “I wanted to pamper you tonight... “ and you slide back down. “Give my cute, sweet boy a reward for all his hard work.”
 Atsumu keens, whimpering beneath you.
 “But I think I wanna be a little selfish, too.” You breathe, leaning in close enough for your breath to fan against his face. “Is that ok baby?”
 A high pitched moan leaves Atsumu’s throat, and you clench around him.
 “Yes…” He sighs between ragged breaths. “Yes... Please, I--”
 “Please, what?” You interrupt him.
 “P-please…” You watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. “Please, mommy…”
 “Ohhhhh, that’s my good boy.” You moan, restarting the rise and fall motion of your cunt around him. “Gonna make you feel so good. Just the way you deserve, ‘Tsumu. But you have to promise you won’t cum until I say so, mmk?” You’re holding his face, running your right index finger along the line of his jaw with a feather-light touch.
 And Astumu Miya shudders beneath you, staring up in reverence. The way those big brown watery eyes look at you… He’d look so cute with a collar clasped around his neck right now.
 He nods. “I--I won’t. I promise. Please.”
 Your hand moves up to stroke his hair softly. “Good boy.”
 You restraighten your back in your seated position atop him. Your hands come to rest against his chest for leverage, and you begin riding him in earnest. Atsumu’s eyelids fall closed again, head thrown back while his mouth hangs open in pleasure.
 “Is this what you wanted ‘Tsumu? Just want to feel me fuck myself on you until I’m satisfied?” You tease as you bounce. You slow to almost a halt and grind your hips in a circle, feeling the way his cock buries itself to the hilt. Atsumu’s hands are balled into tight fists against the couch. He’s moaning freely now--little cries escaping him as your cunt eagerly swallows him down over and over and over again.
“So good… You’re so good inside me, ‘Tsumu. Stretching me out so much every time. I know you know how good that feels.”
 “Ahnn--!” He keens at the memory. The way your soft hands had pressed his legs up against his chest. Wetness from the lube dripping down so tantalizingly slow between his ass cheeks. The cock of your strap buried within him. How utterly full he had felt, stretched around it while you softly cooed praises at him, stroking his cock.
 Fuck he wanted to cum like that again.
 More than that, he just wanted to cum. His hands clench and unclench--mouth hanging open while he revels in memory--in the feeling of your tight, wet, heat sliding up and down him just how he likes--how he needs.
 “I told you it was OK to touch, baby.” You reach down to grasp his hands with your own, bringing them to rest on your hips. “Hold onto me while I fuck myself on you.” You whisper.
 Atsumu’s eyes open at that, watching your body bounce on him. HIs left hand hastily comes up to grasp a breast, relishing the feel of the soft, pliable skin in his grasp.
 You gasp lightly at the sensation of his hand grazing your sensitive nipple. “Fuck yeah. So good for me baby--so good. Gonna make you cum in me like this--”
 Atsumu’s head falls back against the cushions again, his expression knotted in pleasure. “You feel so good. So good… Please… Please I’m-- Ahh!-- I’m getting close.”
 “Aww you’re close already? You wanna cum baby?” You shouldn’t tease. You know you’re close, too. That cresting peak getting closer and closer with every push of his cock into your deepest places. Your breath is ragged from the exertion of your body. You reach behind you blindly, refusing to miss an instant of Atsumu’s delicious expression. Eventually, you find the small bullet vibrator you’d stashed beneath the cushions earlier. You bring the toy to your clit and immediately feel it; that powerful wave looming just behind--threatening to take you over the edge. You steele yourself the best you can, inhaling deeply.
 Atsumu slides his eyes open at the sound and unleashes the mostly ungodly, moan. His voice trembles when he speaks.
 “Can I--can I come? Please--please baby let me come. Let me come.” His hands hold fast to your hips, grip growing steadily tighter as the sensations continue to climb. Faster now--exponentially faster. He’s not sure he could stop if he wanted to.
 “Mmmm hearing you beg like that… Good boy. You can cum, baby. I’ll even cum with you for being so good. Go ahead. Cum in this tight pussy.” Your words are rushed, breath catching here and there. “Give it to me.”
 And Atsumu shatters.
 The way his cry lilts up--high-pitched and unabashed. That wave crashing into him so hard and so completely it takes you down under with him. Atsumu’s mind is empty. Nothing but blinding white as he expends everything he has in him in an instant. His name spills past your lips over and over like a mantra while you ride out your high. The two of you so in-sync, it feels as though your cunt convulses in time with his every pulse. Everything feels so, astonishingly good and intimate.
 You’re both breathing heavily, eyes shut tight as that shared bliss slowly dissipates. You let yourself come down to rest on his chest. It’s suddenly very quiet save for your shared breaths. Eventually you rise onto your elbows, face directly over his.
 “I love you…” Atsumu murmurs, eyes slightly flitting about while he studies the intricacies of your face. He memorized them all long ago, but even in this he is never sated. Your eyes soften, chest fluttering at his tone: so tender and soft.
 “I love you, too.” You say, gently caressing his face. “So much.”
 Atsumu can’t help the smile spreading across his face. In one quick motion, his arms are around your neck and tugging your face down toward him. His head tilts, lips melding themselves against yours when they make contact. The kiss is unusually tender, his lips trying to convey what his words cannot: how he is so thankful and lucky to have you. You, who understands how dear his passion, his career, is to him yet helps him remain grounded so that it does not consume him entirely. You, who remains so, so patient when he is away. You, who is always there to help him take care of himself when he is too busy or exhausted. You, who holds him when he finally fractures under the stress of giving his everything all the time--and who helps him put his pieces back together again and get back at it.
 Your head returns to its resting place on his chest. His heartbeat steady beneath you, lulling you to sleep. You both need to get up, clean up, and get into your actual bed, but the bliss of finally feeling Atsumu’s hard body beneath you. Knowing it is completely yours, at least for a short while… You don’t want to relinquish it for even a second.
There’s another beat of silence before you speak.
 “Wanna go to ‘Samu’s and get tuna tomorrow?” You ask.
 Atsumu groans his approval loudly--so much so one would think he hadn’t just finished a massive meal with the Jackals. That signature cheeky grin returns to his face.
 “Oh my god I love you.”
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Text
Come Now, Little Prince
Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon
Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1
Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...
Read on Ao3
Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers
Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia
Word Count: 7611
Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.
The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.
No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.
But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.
He didn’t mean to.
He didn’t mean to.
It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—
He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—
The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.
And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.
The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…
Then fear.
———————————
One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.
But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.
Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.
Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.
His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.
R. Sanders: 1 new notification
“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”
The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.
Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.
Well, more than occasionally.
But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.
R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.
Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.
That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.
Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.
The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.
If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.
When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.
The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.
So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.
Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.
He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.
If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.
He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.
Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.
The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.
When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.
Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.
There is someone on their knees right outside his door.
Well.
That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.
“I’m certain that you must be…”
Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.
“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”
Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.
“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”
Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.
Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.
He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.
He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.
“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”
It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.
“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”
“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”
Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?
His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.
The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.
Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.
Janus’s eyes go wide.
Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.
The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.
“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”
There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.
How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.
“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”
Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.
“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”
It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.
Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.
He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.
“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”
“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”
Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”
“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”
“I was going to go get the stitches.”
Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”
And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”
“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”
He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.
“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”
Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”
Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”
“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”
There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.
Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.
“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”
Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.
“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.
“Oh.”
“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”
“…no.”
Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.
The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.
“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.
Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”
Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.
“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”
They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.
“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“
They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.
“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”
It made them homicidal, they killed each other.
“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”
As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“
Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.
“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“
A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.
Oh, this poor little prince…
Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”
Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”
“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”
“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”
The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.
“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”
He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.
Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.
The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.
There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.
The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.
“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”
Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.
“I thought—part of me thought you would.”
A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”
Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.
“…maybe.”
Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.
Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.
Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.
“…do you want me to kill you?”
There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.
“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”
Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.
“Don’t you want to?”
…well.
Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.
Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.
But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.
“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.
Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.
“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.
Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.
Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”
“I could’ve held on.”
“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”
“But I’ve been stabbed before.”
“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”
“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.
“What is it, little prince?”
He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.
Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”
“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.
“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”
“Not of being stabbed.”
Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”
“I…”
“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.
“…I got scared of being outside.”
Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”
“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“
Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.
Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.
The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…
Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.
Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…
No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.
What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.
The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.
“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”
The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.
“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”
“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”
“You came to me for help, little prince.”
“But you…care?”
And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.
“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”
No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.
The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.
Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.
R. Sanders: 1 new notification
He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.
R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over
Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.
“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”
“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”
“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”
Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”
Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.
“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”
Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.
“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”
“Splendid.”
Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.
“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”
“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.
“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”
“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”
“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”
“You like me crass.”
Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.
“Well, if that’s all then?”
Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”
“Pardon?”
“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”
Then he spots the blood.
In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.
“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”
“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”
“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“
Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.
Janus catches him by the arm.
“Don’t.”
The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.
“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”
“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”
Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.
“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“
If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?
“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“
“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.
Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.
“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”
“And you’re certain it’s contained?”
“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”
He quirks his brow.
“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”
Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.
“So who the fuck is in that room?”
As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.
“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”
Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”
Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.
“The person who cut the head off.”
“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“
“Remus.”
Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.
And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.
A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.
“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.
Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.
He crosses the room and leans down.
“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”
Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.
“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”
“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”
Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”
Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“
“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”
Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.
“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”
“Yes.”
The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.
Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.
There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.
Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.
And Roman is no match for the both of them.
“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”
Roman glances at the door again.
“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”
Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.
“R-Remus?”
Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”
“Remus Sanders?”
He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”
“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”
Not dead?
Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.
Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.
“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”
It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.
Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.
“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“
Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.
“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”
Roman jerks his head up and down.
“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”
Ah.
Janus must be getting rusty.
“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”
Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.
“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”
He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.
Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.
This could be a problem.
Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.
Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.
And still, that loyalty wavers.
The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.
This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.
Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.
It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.
“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”
“I can try.”
“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.
“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”
“Re?”
“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”
How adorable.
Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.
“Fuck.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”
“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“
“The choppers saw him.”
“Shit.”
“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”
“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”
“Good.”
Another pause.
“…why’d he come here?”
Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”
Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”
“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”
Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”
“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”
Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.
“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.
There isn’t one.
Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.
“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”
Remus trails off into silence too.
“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”
This is dangerous.
The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.
But not anymore.
“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.
“Do you think that’s why he came?”
“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”
“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.
Remus regards him. “Would you have?”
“Killed him?”
“Yes.”
Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.
Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?
“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”
Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.
“So what now?”
Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”
“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”
“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”
“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”
“Good.”
Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”
“Yes.”
He lets out a low whistle.
“Go. Get to work.”
“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.
Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.
“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”
Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”
“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”
Roman nods.
“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”
There’s a pause.
“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”
“Still am.”
Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”
Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.
He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.
“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”
Roman just shakes his head.
“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”
“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”
“Before…?”
“Yeah. When we…when you…”
When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.
Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.
“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”
Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.
“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”
He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”
Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”
Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.
“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”
If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.
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Any Reason At All
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): a little bit of horniness in no.5 Rating: mature
Summary: Five times there is a very good reason for Jaskier and Geralt to kiss, and one time there is no reason at all.
on ao3
one.
A first kiss is supposed to be something special and Jaskier has had so many of them over the years. But usually, they're with different people. He's not used to having more than one first kiss with the same person and certainly wasn't expecting that person to be Geralt.
The first time, they've been away from town a long time and Jaskier is... wanting. He knows this contract is worth a lot and Geralt has been so focused on tracking that he probably hasn't realized how long it's been since they've been to town. But Jaskier has and he's getting antsy.
"Geralt do you think-" he tugs his boot out of a patch of brambles and sighs, "that we could head back soon? Sleep at an inn tonight?" he doesn't get a response, so he just sighs and plops down right where he is. Up ahead, Geralt shouts back without even pausing,
"Are you just gonna sit there or are you coming with me?"
Jaskier sighs. Geralt's right though, he can't just sit here all night. So he reluctantly gets up and goes after him, muttering under his breath. They continue in this way for the next three hours.
"It's just that... I haven't even kissed someone in weeks. Weeks, Geralt. Do you know what that's like? It's torture, utter-" he walks directly into Geralt's back with a thud and takes a step back as Geralt turns to face him.
"Jaskier," he says abruptly, but not overly angry. Jaskier's eyes flick up to his and he pauses. "If I kiss you, will you shut up and let me get on with it?"
"Uh, y-yes?"
Immediately, Geralt's palm is on his cheek and Jaskier is breathless. He leans in without hesitation and Jaskier is absolutely not prepared for Geralt's mouth on his own. He kisses him gently, leaning in and it's slow and deep and Jaskier isn't sure he's going to survive. Geralt takes a step forward and Jaskier presses into him, letting out a soft moan as Geralt's lips part against his own.
And he drowns in it. Pulled under by the current, he lets himself sink. His whole body burns with it and he can't breathe, but if he pulls back Geralt might stop and he doesn't think he could bear that. And all the while Geralt's hand remains on his face, anchoring him.
And he just... doesn't stop. Geralt's other hand comes to rest on his hip and it goes on for so long that Jaskier is expecting it to lead to something more.
When Geralt does pull away, it's abrupt and Jaskier is left reeling. He's breathless and more than a little turned on and who even knew Witchers were so skilled at kissing in the first place? Where the fuck did that even come from?
"That was..." he starts and when he looks up, Geralt is already a dozen paces ahead of him. "Geralt! Where did you- that was... very good you know. I didn't take you for someone who would be so-"
"What?" Geralt asks.
"I just didn't think you got a lot of practice, is all."
Geralt scoffs, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his tracking. Theoretically, Jaskier knows Geralt has had some practice with kissing and sex. He's been to brothels and some of his friends seem just this side of too familiar, but shit he was not expecting that.
Jaskier is quick to catch up to him again, but he spends the rest of the night in a daze.
two.
Jaskier has been invited to a ball. Normally, he would be delighted to attend an event back home, but it's a special celebration, a party to celebrate his sister's engagement and it's for family only. But Jaskier isn't about to drag Geralt all the way to Lettenhove and tell him he's not allowed to come. Which only leaves one option-
"I need you to be my husband," he announces cheerfully. They're already well on their way to the coast and Jaskier has been considering how to break the news before deciding it's best to just get it over with. "They won't let anyone in who's not family, but they could hardly refuse my husband entry now, could they?"
He beams up at Geralt, stumbling a little over a rock. He thinks it's a great plan, but Geralt doesn't show emotion one way or the other. He just stays silent and looks ahead again. Jaskier would give anything to know what's going on in his head right now.
It doesn't come up again until they're on the border of Temeria and about to cross into Kerack. Jaskier reminds him again when they're sharing a room at an inn. Geralt refuses to share the bed so Jaskier offers it to him before climbing up next to him and cuddling up behind him. Geralt grumbles.
"Hush my love. You're my husband, remember? You can hardly deny me the warmth of our bed so soon after our marriage."
Geralt scoffs at him, but Jaskier thinks it sounds more like a laugh than a grunt and he'll take what he can get.
They set out early the next morning, reaching the borders of Lettenhove by late evening. Jaskier is exhausted and Geralt seems to be getting antsy - probably about the party, maybe about the lie. Jaskier isn't worried about it, he knows well enough how to throw his title around when he needs to and most of the time, it works.
They're stopped at the bridge across to the palace and Jaskier dismounts, nodding his head at the guardsmen. One of them gives him a flash of a smile before looking up and scowling at Geralt.
"Your invitation was for one, master Julian."
"You'd hardly deny my husband entry," Jaskier says simply. The guard lifts an eyebrow and gives Jaskier a questioning look.
"The viscount isn't married," he says simply.
"I understand where your position, truly," Jaskier starts, "but I've been away for some time and in that time, I've found myself not only betrothed but married to a man whom I love very much and whom I wish to bring home to introduce to my family."
The guard looks unconvinced and Jaskier is both angry at his defiance and the fact that he simply refuses to believe Jaskier would marry someone like Geralt. Which, as a matter of fact, he would be delighted to do. Anger boils up and he's about to start threatening when Geralt slips from Roach, coming up to wind a comforting arm around his waist.
"It's fine, love," he whispers and it may just be a ruse, but Jaskier will never forget the sound of that word on his lips, the way it shudders through him like the cold.
"It's not-" he starts, but his voice fails him and before he can do anything else, Geralt gets two fingers under his chin, tipping it up so Jaskier is looking at him.
"Go alone, I wouldn't want you to miss your sister's party on my account. You can introduce us another time."
The look in his eyes is so unbearably soft and when he leans in, Jaskier's breath catches in his chest. Cold lips brush against his own and Geralt leans in, deepening the kiss as Jaskier presses into it. It's so unexpected that Jaskier isn't sure what to do with it, but Geralt's arm remains around his waist and he pulls him forward, pressing their bodies together.
Jaskier is stunned by his enthusiasm. Geralt leans into him, fingers twitching against his hip as he deepens the kiss and Jaskier barely withholds a groan as he feels Geralt's tongue against the seam of his lips. He wants to press into the touch, wants to touch and feel and have him, but it's a fine line between pretending to be with him and pushing too far. And right now, Jaskier isn't exactly sure where that line is.
Because Geralt's hands slip under his doublet, moving further until they're on either side of his chest, moving down to settle in the dip of his sides. And Geralt just presses closer, breathing hard through his nose and nipping softly at Jaskier's lower lip.
And Jaskier can't keep from losing himself, can't hold himself together with Geralt like this, so he kisses him hard. He throws his arms around his neck, arching against him as Geralt's teeth press in a little firmer and it's not until the more suspicious guard clears his throat that he's tugged abruptly back to reality.
He pulls out of Geralt's arms, smoothing his clothes down even as the memory of Geralt's hands on him lingers. He opens his mouth to speak, but Geralt's voice is the one he hears.
"Apologies," he pants, "it's been… some time since my lord and I have been together. He keeps so busy I don't see him often and we were hoping to get to the palace and to our room."
The same guard chokes and steps aside, not even daring to look at them as Geralt reaches up and takes Roach's reins, tugging gently to urge her forward.
It's not until they get to their room that Jaskier finally trusts his voice enough to speak and to thank Geralt for getting them out of what could otherwise have been a mess.
three.
Jaskier is struggling. It's been a relatively easy day in an easy week, but tonight he has time to compose and he can't get this one particular verse right. And it's killing him.
It's supposed to be a romantic ballad of a peasant woman in disguise as a knight, recusing the love of her life from where she's been held captive in a tower. The longing of being apart, he's got down, but now he's reached the point where they're reunited and he can't get the words out. And how is he supposed to when he needs to write a kiss and he himself hasn't been kissed in ages (Geralt notwithstanding, but even that was weeks ago now and they're not talking about it).
He's just not feeling very romantic tonight, so he flings himself back onto the grass, staring up at the stars with his notebook and lute on his chest and he sighs. Across the camp, Geralt makes a noise and shifts.
"What's wrong?" he asks, not even looking up from where he's stitching one of his shirts back together.
"How am I supposed to write the most romantic ballads the continent has ever heard when there is so little romance in my life?" Geralt snorts at him, attention still focused on his shirt. "Do you know," Jaskier continues, "that I can't even remember what it's like to be kissed?"
Geralt just lifts a skeptical eyebrow at him but says nothing.
"Perhaps you could help?" Jaskier suggests.
"What could I possibly do to help?"
"I have it on good authority that you're an excellent kisser and… maybe we could do that again. For research purposes, you see."
"What," Geralt smirks, "your memory not good enough for you?"
"Please, Geralt, it'll help."
For a moment there's nothing, then there's a scuffling sound and when Jaskier looks over, Geralt is rising to his feet. He crosses to stand in front of him, nudging Jaskier's knees apart to stand between them and Jaskier holds his breath. Geralt bends low over him, cupping his cheek and pulling him into a soft kiss. He doesn't let himself sink too much into it, keeping only at the surface and Geralt hums against him.
He shoves a leg between his thighs, pushing closer, but just as Jaskier bites back a moan, Geralt pulls back before it can get to be too much.
"Good enough?" he asks and Jaskier wants to say no, to pull him down and kiss him senseless and press against him and- he pulls himself back to the present and looks up at Geralt, nodding solemnly.
He pulls himself back up, taking his quill to paper and scratching out notes of what he wants Geralt to do to him. If he can't write a kiss from memory, he can write about what he wants.
four.
He's not supposed to get involved in Geralt's battles, but what was he supposed to do when Geralt was disarmed and backed into a corner. Jaskier jumps into the fray, bolting for Geralt's sword. If he can just get it to him- but he catches the attention of the devourer and instead of getting Geralt his sword back to him, he only manages to distract the devourer by turning its attention on him.
For a few moments, he manages to keep it away from Geralt and also keep away from it, but it's fast, faster than he is and before long, Jaskier finds himself right in front of it. The thing swings at him and Jaskier ducks, but not quickly enough. The strength of the devourer sends him flying sideways into a tree and Jaskier cries out as his shoulder connects with solid wood.
Immediately, he pulls himself up to his feet, holding his shoulder and seething. He tries to call the beast toward him again, but it's turned his attention back to Geralt. Luckily, the diversion bought him some time and Geralt has had time to retrieve his sword and lunge for the monster.
And he looks furious. Jaskier is dreading whatever comes next for him, but for now, he's just relieved that Geralt is in control again. Geralt dodges and swipes and fakes out, eventually overtaking the beast and piercing his sword up through the underside of its jaw. It shudders on his blade then collapses against the dirt and it's barely stopped moving before Geralt is bolting forward, dropping to his knees right in front of Jaskier.
"Are you hurt?" he asks and Jaskier shakes his head, but only because he doesn't trust his voice not to waver if he speaks. "Let go of your shoulder," Geralt says calmly and slowly, Jaskier does as he's asked. "I think it's dislocated," Geralt hums, looking it over and brushing his hands over his shoulder.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I have to put it back into place for you."
"I.. no, I don't think so. Can't it just go back on its own?"
"It won't," Geralt huffs, "it has to be put back or it's going to continue to hurt and be useless."
"Please-" Jaskier says, but Geralt cuts him off.
"Last week you threw yourself between me and a harpy and just now you tried to fend off a devourer and you don't want me to put your shoulder back into place?"
Jaskier shakes his head and Geralt sighs. He tries again, but Jaskier is adamant and then suddenly there are warm lips against his and he gasps at the suddenness of it before letting himself enjoy it. Geralt kisses him deeply, running one hand through his hair and then his other hand is on his shoulder, shoving and-
Jaskier pulls back with a start as pain shoots through him, but when he tries to move his arm, the pain is significantly less than before. He looks up at Geralt to find him looking rather smug at him and Jaskier splutters.
"You used me-" he accuses, but Geralt just huffs a quiet laugh at him, taking his arm again and wrapping it up so he can't move it around too much and make it worse.
It does feel better and by the time they turn in for bed that night, Jaskier is reluctantly grateful for it. But as he watches Geralt methodically prepare for bed, he's a little disappointed that the kiss didn't last longer this time.
five.
Strictly speaking, Jaskier isn't supposed to be here at all. The contract had specified utmost secrecy and while Geralt is usually willing to do anything asked of him (within reason), he was firm but not leaving Jaskier alone with a bruxa roaming the halls of the castle, regardless of what the king had asked. The working story, if caught, is that Jaskier is acting as bait, but Jaskier likes to pretend that Geralt just doesn't want him out of his sight after the incident with the devourer.
So now at midnight, they're creeping through the halls, looking for any sign of the bruxa but so far there's nothing. Though the bodies the previous night say something is definitely lurking around after hours. Geralt slips around a corner, motioning for Jaskier to hold back and he does, but a second later Geralt is barreling back into him, hissing for him to get back.
They stumble back and Jaskier is suddenly pressed back against the wall firmly. Geralt hesitates for a moment, looking away from him, but then Jaskier hears the voices coming closer and Geralt pushes him back again, pressing a hand over his mouth. And abruptly, Jaskier's body goes limp under him, a side effect of years of being shoved up against walls for very different reasons.
Geralt seems unconcerned and slowly pulls his hand away, whispering for him to be quiet. Jaskier nods his understanding, but Geralt is so close and he smells good and he can't help the way his body reacts to that.
The guards come closer and Geralt presses right against him and Jaskier can't help the little moan that escapes him. It's quiet, barely even a sound, but in the silence of the hall it seems to echo and Jaskier bites down on his lip too late. Geralt's eyes snap onto his and in the very near distance, Jaskier can hear the guards' footsteps speed up.
But then Geralt is kissing him, somehow even closer than a moment before so there's not even an inch of space between them and Jaskier's mind goes blank. He can't think of anything but Geralt's mouth against him, hot and demanding and not letting up, even as the guards turn the corner. A diversion, he realizes, but it doesn't stop him from winding his arms around Geralt's waist and sliding his hands down over his ass.
Barely a few paces away now, the guards continue their approach, but Geralt pushes a knee between Jaskier's and he'd be happy enough to be tossed in the dungeon so long as they can continue uninterrupted. His hips give a little twitch and Geralt growls into his mouth and that… seems too real to be a diversion. Jaskier feels the vibrations all the way through him and he stutters when he pulls Geralt closer because Geralt's hard, the line of his cock pressing against Jaskier's thigh. Which is something. Jaskier doesn't have the wherewithal to process that right now, but then Geralt is tipping his head up roughly, ducking to kiss his neck just as the guards come upon them.
There's a thud as one walks straight into the other and then scattered mumbling as they trip over themselves to apologize and when Geralt looks up at them, they both mumble additional apologies and turn back in the opposite direction. Geralt doesn't kiss him again, but he doesn't pull away from him and Jaskier is aching with the effort it takes not to rut up against him.
Eventually, long after Jaskier can't hear the footsteps anymore, Geralt pulls away and Jaskier nearly cries though he's unsure if it's from relief or disappointment. He either wants Geralt back against him immediately or he needs to go back to their room on his own for a while and he doesn't see either being a likely option.
"Come on," Geralt whispers and Jaskier just shuts his eyes, leaning back against the wall.
"I'm just gonna… need a minute." To his surprise, Geralt nods and turns away.
By the time they get back to their room that night, Geralt seems to have forgotten the entire situation, but Jaskier will be thinking about it for the rest of their trip, if not the rest of his life.
plus one.
It's been a while since they've just been able to relax, but when they stroll into Oxenfurt, they arrive in the middle of a festival. There's a market in the center of town and various stages with performers scattered within the city so that everywhere they go, there's music on the air. Jaskier shuts his eyes and listens as they make their way to the inn. Once they've rented a room and organized their things, Jaskier asks if they might head down toward the festivities and Geralt, to his surprise, agrees.
They stroll through town looking at all the booths and stopping to watch the performers. Jaskier takes a turn on one of the stages, delighted when Geralt stays to watch, a soft smile on his face, and he's the only one Jaskier sees in the crowd. Afterward, they split sweet buns and pastries and fruit ciders of every variety imaginable. It's been a long time since Jaskier has enjoyed himself so thoroughly, and as the sun begins to set, he takes Geralt's hand and leads him, tipsy and warm with intoxication outside the city.
Others are already gathering for the firework celebration and Jaskier finds them a spot on the ridge of a hill, somehow unclaimed despite its views over the river. He plops himself down, only letting go of Geralt's hand when the angle becomes too awkward, but Geralt sits behind him, and Jaskier shuffles back, sitting between his thighs and leaning back against his chest.
It earns him a huff of amusement, but Geralt doesn't complain and doesn't tell him to move. They're both a little drunk, but the sunset is beautiful and Jaskier can't think of a better way to end his night, nor a better person to share it with. By the time they set off the fireworks, he's so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, instead resting his head against Geralt's chest and listening to the crack of their explosions, quickly followed by cheers and sounds of awe from the younger spectators.
Geralt's hand rests on his thigh and Jaskier twines their fingers together, humming softly as Geralt wraps his hand around his.
He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until Geralt is shifting under him and for a moment, he's disappointed to have woken up because he's sure Geralt would have carried him back to the inn otherwise. But he looks up and Geralt smiles softly down at him, brushing a stray hair out of his face and Jaskier wouldn't trade this night for anything.
They make their way back to the inn, bumping against each other in their drowsiness and it's not until they get up to their room that Jaskieer realizes the room they booked only has one bed. They've both been looking forward to crawling into bed and sleeping well for once because it's been some time since they've had a bed. Jaskier makes a quick decision to let Geralt take the bed because it's hardly big enough for the both of them to share, even if they've done it a hundred times before when coin was low.
But Geralt strips down to his shorts and when he climbs into bed, he shuffles to one side, holding the blankets back in invitation. And Jaskier isn't one to turn down such an invitation, so he quickly undresses and climbs in next to him. He lies facing out into the room with Geralt's chest against his back, warm and rising softly with his breath.
"I had a good night tonight," he hums, "it's a shame we can't do this more often."
"Mm," comes the reply from behind, much closer than Jaskier had anticipated. He can feel Geralt's breath against the back of his neck and he shuts his eyes with a soft sigh.
"Did you enjoy yourself?"
"I did."
Jaskier turns over to face him, and Geralt smiles at him without opening his eyes. Jaskier shifts closer, tangling their legs together and Geralt's arm comes to drape over his hip, bringing him closer. The smile remains firmly in place and Jaskier's heart feels like it could burst from his chest.
"Geralt?" he asks quietly.
"Hm?"
Jaskier looks up at him, unable to find the words to properly thank him for the night, and he reaches up, brushing one hand through his hair.
"Thank you," he whispers, though the words feel flat on his tongue, not enough to express how much he truly appreciates tonight. Geralt hums again, tipping his head down so their noses bump together.
"Jaskier," he breathes.
There's nothing else, but then Geralt's lips brush against his own, soft and tentative and Jaskier's heart nearly stops. It's hardly the first time he's kissed him, but Geralt is so much softer than before, pressing forward only when Jaskier moves against him. And this is so different from before.
Tonight, there's no reason for Geralt to kiss him, there's certainly no reason for him to be so soft and gentle with him - none other than he simply wants to - and Jaskier could cry. He lets himself be drawn closer, completely entangled with Geralt as he kisses him, soft and slow and delightfully pointless.
There's no need for it, just the want to be closer, to feel each other, and Jaskier sinks into it easily, losing himself to the soft press of Geralt's lips of the brush of his thumb against his hip. When they do finally part, Jaskier isn't disappointed that it's over, because Geralt kisses his nose and his forehead as he settles against him and rather than an ending, it feels like the beginning.
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cocobeanncteez · 3 years
Text
ATEEZ Hongjoong: Tame (Part 2)
Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, mafia au.
Pairing: Mafia!Hongjoong x OC (written in 2nd person)
Word Count: 17k in total, 4.8k in this part. (Part 1, Part 3, Final Part)
Warnings for all parts combined: Mafia themes such as torture, abuse, violence, human auctions, murder, drugs, guns. Mentions of rape, human trafficking, sex slavery, organ trafficking, unprotected sex (pulling out), facesitting.
Other than Ateez, all other names are fictional.
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You woke up in a room that was similar to the one you were in at the human auction. You shivered in fear. Was your cousin really going to sell you now?
You broke down in tears. You didn't expect things to turn out this way at all. You wished you knew where your father was so that you could report your uncle and his son easily.
The door of the room you were in opened and a man walked in. "Ah! You're awake!"
"Where am I?" you asked Bojoon, glaring at him with disgust.
"At an auction, sweetheart." Your heart dropped. "Let's hope someone buys you for a very high price." You felt your stomach churn with anxiety. Who was going to help you now? You wished you hadn’t gone to the club.
"But before that..." he stepped forward to caress your cheek with the back of his hand. "I'm going to make you scream."
He moved his hand slowly from your cheek, down to your chest. "Stop," you whispered, earning a hard slap from him. He pushed you against the wall, forcing his knee in between your legs. Your cheek stung badly and you were sure his hand would’ve left a mark.
He snarled, harshly pulling on your hair. "Don't you dare open your mouth, you fucking bitch!"
He ripped the top part of your dress in half, exposing your upper body that was now only covered by your bra. You brought your hands up to cover yourself, but he pushed them away. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a pocket knife, making a large cut on your arm. You whimpered in pain, eyes filling with tears. He smirked at the cut that had began to bleed.
"Blood, my favorite! Ah, this makes it more exciting, doesn't it?" you didn’t reply, trying to control the urge to break down.
He moved his hands to your thighs. "Let's have some fun now, shall we?"
Bojoon was just about to touch your core, but someone snuck up behind him, piercing his neck with a syringe.
You slid down the wall, eyes scrunched closed and ears covered while Bojoon screamed in pain. In a few seconds, the screaming stopped and you heard him fall to the floor with a thud. You slowly peaked, finding Bojoon unconscious on the floor. Was he dead?
You glanced up at the two figures who were present in the room, both dressed in all black; one of them was smaller than the other. Both of them were wearing a black mask and hat. The bigger one approached you, kneeling down. He took his leather jacket off, wrapping it around your body.
"Wear it. It's cold," he said softly, helping you slide your arms into the sleeves. He zipped the jacket up to the top before helping you stand up. The jacket came right below your knee.
"Let's get out of here fast, Yunho," the smaller one said and you recognized him. You were surprised you couldn’t recognize Yunho by his voice.
"San…?"
"Yes, it's me, Kiah," San replied and you sighed in relief before breaking down in tears again.
San approached you and slowly pulled you into his arms. "Shh, you're safe now. We won't let anyone hurt you, alright?" You didn’t say anything while you cried onto his chest, tears soaking his shirt.
"Kiah, we have to get out of here before his men come here," Yunho remarked. "Can I carry you?" You nodded and Yunho took you from San's arms, lifting you bridal-style.
"Yeosang, is the area clear?" San questioned through his earpiece.
"Yes, but there's someone at the exit," Yeosang informed.
"Got it," San said before turning to Yunho. "Alright, let's go. Kiah, just close your eyes, okay?" You nodded, obeying him.
You could feel Yunho running fast with you in his arms. You heard a gunshot, making you let out a scream, scrunching your eyes tightly.
"Don't worry. I’ve got you," Yunho whispered to you.
After a few more seconds, you felt Yunho place you on a car seat. You opened your eyes, watching Yunho close the car door and run to the driver's seat. San quickly slides into shotgun before shooting someone who came out of the building.
Yunho immediately started to drive and San shifted to the backseat, sitting beside you. He took off his mask and hat, ruffling his hair with his hand.
"Are you okay?" San asked worriedly.
"Y-Yeah," your voice broke and you began to cry. San pulled you into his arms, letting you cry on him again. There was a lot of blood dripping down your arm from the cut Bojoon gave you.
"Yunho, how far are we from home?" San questioned. "Kiah's bleeding and we don't have a first aid kit in this car."
"We're about two kilometers away," Yunho answered, speeding up.
In about three minutes, you reached Ateez's mansion. This time, San carried you inside, walking at a fast pace.
"Yeosang! Seonghwa!" he yelled before setting you down on the couch in a room that looked like a medical laboratory. There was another room attached to it and you could obviously tell that it was an operating room. You weren’t surprised as you knew Ateez had enough money to have their own mini hospital at home.
The two men cautiously approached you, not wanting to accidentally trigger you in any way after they were filled in about what happened.
"I'm fine," you told them.
Seonghwa sat beside you, slowly touching your arm. "Can I?" he asked and you nodded. He pushed the sleeve of Yunho's black leather jacket up, revealing the bleeding cut. “Could you take the jacket off so that I can treat you?” you did as he said.
He cleaned the cut with cotton dipped in lukewarm water and you flinched at the sting. Looking down at the cut, you noticed how it was wider on one side.
"You will need stitches," Seonghwa stated. You glanced at the cut; he was right, of course.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Yeosang asked.
You shook your head. "No... Only my head hurts." Seonghwa started to gather whatever he needed to stitch up your wound.
Yeosang nodded. "I'll give you a painkiller for your head." He said, moving to the cabinet.
"Okay," you replied before turning to look at San and Yunho. “Thank you…”
"You don't have to thank us, Kiah," Yunho said with a smile. "We're just glad you're safe."
After Seonghwa stitched and bandaged your wound, he asked you a few questions about how you were feeling while Yeosang made you take a painkiller.
A loud bang was heard and Hongjoong stormed into the room.
"Do you even realize what you've fucking done?!" Hongjoong yelled at you in a stern tone. He looked extremely angry; it actually really scared you.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, lowering your head in shame.
He scoffed. "You should be fucking sorry! And you two," he turned to face San and Yunho who looked just as scared as you. "How dare you both start your own little mission without asking me, hmm?! We made a deal with Moon Younghyun long ago that we will not interfere in their personal matters and they won't interfere in ours! Do you even realize who you killed?! You killed his fucking son!" You flinched at the way he was yelling. "You've put yourselves and our entire gang in unnecessary danger!"
"We didn't kill him," San mumbled, not making eye contact with Hongjoong. "We only made him unconscious."
"And you went through all that fucking bullshit for what?" Hongjoong pointed a finger at you. "To get this damn chick out?! She doesn't even want to be here!" You felt really bad that the boys were getting scolded because of you.
"She was going to get sold again, hyung," Yunho mumbled while looking at the floor.
Hongjoong chuckled bitterly. "So what? Like I said before, she doesn't want to be here. She escaped from us, right? Why the fuck are you so bothered about her?! Whether she gets sold or not, it's not our fucking problem!" Your eyes teared up; you felt so guilty for escaping.
"That's enough, Hongjoong," Seonghwa stated sternly.
"Don't take their side when you know that they're wrong, Seonghwa," Hongjoong retorted.
"Do you even know what Moon Younghyun's son was going to do to Kiah?"
"No, and I seriously don't care about what he was going—"
"He was going to rape her, Hongjoong. He already assaulted her," Seonghwa explained, cutting Hongjoong off. "Fortunately, San and Yunho got there in time."
There was pin-drop silence in the room.
Hongjoong opened his mouth a couple of times to say something, but nothing came out. He looked like he was in deep thought.
"I… I'm sorry," he whispered, not looking at you, before leaving the room. You wondered what suddenly came over him.
"Is he okay?" you questioned.
"Don't worry about it," Seonghwa said with a small smile. He exchanged a glance with Yeosang who nods and leaves the room as well. You were pretty confused by their glance-communication, but you didn't say anything.
"I'm really sorry,” you apologized to San and Yunho. "You both got scolded because of me."
San frowned. "Don't apologize, Kiah. We've been scolded many times before."
"Yeah," Yunho agreed with San. "Hyung is just angry because we didn't tell him about it and he’s scared to lose us. If we had informed him, he would be the first person to rescue you."
You only nod, accepting whatever they said. "By the way… how did you both find me?" You couldn’t help but ask.
"Well, Yunho and I were searching for you everywhere after you left," San explained. "We figured you'd go to a club or some bar, so we checked everywhere. Yunho saw you passing out and by the time he ran to our own car to go after you, your cousin's car was no where in sight. Yeosang had to hack into a lot of cameras in close-by areas to find out where exactly you were taken to." You nodded, listening to whatever he was saying.
"Kiah?" Yunho started in a hesitant tone. "Do you… really not want to live with us?"
You let out a sigh as you pondered about what he said. "I don't want to, honestly. There's nothing wrong with you guys, but the whole mafia lifestyle… I just didn't expect that. I really just want to become a nurse and live a normal life."
"Kiah, I'd like to mention something," Seonghwa said in a soft tone. "Your uncle has been in the mafia business since before you were even born." Your eyes widened at his words as you didn't know that; you thought your uncle was just a corrupted politician. "You were basically born into that life even if your parents aren't into it. And since you lived under his roof, you were actually constantly at risk." You only keep quiet, letting his words sink in.
"Stay with us for a week," San suggested. "If you still want to leave after that… we'll let you go."
~
The next morning, Yunho and Mingi gave you a tour around the mansion while they told you random stories of the missions they've gone on. You found yourself enjoying their company. You were quite surprised at the amount of money mafias make; you were so sure that Ateez were billionaires.
The three of you sat on the benches at the mansion's garden, getting a little sun.
"When did you both join the mafia?" you curiously asked the two giants who were literally a foot taller than you. They had such bright and bubbly personalities that you couldn't even believe they were in a mafia gang, let alone one of the most powerful gangs out there. 
"Yunho and I have been close friends ever since we were thirteen, and we joined Ateez together," Mingi said. "After my parents were murdered when I was seventeen, Yunho's parents took me in. But since I witnessed my parents' murder and saw the murderers' faces, they came after Yunho's family and killed his parents while searching for me because I had escaped before they could kill me as well."
"But we got our sweet revenge after we joined Ateez," Yunho added with a smirk. "Hongjoong came up to us during my parents' funeral and promised to kill the murderers if we joined his gang. He kept his word and the murderers were, in fact, another mafia gang."
"Do you ever regret joining the gang?" you questioned, curious because they joined only to take revenge.
"Nope."
"Never."
"Ateez is our family now," Yunho stated with a smile. "Hongjoong created this family and we're all genuinely happy even if this isn't a normal lifestyle. We're almost always at some risk, but we got each other's backs." Mingi nodded his head in agreement.
"Wow," was all you could say. The boys only laughed at that.
"It's a little overwhelming, I know," Mingi chuckled.
"Let's go back inside," Yunho suggested.  "It's cold out here, you know?" You and Mingi nodded before making your way inside the mansion.
As soon as you entered the mansion, you were hit with the scent of something absolutely amazing. Mingi inhaled deeply, a wide smile immediately appearing on his face.
"Wooyoung is cooking!" Mingi squealed before running to sit on the couch in the living room. You sat beside him, and Yunho sat on the opposite couch.
"He always does, dumbass," Yeosang muttered from the kitchen while helping Wooyoung. Even Jongho was there, cutting some vegetables.
Mingi pouted a little. "Seonghwa hyung cooks sometimes too, okay! Besides, I'm really hungry."
"Food will be ready in another hour," Wooyoung informed while stirring some stew. "Why don't you eat an apple for now, Mingi?"
"Jongho," Mingi called out.
You watched Jongho wash two apples before he made his way to the living room where you, Mingi, and Yunho were seated. He stood in front of Yunho and effortlessly split one of the apples in half, handing one half of it to Yunho and putting the other half in between his teeth, leaving you dumbfounded. He split the other apple and handed one half to you and the other half to Mingi.
You glanced at Mingi and Yunho who didn't even seem fazed by Jongho's actions.
"Did I just witness the baby of the family break two apples in halves with his bare hands?" Jongho smiles brightly at your words.
"He may be the baby, but he's scary as fuck," Mingi mumbled from beside you, making you raise an eyebrow while you ate your piece of apple; you found Jongho absolutely adorable. You were about to say something, but Hongjoong came into the living room, his eyes on you.
"Can we talk?" he asked, making eye contact for barely three seconds before he turned around and walked away. You bit your lip nervously, unsure of what to do after the way he lashed out on you last night.
"Go on," Jongho said. "He won't yell at you or anything, I'm sure of it." You only nod before getting up and following Hongjoong.
You followed Hongjoong to the large library of the mansion. You didn't get to see the inside of the library when Mingi and Yunho showed you around. They said you would spend a lot of time in there anyway.
When you entered the library, your jaw dropped. The large bookshelves were floor to ceiling, and only one of the walls had a window that was floor to ceiling as well. You loved reading, so you were quite astonished at the amount of books they had in here. You could see big, thick books on one of the shelves and you just knew that they were definitely medical books. There were also large couches to lounge on while you read. It even had a fridge and a coffee maker.
Hongjoong sat down on one of the couches placed at the end. You stood there awkwardly, not uttering a word. He patted the free space beside him, signaling you to sit down.
You hesitantly move to sit down beside him, looking down at your hands and fiddling with your fingers while you waited for him to talk about whatever he wanted to talk about. Somehow, you felt quite nervous. Was he going to yell at you for causing a huge problem for his gang? Or was he going to kill you for that? If any of the two are going to happen, you were hoping for the former; you really did not want to die in a mafia's mansion… although, it wasn't that bad of a place to die in.
You heard him inhale and exhale deeply. "I'm sorry, Kiah."
You stopped playing with your fingers and looked up at him, wondering if you heard him clearly. "What…?"
"I’m sorry," he repeated, running a hand through his hair. "For lashing out on you like that without knowing what exactly happened." You were not expecting that at all, considering Hongjoong had quite the temper.  
Your eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. "Shouldn't you apologize to San and Yunho instead?"
"I already apologized to them," he remarked. "I shouldn't have yelled at you when you were in such a state."
"No, it’s okay, I understand why you did that," you mumbled, looking away. It was true, you really did understand. "I put your gang at risk."
He nodded. "Yes, you did. But I'm glad San and Yunho saved you before…" he gulped, “before anything worse could happen."
"Why?" you murmured. You really thought that he hated you after whatever happened.
Hongjoong leaned back against the couch, head titled back, staring at the ceiling.  "Because I had to witness someone I loved and cherished get raped in front of my eyes,” he said in a soft voice. "She was my sister… she didn't survive. They raped and then killed her right in front of my eyes… four months ago."  A soft gasp escaped from you; your heart felt like it just got shattered. Tears spilled from your eyes as you choked back a sob.
"I'm so sorry," you whispered to him, pulling him into a comforting hug that he immediately melted into. "I'm really sorry."
Hongjoong couldn't control his own tears. He broke down as soon as he saw your tears, unable to control himself any longer. As the leader of a powerful mafia gang, he always tried to stay strong in front of his gang members, never showing how broken he felt at times even though he knew that they knew how he felt. He just didn't want to show any signs of weakness when he has people to lead.
But right now, Hongjoong needed this. He really just wanted and needed someone to hold him while he cried his heart out.
He sniffled. "I know you hate this life, but I want you to stay with us… with me," he whispered the last part but you heard him.
"Please, let me protect you," he continued. "I will never forgive myself if anything happens to you. Please, stay here."
His words caused your heartbeat to speed up, butterflies fluttering about in your stomach. You pulled away from the embrace, reaching out to wipe his tears. “Okay, I’ll stay.”
He smiled a little, lightly placing his lips onto your head, making your heart go crazy. "Thank you, Kiah."
~
The next day during breakfast, you found two unfamiliar faces seated at the dining table with the rest of the boys and Jiwoo.
"Good morning," you greeted before you took the free seat beside Hongjoong. He gave you a smile that you couldn't help but return.
"Good morning!" A few of them said while the others just smiled at you. The dining table was filled with waffles, bacon, and cut fruits.
"Ah, so she's the little trouble!" one of the two girls with short hair said.
You chuckled. "The one and only," you replied, making her laugh.
"I like her already," she remarked with a smirk. "I believe we're the last of the members who you haven't met. I'm Aeji and she's Yeoreum." So these were Seonghwa's and Mingi's girls respectively.
"Sorry to interrupt your introduction session, ladies," Wooyoung said. "But could you please pass the chocolate syrup? My waffles are getting cold, you know?" 
Aeji snorted before passing the bottle of chocolate syrup to Wooyoung whose face lit up immediately at the sight of it.
Hongjoong put two chocolate chip waffles on your plate. "Eat well, hmm?" he said and you nodded before talking a bite of the waffle.
Your eyes widened at the taste; these were definitely the best waffles you have ever eaten in your twenty two years (and counting) of existence.
"She loves them," Aeji said to Seonghwa who gave you a happy smile while you ate.
"I'm glad," Seonghwa stated. He always felt good whenever someone enjoyed his food 
"Everyone loves whatever you make anyway," Mingi mumbled while stuffing his face. 
"So true," Yunho agreed. "If we didn't have Wooyoung and Seonghwa hyung, we would've pretty much survived on take out."
You couldn't even believe how these people were in the mafia. They just seemed so normal. At least in this very moment, they did.
All eleven of them made you feel so welcomed. Even Hongjoong was being so nice to you. When you told them that you decided on staying with them, everyone was ecstatic. You were quite surprised that they trusted you so easily; you had seen a couple of mafia movies before, and usually, the hostage isn't trusted at all. People in the mafia are portrayed as cold-hearted monsters, but these people in front of you seemed far from it.
After breakfast, you headed to the library of the mansion to check out which books they had. You were surprised to find so many fictions and comics. You pulled a book off of one of the shelves, reading the blurb on the cover at the back.
"Found something interesting?" you heard Hongjoong say from behind you, scaring you. You took a step back as reflex, your back pressed against the bookshelf. You had no idea when he entered the library.
"Fuck, you scared me!"
Hongjoong chuckled before his eyes fell to the book you were holding. "Mastering her senses," he read the title of the novel aloud . The way he said those three words made you suck in a breath; it sounded so hot. His eyes stared into yours while a smirk formed on his handsome face.
You involuntarily bit your lip and it didn't go unnoticed by him. "Have you read this book?" you questioned, looking up at him with innocent eyes despite holding a book that was erotic. 
Hongjoong took a small step towards your body that was still pressed against the bookshelf. "Mhmm, I have read it," he answered, his tongue darting out to wet his plump lips. "I like erotic romance novels," he remarked, his gaze falling to your lips for a second. His phone started ringing and he takes it out from his pocket. "You should read it," he said before walking away to answer the call.
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before shakily exhaling. "Fuck," you whined, exasperated due to the dull ache you felt down there. Kim Hongjoong really just made you get aroused. You wondered if he did it on purpose or if you were just feeling that way because it has been pretty long since you got some action. You were guessing it was both.
~
Sometime before twilight, you decided to take a walk around the mansion, exploring the area more. There was a small building at the back that wasn't attached to the mansion; it was just a plain white block with a door and no windows. Mingi and Yunho didn't tell you what the building was used for when they gave you a tour around the mansion. You were quite curious to know about it now as you stared at the large steel doors that required a passcode to open.
The door of the building suddenly opened, revealing Wooyoung and Hongjoong who were having a conversation. They stopped talking when they noticed you standing a few feet away from the entrance.
"Oh? Kiah? What are you doing here?" Wooyoung asked, a little surprised to see you here of all places.
"I was taking a walk," you answered. "What is this building? Mingi and Yunho didn't tell me anything about it."
"Ah, they probably didn't want to scare you off," Hongjoong replied.
"Oh…” you murmured, obviously understanding that it had some mafia-related stuff inside.
"By the way," Wooyoung starts, making you look at him. "Uh, I don't know how else to put this, but you really need to learn how to use a gun, Kiah."
Your eyes widened. "A gun? Why?"
"To protect yourself, just in case," he answered. "Everyone saw your face at the auction and they all will assume that you're a sex slave now. If any of them find you roaming around freely, even if you're with any of us, they might abduct you." Wooyoung's words made a chill run down your spine, but you acted like as if you were fine. Honestly, you were terrified, and they both could see that.
"Okay," you agreed without a second thought.
"I'll teach her," Hongjoong said, earning a nod from Wooyoung. He looked at you, giving you a small smile. "Do you want to start now?"
"Sure," you answered and he took your hand in his, pulling you inside the white building. You were surprised to find that there was absolutely nothing inside except a few bicycles. Hongjoong pauses at another set of doors before entering the passcode, revealing a set of stairs. He pulled you along with him, walking past a couple of doors, and you felt like this place was familiar.
"Haven't I been here?" you questioned, eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion as you tried to recall when you’ve been here.
"Yes, the interrogation room is here," Hongjoong explained, "This entire area is connected to the mansion."
"What do you use this area for?" you blurted out.
"Various things," he simply answered before stopping in front of a door and entering a passcode again; they had a lot of security here. Once you entered the room, you realized that it was a large shooting range. Your eyes widened at the sight of various guns adorning one of the walls. You couldn’t even imagine how much money was spent on it.
Hongjoong took a pair of headphones and yellow tinted glasses before making you wear them. He handed you a small, thin silver gun after loading it with a few bullets. "Safety's off, be careful," he warned and you nodded, holding the gun like as if it was very delicate.
"Well, using a gun is very simple," Hongjoong starts, "It's exactly how they show it in movies, aim and pull the trigger. Your aim will always be the most important thing when it comes to shooting, and it's best to shoot the heart.”
Hongjoong demonstrates how to shoot, and the bullet perfectly hit the dummy target’s heart. “See? It’s that simple. You can try it now.”
You put both your hands on the grip of the gun, tilting your head slightly to check if your aim was at the dummy target's heart. You were shaking a little, but you tried your best to ignore it.
"Pull the trigger when you’re ready."
And so you did.
However, the gun recoiled, making you shriek as you fell backwards… right into Hongjoong’s arms.
"Oops, I forgot to mention about the knockback," he chuckled against your head before helping you stand up straight. He looked at the dummy target that you shot. "Mhmm, not bad for a beginner. You shot him in the liver, princess." Your heart raced at the name he called you.
Hongjoong put an arm around your waist, pulling your body against his while he raised your arm a little, focusing on the target. "Shoot," he whispered, and you pulled the trigger again. "See? Bullet to the heart. We're going to practice everyday, yeah? That’s how you’ll become better at it.”
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Day 67: Soulmate (Take 1)
Harry had really great plans for the day that Ginny Weasley turned 18.
He was in the kitchen at Grimmauld making breakfast when she came bounding in through the front door and down into the kitchen.
"Hap-" he started before she had jumped into his arms and kissed him.
With a happy sigh he wrapped one arm around her waist and the other through her long hair and kissed her back.
"Happy Birthday," he finished but she wasn't paying any attention. She had pulled back and was looking at her arms and hands.
"Where is it?" she muttered.
"Sorry?" Harry asked.
She tugged her shirt off over her head to look at her torso.
"Gin, maybe not in the kitchen," Harry started to say, "Ron and Hermione will be down for breakfast any-"
"Do you see it?" she asked quizzically, turning to show Harry her back.
"See what?" he asked.
She shook her head, "My soulmark."
"What?" Harry said, even as Hermione came into the kitchen.
"Hermione," Ginny called, "do you see my soulmark?"
Hermione came over and looked at her back and hummed, "No, sweetie."
"Are you sure?" Ginny whispered, still scouring her front. Ginny looked over at Harry, her eyes desperate, "Did one show up for you?"
(Read more below the cut)
"One what?" Harry asked. "Can someone tell me what is going on?"
"I was so sure," she whispered before she burst into tears.
"Ginny!" Harry said, feeling alarmed and completely lost, he pulled her into his arms and held her close, "Tell me what's wrong," he begged but Ginny didn't say anything at all.
He looked over her head at Hermione, silently entreating her to help him, but she just shook her head.
Finally Ginny seemed to compose herself. She took a few deep breaths and pulled back. "Right," she said, wiping her tears. "I'm going to go. It's probably best if we don't see each other for a while."
"What?" Harry asked, his head spinning, he was dreaming. He had to be.
She leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "I'll always love you, Harry," she whispered before turning and fleeing from the room.
Harry stood there, completely dumbfounded until the smoke alarm started going off and he looked over to see that the bacon he'd been working on before Ginny arrived was nothing but charred stubs.
He vanished the bacon and set the pan off of the burner before turning to look at Hermione who was watching him with pity in her eyes. "What the hell just happened?" he asked.
-------
So, soulmates were a thing. Apparently.
And Harry couldn't help but wonder why no one had ever told him that once you and your soul mate were both 18 a soul mark would appear on your skin after you kissed, signalling that you'd found the person you were supposed to spend forever with. What was even the point of Hogwarts if they didn't teach you about basic things like soulmates? And honestly, why hadn't Ron and Hermione said anything at the very least?
It took Ginny less than three months to figure out that Blaise Zabini was her soulmate. He tried not to resent her for it, he wanted her to be happy, of course he did, but Harry was still painfully single and had no real interest in trying to date. People never saw him as just Harry, dating would be a complete nightmare.
She'd asked him to be one of her groomsmen for her wedding about six months after they'd broken up and he'd said yes, what choice did he have?
It was a terrible decision, really, even if you were only considering the fact that they'd been dating mere months ago but there was also the unfortunate fact that Draco Malfoy was one of Blaise's groomsmen so he had to see him all of the time.
They didn't fight constantly, like Harry had suspected they might when he'd heard that Malfoy was going to be part of Blaise's party but there was always this weird sort of tension between them.
He couldn't seem to stop watching him, or thinking about him, and so he did the only thing that made sense to him. He decided to become his friend.
"Hey," he said, plopping down next to Malfoy at a planning brunch when the wedding was about six weeks out.
Malfoy looked around before looking back at Harry, "Are you talking to me?"
"Yeah," Harry said, popping a grape into his mouth.
His cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink before he said, "Ahm, hello, then."
"How are you?" Harry asked.
Malfoy looked at him, "I'm fine. Are you concussed?"
Harry laughed, he couldn't help it, "No."
"Under a spell of some sort? Potion, perhaps?"
"No," he said, "Don't be ridiculous."
"Of the two of us, I am not the one behaving abnormally."
He sighed, "Look, I just," he trailed off not sure where that sentence was going, "I want to get to know you. It's weird and whatever but I'm just really curious about you, all the time."
"Ah, sixth year all over again," Malfoy said, taking a drink of his mimosa.
"No, nothing like that. I don't think you're up to anything sinister," Harry defended. "I'm just curious." Then he raised an eyebrow, "Admit it, you're curious about me, too."
"I'm no such thing."
"Come on," he said, nudging the other man with his elbow. "I've caught you looking at me almost as many times as you've caught me looking at you."
Malfoy huffed but the corner of his mouth tipped up, "Alright, fine. I'm a little curious. But don't let it go to your head."
"I wouldn't dream of it."
---------
After two weeks of being friends with Draco Malfoy, Harry basically wanted to spend every waking moment with him. Draco was dramatic and snarky, he had sharp sense of humor that often left Harry in stitches.
"So I told him," Draco said, recounting a tale from going shopping for dress robes for the wedding, "that white was for the bride."
Harry giggled, sipping his pint, "And?"
"He told me that Ginerva informed him that she'd be wearing a green dress."
He nodded, "We picked it the other day."
"And when I asked him why, he said it was because she wasn't a virgin but he is."
"Wait, really?" Harry asked, brow furrowing.
"You didn't know that Ginerva wasn't a virgin?"
His skin heated, "Err," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "not that. I knew that because that was..." he trailed off, clearing his throat, "My fault, actually."
Draco looked scandalized.
"Oh, don't give me that!" he said, shoving the other man's shoulder. "Everyone was a mess after the war. I was just surprised that Blaise isn't."
Draco flushed, "It's actually fairly common among pureblood circles to wait for marriage."
"Wait," Harry said, "Are you-" he started, then stopped himself, "Sorry, you don't have to answer that."
Draco straightened his shoulders, "So what if I am?" he asked defensively. "There's nothing wrong with that."
"No," Harry agreed hastily, "Nothing at all. Sorry. Just that infernal curiosity."
"Maybe it would have been different," Draco said softly, like a confession, "After the war. If there was someone that I'd been in love with, like you and Ginerva were."
He took another sip of his drink before replying, "Well, like I was, anyway."
"What do you mean?"
He shook his head, "Nothing, I'm happy for her. Just," he trailed off, "It's going to sound awful."
"It's just me," Draco said softly.
Harry gave him a little smile, "There's no 'just you' about you."
He huffed, clearly not taking it the way Harry had meant it.
"She just moved on really fast, you know?" He shook his head, "One minute I think we're happy and in love, the next she's telling me that I'm not her soulmate and breaking it off without even a conversation."
"What kind of conversation were you hoping to have?" Draco asked curiously.
"Like if this soulmate lark was really that big of a deal. I mean isn't it possible that I could have made her just as happy?" he asked.
"It's not just about being happy," he said.
He sighed, "Fine, but couldn't I have loved her just as well?"
"Maybe," Draco said, "but soulmates are more than that. They're the one perfect compliment for your soul. Soulmates match in every conceivable way; it's not that they'll never fight or that everything is perfect, it's like," he trailed off, like he was trying to put something difficult into words. "When you can see the water and the sky meeting, like when they blend together so that you can't quite tell which is which and that's okay because they're made of the same thing."
"Do you know who your soulmate is?" Harry asked.
Draco shook his head and took a sip of his drink, "I'm not sure people like me get to have one."
"People like you?" Harry asked.
He raised his left arm, "I already have a mark, maybe one is all I get."
"In that case," Harry said, tapping his scar, "Maybe one is all I get, too."
"It's not the same."
He shrugged a shoulder, "you didn't want yours anymore than I wanted mine." Draco was quiet for a minute so Harry bumped him with his shoulder, "If it does turn out to be the case, I'll grow old with you if you'll have me."
----------
In the last month leading up to the wedding, Harry and Draco were pretty much inseparable to the point where people started to ask if they were dating.
They weren't, of course, but it put the thought in Harry's head and he found that he couldn't stop thinking about it.
He watched Draco throughout the wedding, the way his eyes misted over as they were saying their vows, his huge genuine smile when they were officially wed, the wistfulness on his face when toasts were being made. Harry's heart felt like it was somersaulting in his chest.
After Blaise and Ginny had their first dance, people were invited to join them on the dance floor and Harry couldn't take his eyes off of the other man. "Draco?" he said and he genuinely couldn't remember ever being this nervous.
"Hmm?" the other man replied, watching with a little smile as Blaise spun Ginny.
"Will you dance with me?"
Draco's head whipped around to look at him so fast that Harry was worried about his neck. "What?"
He swallowed, "Would you dance with me?"
"Why would you ask me that?" Draco asked. "Are you making fun of me?"
"What? No!"
"Oh, look at pathetic Draco Malfoy, everyone!" he hissed. "No one will ever love him, but I'm Harry Potter and I take pity on all sorts of sad, pathetic creatures." Draco stood up and glared at Harry, "No, thanks. I'm not in need of rescuing today."
He stormed out and after a pause where Harry tried to figure out what had just happened, Harry chased after him.
Draco was making his way down the walkway, "Bloody stupid Manors with stupid anti-apparation wards."
"Draco!" Harry shouted.
"Stop!" Draco begged, turning to look at him. "Please. I know you're trying to be kind but it's tearing me to pieces."
Harry froze in place and held out his hands like he was trying to sooth a startled creature, "Listen to me. Please," he added. Draco didn't reply but he didn't move away either. "I'm not trying to be kind or take pity on you, or whatever," he said. "I genuinely wanted to dance with you."
"Pfft," Draco huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why?"
"Because I like you," Harry confessed. "I thought that would have been obvious by now."
"You like me," Draco repeated incredulously like it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.
"Why do you find that so hard to believe?"
There was a pause as he seemed to be gathering his thoughts before he exploded, "Because you are Harry Potter!"
"And?" Harry asked, then he took another step toward him, "Draco, it's just me," he whispered, echoing the sentiment that Draco had said the last time they had an emotional conversation.
"There's no 'just you' about you," he murmured, shaking his head as a tear slipped down his cheek.
Harry reached out and brushed the tear away, "I really like you," he whispered.
"What if you're not my soulmate?" Draco breathed. "What if I let you dance with me, I let you kiss me but you're not the one for me? How can I-"
"It doesn't matter," Harry said fiercely. "We can just be together. Surely everyone doesn't find their soulmate."
"But won't you always wonder?"
"Won't you always wonder about us if we don't at least try?" Harry returned.
Draco bit his lip but then nodded. "Kiss me."
"What?"
"Kiss me," he repeated. "I need to know. I can't possibly let myself get any more attached to you if I can't keep you."
Harry cupped his face with both hands and kissed him softly and the moment their lips touched, it felt like something was igniting deep in his soul, his body coming alive and humming at the touch.
Draco must have felt it too as his body surged against Harry's, his hands grasping Harry's waist and pulling him in tighter against his body.
When they broke off panting, Draco rested his forehead against Harry's, "Does kissing always feel like that?"
"No," Harry whispered, brushing his nose over Draco's.
Draco's thumb rubbed over Harry's hip, "I'm afraid to open my eyes," he confessed.
"It doesn't have to matter," Harry said.
"But it matters and we both know it."
Harry groaned and pulled back, "Okay. Where would it be?"
"Could be anywhere," Draco replied, looking at his hands and arms, "But it's most commonly on your hands or..." he trailed off as he pulled up his left sleeve, "arm," he whispered. "Harry."
Harry looked over at him and saw that flowers had bloomed across his forearm where his dark mark had been.
"Your scar," Draco gasped, trailing his fingers over Harry's forehead.
"What?" Harry asked.
A tear slid down Draco's cheek, "It's my constellation," he whispered.
Harry tugged him in close and pressed a kiss to his chin. "I guess you were right," he said.
"About what?"
"I guess we do only get one."
---------------
Day 66: Bond | Day 68: Rain
Okay, so I genuinely love the soulmates trope and it was super hard to write this as a ficlet! I needed more words! Anyway, this one might get fleshed out in the future (and I have a Soulmates chapter fic that's already halfway done). I don't feel like this is my best work but I hope you guys enjoy it anyway! xo
Related note: I wrote a second ficlet for this prompt. I imagine that the people who sent me the prompt were hoping for something along these lines, but here's what I might have written if this was a generated prompt. Day 67: Soulmate (Take 2)
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arizona2004 · 3 years
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Who the Real Wolves Are. part 2
Azriel x Reader
word count: 1830 Part 3
I have no idea how long I’d been lying there, cold on the floor. The sun was up, though. So, I’m assuming it’s the next day. Or maybe it’s two days later. I don’t know. Azriel’s here, though; he kneels on the ground next to me and shakes me awake. He’s lifting me slightly into his arms, feeling my pulse. His hands are all over me, inspecting my injuries. When I’m finally sitting up straight in front of him, he pulls my chin to look at him and growls, holding back his temper, barely, “who did this to you?”
I’m too dazed to process the question, though. My head is spinning, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. Where’s Gran? I think, but when I turn my head back to the floor, Az blocks my view.
“Don’t look over there. Keep your eyes on me,” he says.
I drop my head to rest on his chest when the memories start flooding back. Gran is dead. She’s dead, and she’s never coming back. Then, fear floods in too when I remember what else the men had said that evening. “They’re looking for you,” I choke out, “They want to kill you.”
Gently, he brushes my hair and cradles my head against his neck while I continue crying. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I am dangerous, remember?”
A choked laugh escapes me at the memory, but I’m still wracked with fear and sadness. Azriel pulls back slightly and presses our foreheads together, “Who was it, y/n? Who did this to you?” He asks more calmly now, but I know anger still floods his veins. 
“Three men from the town,” I tell him, “I can’t remember their names, right now, though,” shaking my head in frustration, I groan, trying to remember them.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’ll remember later you’re still in shock. For now, I just need to get you out of here,” he reassures, pulling me closer to him.
“No,” I protest, “I won’t leave without Gran,” I finally look over to her. She’s soaked in red, and her skin is bluing.
“I’ll take her, too. And you can have a memorial service. I promise, but you can’t stay here. It’s not safe,” he says quietly, holding my face between his hands. I nod, agreeing, and wrap my arms around his neck. Seconds later, we’re submerged in darkness, spinning through space. We land on some marble floor, still sitting on the ground.
“Az? What’s going on here?” I hear the drawl of a male to my right. Turning my head, I see, standing in the doorway to a dining room, a tall male with dark hair and violet, blue eyes. They meet mine and stare curiously. Azriel gently sets me down and stands to greet the male. I hear the beginnings of him explaining everything to the male, ‘Rhys’, but then I zone everything out. Staring at my grandmother, I feel sick again. I want to look away, but I can’t. She’s dead because of me, I think; why did I let her take the blame for me?  I’m so lost in my thoughts and grief I don’t notice the female approach my other side until she taps my shoulder.
I jump and turn to her. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. My name’s Feyre. Do you want to come upstairs with me?”
She seems nice, and I know she’s a friend of Azriel’s; he’s mentioned her, but I still say, “no,” and turn my head to Azriel. He finishes whatever he had said to the male and returns to me. Lifting me in his arms, he moves to carry me away, “wait, gran…” I mumble.
“It’s okay. She’ll be okay. I asked Rhys to take her somewhere else for now. She’ll be fine.” I trust him, and so my head falls to his shoulder, and I let him carry me upstairs.
He takes me to a large bedroom, it’s mostly black with hints of various blues and gold, and places me on a soft, blue duvet covering a bed. Leaving me for a moment, he walks through another door to my left, a bathroom, I realize. Returning carrying a bowl of water, rags, and a small box with bandages, Azriel kneels before me. He cleans all my wounds, applying a salve to them, and uses the bandages to cover any open wounds. He even has to call a healer for a gash on the left side of my face that needs stitches. It was just outside my eye and ran down to my cheek. The amount of blood I’d lost to the wound accounted for my woozy feeling. The cut would heal but scar, the healer told me. I couldn’t bring myself to care, though. I didn’t feel like caring about anything.
Azriel, noticing my feelings and understanding as he always did, dismissed the healer and lifted me into his arms. He walked us to the top of the bed and lied down, holding me. “Sleep,” he whispers, rubbing my back gently. And so I did. I let the darkness overtake me, and the pain washed away for a little while, at least.
*
narrators pov
y/n was finally sleeping peacefully in Azriel’s arms 10 minutes later when a knock sounded at his bedroom door. He looked up at Rhys’ face peering in, eyebrows raised expectantly, so he began untangling his limbs from yours. Standing up and gently covering you with a blanket, he shuffled out of the room, careful not to wake you, and met Rhys in the hall. Rhys was leaning on the wall across from the room, arms crossed in front of him, “come on. Everyones waiting downstairs for an explanation,” he said, turning to walk downstairs.
Everyone was waiting, gathered in the sitting room. Cassian and Mor were arguing about something or another; who you are to Azriel-it sounds like. When they enter, everyone falls silent, though. Rhys moves to sit on a couch with Feyre, Mor and Amren are seated too, and Cas is standing by the fireplace. They’re all looking at Azriel expectantly. “Her name is y/n. What more do you need to know?” He knew they wouldn’t be pleased with him withholding information, but he wanted to keep you to himself as long as possible.
“Who was the other woman?” Cassian asks, “The old dead one.”
“How sympathetic of you Cassian,” Mor said sarcastically, glaring over her shoulder at him, but he just shrugged, looking to Azriel for an answer.
“Her grandmother,” He responded simply.
“...And why is she dead?” Cassian asks.
“She was stabbed.” 
“No shit, Az.”
“Stop with the curt answers, Azriel, give us the whole story,” Rhys intervenes.
“There’s no story,” He responds, “I found them in their house. y/n hasn’t told me who killed her grandmother yet. She’s still in shock.”
“No. Start from the beginning. I know you’ve been seeing her for at least a month now, but when did it start exactly?” Rhys presses
“Wait, she’s your lover?” Cassian asks, more intrigued. 
“What do you mean you’ve known for a month?” Azriel growls to Rhys.
“You may be the spymaster, but I’m not stupid. Did you really think I wouldn’t look into where you kept sneaking off to? When I first saw you together, rolling around on the forest floor, I had no idea what to make of it,” he responds cooly.
“It’s not just physical,” Azriel spats at Rhys’s implication.
“Oh?” Mor speaks this time, “do you love her?” Azriel’s quickly gotten tired of this interrogation and turns to leave the room.
“Wait,” Feyre’s voice calls to stop him. Standing still with his back turned to them, he stops, “stay. I’ll be the only one to ask questions. Nothing too personal, I promise.”
He turns back and stands with his arms crossed over his chest, attention only directed at his high lady. She smiles at that, and Cassian grumbles something unimportant.
“Where did you meet her?”
“In the forest near her house.”
“When?”
“Nearly three months ago. On my way back from my mission in the mortal lands.”
“Why did you go back to see her?
“Why did you present yourself to her in the first place? Why not stay hidden? Ignore her?” Rhys interjects before Azriel can respond, and Feyre smacks his shoulder.
“I- I don’t know,” I try to answer, “It’s complicated. I was just drawn to her.” He tries to answer, not wanting to reveal the reason he stepped into your path that day.
“Why did you bring her to Velaris, Az?” Feyre’s asking the questions again.
“I- It wasn’t safe for her there. You saw how they beat her. Killed her grandmother.”
“You do love her,” Feyre whispers, looking at Azriel as if she can read everything written on his soul.
“I don’t- I don’t know,” he stammers, more confused than when he pondered this question to himself for the last month. He turns on his heel and does leave this time, returning to your bedside.
*
y/n pov
When I woke in bed, I immediately panic. Where am I? But then everything came rushing back. I’m hit with a sudden wash of pain, and I’m wondering, Where is Azriel? I sit up in bed, disoriented as the door opens.
“You’re awake,” Az says, caught off guard.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Not long. Not even half an hour. You need rest,” he says, walking over to me, concern written all over his features.
“Wheres my gran?”
“She’s being taken care of. By tomorrow she’ll be ready for any ceremony or burial you want for her,” he’s sitting on the edge of the bed now. “If you wanna talk, I’m here to listen,” he says, opening his arms to me.
I climb over to him, letting him hold me. Leaning my head on his shoulder: my body relaxes, and I tell him a story. A memory about my gran and I playing in the forest. I don’t know how long I talked, but he held me the whole time. Only occasionally interrupting to ask a question or laugh at my embarrassing childhood moments. 
I fell asleep in his arms again. And this time, it was hours before I woke, still in his arms. I nuzzled against his neck and gripped his shirt pulling him tighter to me.
“Are you hungry? Dinners in an hour, but we could steal something from the kitchen,” Azriel's deep voice whispered against my neck.
I looked up to him and smiled. It hurt but felt good too. I knew gran would want me to smile, “That sounds wonderful. Is it going to be difficult? Will you have to knock anyone out?” My grin spreads, and he chuckles.
“I’m gonna assume you want to go with the more risky but fun plan, and not the easy, boring one?” he raised his eyebrows at me.
I smirked, “So what’s the plan?”
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