#i want to adjust his overalls and smooth his shirt shoulders and kiss his little forehead and boop his nose and toss him into the air while | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

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𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝗹𝗹 || dark!alex kerner x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 ◦ alex has been waiting so long for you to figure out he's the guy you should be with, but you just see him as your best friend. he's tired of being a virgin, and he's tired of hoping that someday you'll wake up and realise you're meant to be together— if he can't wake you up, at least he can put you to sleep.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 ◦ 6.7k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ◦ smut (noncon, somnophilia, creampie), drugging, obsession, "nice guy"/incel vibes, a bit of possessiveness, very slight degradation, male virginity loss, overall just alex being super unsettling and awful lmao

“I’m gonna run to the washroom, watch my drink?” you requested casually. Alex nodded quickly, heart starting to beat a bit faster as he watched you weave your way through the crowded bar, leaning back a bit to make sure you were out of sight for good.

He took a few glances back and forth at the people around to make sure no eyes were on him, leaning in closer to the bar to try to conceal what he was doing— reaching into his inner jacket pocket and fishing for what he’d bought just a few days ago, waiting for this moment. He was absolutely terrified that someone would catch him— that you would catch him— but he was willing to risk it in exchange for such an incredible reward.

After struggling for a second due to his hands shaking slightly, he found the plastic baggie and discreetly slipped it out, not even looking at it as he opened it close to his chest; he figured if he stared straight ahead it would be less suspicious.

He managed to get the bag open and lean forward just enough to dump the contents into your drink as it rested on the bar, looking around absent-mindedly to remain nonchalant— except that when he leaned back to see if the powder had dissolved easily, he found that he’d missed the glass entirely and dumped the light blue substance right onto the bar.

“Scheiße!” he frantically cursed under his breath as he whipped his head around to make sure no one had seen, trying to decide how to recover from this. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the glass and held it up to the edge of the bar, brushing the powder with his hand across the smooth surface and right over the slope into your drink; it hit the alcohol and started to dissolve quickly as he used his finger to push in the excess on the wooden bar before brushing the rest away with his jacket sleeve. He held the glass up to his face to look at the liquid closely, still seeing some remnants of the powder and trying to swirl the drink a bit to encourage it to fade away: if you saw something by the time you got back, he’d have to start all over again.

“When I said ‘watch my drink,’ I didn’t mean it that literally,” you giggled, and he jumped, not having realized you had returned. Considering your casual attitude and your hands eagerly reaching for the glass, you must not have seen anything leading up to this moment— and thank heavens for that.

He watched a little too intently as you took the drink from his hand and took a sip, waiting to see if you had any reaction, but you set it down without saying anything. “Thanks,” you broke the silence after swallowing, “god knows this place is probably full of creeps.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he agreed awkwardly. There was one benefit to being so deep in the friendzone: you trusted him. Right now, that and some pharmaceutical support were all he had going for him.

He wrung his hands nervously as he hoped that the second would come through for him. The guy he bought this stuff from said it was guaranteed to work, but Alex didn’t necessarily trust the word of a drug dealer selling daterape drugs. Not that he thought the label of “daterape” was very fair— if he could get you on a date, he wouldn’t have to do stuff like this in the first place! But after years of being your best friend, your partner in crime, your confidante, and the constant shoulder to cry on while a carousel of abusive assholes treated you like shit and kicked you to the curb, you still didn’t get the fucking picture. So no, this wasn’t a date; it was just two friends getting drinks, and one friend finally getting what he deserved from the other.

He took a swig of his own drink to try to calm his nerves; nursing the neck of a bottle of beer made him realize he got lucky that you ordered something served in a glass, since getting powder down a bottle would’ve been a pain.

Quickly the conversation returned to the mundane: your latest break-up, his week at work, your favorite bands, his favorite movies. He really did enjoy being your friend, all things considered, he just needed more. And as the night continued without much sign of the pill kicking in— even as you finished your drink— he worried he wouldn't get it.

But then, finally, he noticed the subtle signs: you were blinking a bit more often, and for longer. You seemed to be breathing a bit slower, staring off into space. "Hey, you with me?" he prompted, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention. "Sorry, my story was boring—"

"No, it's not that, I'm sorry," you shook your head.

"Then what's up?" he asked, adding faux concern to his tone.

“I just…" you sighed and started over again. "Let’s head out soon, I’m getting ready to turn in,” you decided.

“It’s only ten!” Alex pointed out with a laugh.

“Fuck, really? I thought it was later,” you frowned.

“Who knew you were such a lightweight?” he teased, pushing you on the shoulder and getting a playful shove back— but he could feel that you were a little weak, and he saw you almost falter in your balance. “Hey, you don’t look so good, let’s go outside for some fresh air.”

You nodded and took his hand, letting him guide you through the crowd and out the back door.

The overwhelming noise that had been present inside was muffled in the damp alleyway, just the distant roar of a thousand conversations and the heavy bass of the music left now. He watched you take a deep breath, closing your eyes. "You good?" he prompted.

"Yeah," you decided, but your voice sounded a little heavy. "Let's walk to the train station…"

He nodded and walked beside you, but you hardly made it a few steps before losing your balance. “Woah!” he laughed as you stumbled, thankfully catching you just in time, and tried not to get too caught up in how amazing it felt to hold you in his arms. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink…”

“Alex,” you mumbled as you started to go limp, clearly fighting to keep your eyes open (and losing).

“I’m gonna take you home, okay?” he offered as you started to fade out.

He kept that promise; he just took you to his home instead of your own.

It was a bit of a struggle to drag an unconscious body back to his apartment without arousing suspicion, but thankfully it was only a couple blocks and with his your arm slung over his shoulders it was pretty easy for any passersby (of which there were very few at this hour) to assume it was just a chivalrous boyfriend helping his date after one too many drinks.

The hardest part was actually getting his keys and unlocking his door without dropping you. Once you were both inside, though, he grunted slightly as he slung you over his shoulder and carried you to the bedroom, laying you down on the bed and looking down at you as he caught his breath.

He was embarrassingly eager; he was already rock hard just from seeing you like this, laying on his bed. It’s not that he got off on you being passed out, but from the feeling that he could do whatever he wanted to you— and the knowledge that he was going to.

Finally, after all this time of being just your friend, he would get what he’d been dreaming of from the beginning.

He was slow and patient, for once, as he sat down beside you on the bed, trailing his fingers over your face, brushing your hair out of the way tenderly. You looked so beautiful this way, peaceful in a way he was almost jealous of; he closed his eyes as he leaned down and kissed you softly, moving his lips even though yours were slack and still.

Past the taste of alcohol, there was something distinctly unique to you, and he took in a deep breath as he sought more of it, adjusting himself until he was on top of you... just having you beneath him was such a rush.

He licked over your lips, even nibbled on them before holding your jaw so he could open your mouth wider and taste inside of it. “Baby,” he whispered to you, heart swelling at the chance to finally call you something that friends don’t call each other— only lovers. “Baby,” he said again, mumbled into the kiss, “you’re so beautiful…”

He precariously balanced on one arm while using the other to feel all over your body through your clothes— and even under them, for a moment, as his hand awkwardly snaked up your shirt and squeezed your tits through your bra.

Suddenly he pulled back with a new desperation, sitting up and breaking the kiss as he started to undress you. “Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he cooed at you quietly, starting to lift your shirt to expose a bit of your hips and stomach.

It was pretty difficult to push your shirt up, since your weight was holding the back of it down, and so he had to awkwardly lift your limp upper body to finally pull the fabric aside before he laid you back down and carefully— gently, with reverence— exposed your bra which itself he pulled down with much less care.

“Oh, god,” he groaned as he got an eyeful, and then a handful, of your tits. “Fuck, wanted to touch you for so long…”

You were so warm, in fact you were hot to the touch, and he hoped his hands weren’t too cold for you… but then again, you couldn’t feel any of it, could you? Did you even care?

For cold hands or not, your nipples started to get harder and he smiled to himself. “You’re sensitive here, just like I imagined. I’m gonna suck on them,” he promised as he started to lean down, pushing them together a bit to make them easier to reach. With a hum he wrapped his lips around one bud and closed his eyes, swirling his tongue and moaning at the taste of your skin. Already his hips were rocking forward into the air just a bit, his cock throbbing and eager to be inside you. But he couldn’t stop doing this to deal with that, couldn’t stop suckling on your perfect tits, going back and forth and massaging them both as he let his tongue explore you.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he groaned against your skin, “you’ve got such perfect tits… you like being sucked here, don’t you? I bet your pussy’s getting so wet.”

As his cock flexed in his pants again, he found the strength to let go so he could move on to better things.

“Let’s find out,” he decided as he sat up and moved down your body to start opening your jeans.

If he thought your shirt was awkward to remove, your jeans were a whole other story; he had to fiddle with the button and fly for quite a while since his hands were starting to shake from the adrenaline rush of it all, and then it took several hard yanks to get the tight denim down your legs. He considered just getting them down enough to do his business and be on with it, but decided it would be better to see all of you— and so he stood up off the bed for a moment, though it felt a bit awkward physically with his cock doing its best try to bust right out of his trousers, and pulled the jeans off over your feet which he also relieved of their socks.

“Aw, you even have pretty feet,” he cooed as he cradled one in his hand briefly before climbing back up over you— after all he’d seen them before when you wore sandals and while he’d always found it a bit titillating when you wore them with your toenails painted in bright colours, they were absolutely nowhere near the main event tonight.

His hands ran over your legs, admiring the smoothness of your skin as he carefully held and lifted each one, moving them out further to spread your legs. Again, they were heavier than he expected as dead weight, and the softness of the bed meant that they sort of rolled back a bit so he had to move them more than he expected at first, but it was worth it to have you spread out beneath him like this with only your panties and rolled up shirt to cover you.

“I can just… pull these aside…” he mumbled as he hooked a finger into the fabric of your panties, revealing your cunt— and god, just the sight of it nearly pushed him over the edge right then and there. What a waste it would’ve been to come this far and just end up coming in his pants at the sight of you, so it was a good thing he held it off just barely. “Mein Gott, you have such a beautiful pussy,” he sighed. “It smells good… I wanna taste it. I’ve never tasted a pussy before…”

Carefully, he leaned in and gave an experimental lick to your folds, moaning softly at the taste. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but he liked it more than he thought he would, going in again to get a more thorough taste. That said, as soon as he started to push his tongue into you, he knew he needed to feel inside you with something much more capable of appreciating every detail of you. He breathed heavily as he quickly brought his fingers up to your entrance, pushing in one but adding a second right away once he felt the warm perfection of your channel. This he’d done before— fingering, that is— and it had been rather lackluster so he hadn’t realised how much he would enjoy it when it was you; you were so much warmer, and wetter, and tighter… his fingers curled slightly to press against your walls, his attempt to feel every detail of your body, and he moaned as he sucked on your clit while he pumped his fingers.

One more flex of his cock against the confines of his trousers made one thing very clear: now, or never.

“Fuck,” he groaned beneath his breath as he sat up quickly, pulling his fingers out of you to use two hands to fumble over his belt and jeans, “need to be inside you— m’gonna fuck you baby, you want it? Yeah, you wanna be fucked, don’t you?”

You were, of course, still and silent… but your pussy was wet, you obviously wanted him.

He shouldn’t have rushed it quite so much but the moment he pulled his cock out, he found himself leaning forward and hovering over you again, swiping the head through your folds to coat himself in your wetness. As soon as he felt your entrance, he pushed all the way inside.

“Fuck!” he moaned loudly at the overwhelming feeling of you— so hot he thought he might burn up and he wouldn’t even mind it— already bucking his hips as he thrusted quickly. Lost in the feeling, he threw his head back for a moment and blindly searched with his hand until he found a breast to grab onto. “Oh my god, you feel so good, baby…”

He didn’t have much freedom to move his legs since he’d only pushed his pants down just enough to get inside you, but he found a way to make it work anyways, just from pure desperation. After a moment, he looked down at your sleeping face, tossing around slightly as his thrusts rocked your unconscious body, and you looked so angelic that he just had to lean down to kiss you again. So he did, and he did so hungrily, passionately, moans echoing into your mouth, as he already felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

“Taking me so good,” he praised roughly, “feels like you were made for me… you’re fucking tight, too, how am I supposed to pull out when you’re this tight? Oh fuck, I have to come inside you— I can’t pull out, you feel too good, and you’re not awake to yell at me anyways…”

Truth be told, he had no plan for when you woke up tomorrow, sore and leaking his come. He’d never thought that far ahead, not even when he was buying the sedative for your drink. All he could think about was this moment, this exact place that he knew he was meant to be: inside you.

“Gonna fill you with it,” he promised with a grunt as he kissed his way across your cheek to the crook of your neck where he buried his face as he thrusted faster. “O-oh god, I’m close, I’m so fucking close, just— just like that, baby— fuck!”

He may have caught a little glimpse of heaven as he came inside you, each pulse of his orgasm running straight down to the base of his cock and making his balls tighten so hard that it would’ve probably been painful were it not for the euphoria superseding everything. He gave you a few more weak thrusts, not pulling out very far since he couldn’t manage being anything but buried completely inside you, before the waves subsided and he collapsed on top of you.

“You’re so amazing, baby, Mein Gott,” he breathed as he kissed all over your face, “look how fast you made me come, you’re fucking perfect.”

He let himself rest for a little while, content to just stay inside you for as long as he could stand it, before sitting back up again and very carefully pulling himself out of you.

That first one only took the edge off; now that he was thinking somewhat clearly again, he could take the time to do this right— he carefully pulled your panties down your legs, tossing them aside along with your shirt and bra once he’d figured out how to get them off somehow.

He really savored you this time: kissed you all over, talked softly to you about everything he couldn’t wait to do to your pliant body, ran his hands over anywhere he could reach. He even played with your clit, watching the way it made your walls flex which pushed a bit of his come out every time. “I love the way your pussy looks, baby, it’s so fucking sexy,” he grinned. “And you know what? I think it looks even better with my come leaking out of it. You want more? I can give you more, baby, I have so much left to give— I’m gonna use you until my balls are empty and all my come is inside you. We’ve got all night, after all.”

He stripped himself as well, wanting to feel your skin against his this time, and stroked himself for a moment as he stared down at your body, laying there at his disposal. He couldn’t even count how many times he had jerked off imagining being with you, and now his dreams were coming true, if maybe not exactly the way he would’ve predicted.

On his knees between your spread legs, he lifted your hips up and propped you up just how he wanted you before pushing inside, groaning instantly not only from your warmth but also because of the way his own come eased his path and left you dripping wet. “Oh fuck,” he breathed, placing one hand beside your head so he could hover over you while the other squeezed your hips tightly.

But now that he’d already come before, he had some real stamina to work with and that gave him time to move you into a new position— just for fun, he turned you onto your stomach and fucked you from behind for a while. He was definitely a breast man all things considered, but he was absolutely not one to let a great ass go to waste; he loved watching yours ripple each time he slammed into you, pushing your back down to force it to arch a bit.

“You probably like taking it from behind, don’t you? Is this how you liked to get fucked?” he taunted with a groan. “Yeah, I think you like it— I think you’re a bit of a slut, hm?”

He took your absence of response as a yes, squeezing handfuls of your ass before spanking you a few times for good measure.

After that, he pushed your legs up to your shoulders, groaning in awe of such a lovely view of your pussy and face at the same time. This time when he pushed his cock into you, he felt himself hit the very end of your body— he moaned as he realized his cock was using all of you, really claiming you as his own. He needed to come this deep in you, he needed it like he had never needed anything before.

Soon enough it ended up with your legs draped over his shoulders and his hands roughly grabbing at your tits, and that transitioned naturally into him slipping his arms under your back and holding you tight as he fucked you fast, rough, needy— animalistic, near the end.

He let his mind run wild with some insane idea of what it might be like if you were awake: in his fantasy you were begging him for more, moaning about how he was the best you ever had, digging your nails into his back as he brought you to ecstasy with only his cock. You seemed like the type to cry with joy when you came really hard, at least that’s what he’d imagined before, and so he thought he might kiss your tears away while he spoke his little praises to you, hearing your sounds of pleasure right against his ear.

Suddenly he pressed his lips to yours again, almost wishing you could kiss him back properly but appreciating that this was the best he could do for now— and it still did plenty for him, making his cock start to flex inside you as his second orgasm drew closer.

“You’ll make me come, baby— you’re so good, I’m gonna come in you again,” he whispered against your lips. “Oh, Liebling, you’re going to be so full of my come, do you think you can take it all? Can you take everything, baby?”

It was different from the first one: in some ways more intense, kind of building on the last, and in some ways more subdued as he knew a bit more of what to expect by now. But it was no less incredible, and he moaned loudly into his unrequited kiss as he filled you once again.

Once the most intense pangs of sensation had faded, once the ringing in his ears had stopped, and once he’d (mostly) caught his breath, he sat up slowly and looked down at where your bodies were joined. It had, understandably, made a bit of a mess to come inside you twice in a row— he hopped up from the beg on slightly-wobbly legs to retrieve a damp cloth, cleaning his cock first before giving your pussy at least a cursory, exterior wipe down like any gentleman would.

He knew there was no real point in getting you fully cleaned up since he’d be back to use you again soon enough. But that was a ways out from now since he definitely needed a while to recover.

With a parting kiss to your forehead and a brief search for his boxers, Alex left the bedroom to forage the kitchen for something to restore some energy. He settled on a coffee (there was still plenty of night left that he would definitely prefer to be awake for), an apple, and some orange-chocolate biscuits, which he enjoyed while he turned on the TV and watched whatever was left before the end of broadcast.

Of course, with nothing interesting to watch, he found himself not really paying much attention as his mind wandered to other things. Most of all, for the first time he considered his plan for after the pill wore off and you had questions. The most thorough solution would be to give you a bath to get his fingerprints off of your skin and his come out of you, then to redress you in your clothes from the bar and simply say that you passed out and he gave you the bed while he slept on the couch.

Another option, though more dangerous, might be a bit more fun: he could leave at least some of his come inside you before he redressed you, just to know he’d left a bit of himself behind.

And, of course, there was always his last resort, perhaps the most obvious but highest risk solution. He could admit that something had happened, but try to convince you that it was of your doing, a drunken initiation that you simply couldn’t remember. But even then, it would all depend on what you remembered of the moments at the bar before blacking out; and considering the thorough beating your pussy had been receiving so far tonight and would continue to be receiving, the odds were probably pretty low that he could convince your hungover self in the morning that nothing had happened. Not that Alex would know, but he had a pretty good feeling that a sore vagina is not a common side effect of a hangover for women.

His cock started to stir as he imagined the absolute best case scenario when you woke up in the morning.

Alex, what happened last night? Did we have sex?

Yes, baby, and it was amazing, I just wish you could remember it.

Oh, Alex, I’ve been waiting so long for you to just man up and take me— you’re all I ever wanted.

I know, baby, but I’m sorry I had to go about it that way, giving you that pill in your drink. I just had to be sure you wouldn’t say no to me, I couldn’t take it if you did.

I’d never say no to you, Alex, and I never, ever will. I wouldn’t even know how, not after last night— I know that we’re meant to be together now. You shouldn’t apologize for drugging me either, I should be thanking you. We can finally be together, I can finally be all yours… come here and make love to me again, I promise I’m going to remember it this time— I’ll remember it for the rest of my life.

And to make up for such a one-sided night of passion before, he decided that this time you’d be loud and proud, even bordering on dominant by riding him with reckless abandon— bouncing happily on his cock and bringing yourself pleasure like you’ve never known before. But, of course, you’d both be well aware who was really in charge, who you really belonged to.

Alex, I’m yours— my body is yours, my heart is yours, everything, it’s all yours… I swear, nobody’s ever made me feel like you do, you can have me whenever you want me— use me, Alex, I love you, I love you!

Fuck, he was hard again. Way harder than he had any right to be considering how he’d spent the night so far. He could even just barely see a little stain of precum on his boxers by the tip of his cock, hard to make out with only the dim, blue-ish glow of the TV to see by.

But thankfully, while you were here, no boner would go to waste— he stood up and stretched away the soreness that had settled in from sitting on the couch for a while, before walking to his bedroom and cracking the door open. You were laying there, exactly as he’d left you, and even though it was no surprise at all he still smiled to himself proudly.

“Hey baby,” he grinned as he slipped off his boxers and hopped onto the bed beside your motionless body, “you’ve been waiting for me, huh?”

He ran his fingers down your stomach, over your thighs, then came back up to start to touch your pussy. He still couldn’t believe how soft and silky it was, you were just too good to be true— and here you were, spread out on his bed for him to use as much as he liked, his best friend turned into his own personal sex doll.

The only shame was that the drug would wear off eventually, and he couldn’t just use you this way forever. It was only one night, at least until he found a way to do it again, and he needed to make the most of it.

So, not looking to waste any more time, he climbed up on top of you and rubbed his cock over your pussy— wet and spread out on display for him, though even wetter after he took a moment to pull back and spit on it— while his mouth laved at your hardening nipples. Honestly, he could probably come just from this, just from rubbing himself on you and sucking on your tits, but why do that when he could fuck you again?

He held your legs apart for himself as he pushed inside, purring as he felt your swollen channel struggle slightly to accommodate him. “Aw, it’s not too big for you, is it baby?” he taunted you with a smirk. “You can take it all, right? Yeah you can, that’s my good girl…”

He fucked you a little faster right away, focusing his hands and mouth on your breasts for a while and wondering if he might find the self-discipline to pull out and come on your tits this time. Probably not, but it was fun to imagine. He always thought your tits just deserved to be covered in his come, though, ever since you wore that one dress that showed them off just a little too much and it made him too horny to even really be jealous that you were putting yourself on display like that.

You dressed a little too provocatively, all things considered; he never got his head around on how all these controlling douchebag boyfriends of yours let you leave the house like that. If you were his girlfriend, he’d treat you loads better than any of them did, but one thing he’d be sure of is to dress you up in baggy sweatshirts as much as he could get away with. No more of those tops with the straps as thin as a noodle and the jeans so tight that every guy who walked by was obviously staring at you. A body as lovely as yours would need to stay Alex’s-eyes-only, if you two were ever going to end up together. But obviously, tonight proved that Alex was more confident than ever that that could never really happen. It was nice to play pretend for the night, though.

“You’re taking it so good, baby, look at you,” he groaned as he sat up a bit to get a glimpse of your cunt stretched wide around his cock. “Can you believe it fits? I can, I know you were made to take it— ‘cause you’re my girl, huh? All mine…”

For all intents and purposes, he was talking to himself; but as stupid as it was, it worked.

“Yeah, you’re all mine,” he continued, fucking you faster, “this pussy belongs to me, all my come inside it makes that pretty fucking clear, don’t you think? Such a beautiful little pussy and it’s all mine.”

Overcome by it all, he leaned down to rest his head beside yours while he fucked you, feeling a thin layer of sweat gather around most of his body from the exertion of fucking you as hard as he was.

“You’re never gonna let anybody else touch you,” he demanded against your shoulder, “‘cause you’re mine, baby, and nobody else is ever gonna fuck you… just me, you’re gonna be mine, Liebling.”

He heard you let out a little sigh and at first it was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced— the closest he’d ever gotten to hearing you moan for him— but then he pulled back and saw your eyes blinking open and staring straight up at him��

And suddenly it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced.

A rush of adrenaline— much less enjoyable than before— shot through him and left him petrified as he stared back at you.

“...A-Alex?” you croaked out weakly. “What’s happening?”

Even in his state of terror, he was moving on pure instinct: and his instinct was to keep fucking you. He couldn’t stop, not even staring you down like this, not even moments away from facing the very terrible consequences of his very terrible actions. “You’re dreaming,” he blurted out suddenly, suppressing a moan as he felt you squirm a bit beneath him— it made you even tighter when you struggled. “This is just a dream…”

You reached up, a pathetically weak attempt to push him away, and he quickly pinned your arms down beside your head.

“You’re just dreaming, baby,” he repeated in a groan, “a really, really amazing dream.”

You whimpered a bit but didn’t say anything else, eyes falling shut again; he carefully leaned down to press his face into your neck, kissing along your pulse and up to your ear.

“You’ve dreamed about this before, haven’t you?” he whispered to you softly. “You’ve dreamed about how good it would be if you let your best friend fuck you. And it feels good, doesn’t it? I dreamed about this too. For as long as I knew you.”

When he looked up at your eyes again, they were still shut, and your breathing started to slow down again. He couldn’t say for sure that you were asleep quite in the same way you had been before, but you weren’t awake the way you’d been before, either.

The safest option, of course, would be to stop now— but he was too close to coming a third time and he just couldn’t bring himself to stop moving when the slick friction was just so fucking good.

He tried not to be too rough so he wouldn’t jostle you awake, and even just that took all that was left of his willpower; it wasn’t all too much later that he came inside you one last time, whispering to you about how this might be the last time, but that he hopes you enjoyed your strange little dream about making love with your best friend.

Truth be told, he didn’t mean to fall asleep in the manner that he did— that being on top of you— but the coffee did little to keep him up compared to the sedative of three orgasms and your perfect pussy keeping him warm all night…

By the time he woke up, though, you two had migrated apart slightly, though you were still tangled up in his arms with your head on his chest.

Smiling down at you, he let himself run his fingers lightly over your back, over your arm draped on his chest, before he felt you start to stir with the sunlight in the window shining on your face.

You hummed a little, starting to move, but he thought he might’ve caught the moment you realised you were laying next to someone— and you looked up at him with those pretty eyes all confused. “Alex?” you groaned.

“Morning,” he greeted, trying to mimic the hungover exhaustion that tinted your voice.

“Oh Christ are we—” you choked, glancing down at his bare chest. “I think we’re naked.”

“That… seems to be the case, yes,” he agreed awkwardly.

“Did we…?” you prompted, looking up at him in a way that made it painfully ambiguous what answer you might prefer.

“I don’t know, we were both pretty wasted,” he offered, banking on you not remembering him being much more composed than you when you passed out. “What do you remember last?”

“Um, the bar…” you trailed off. “And we were walking outside…”

“Yeah, that’s kind of where my memory cuts off, too,” he bluffed with a nervous chuckle.

He saw your eyes get wide for a second before they darted away, and he raised an eyebrow. “Oh… oh shit,” you choked as you sat up suddenly, trying to cover yourself as you searched near the bed for your discarded clothes.

“What? What’s going on?” he asked quickly.

“I, uh, remember one other thing,” you explained pointedly, finally finding your panties and slipping them back on under the covers.

“Well, what is it?” he asked, but you ignored him as you searched for your bra. “Hey,” he barked, grabbing your shoulder as he sat up, and finally you faced him again, “what do you remember?”

“Well,” you sighed, “I, uh… I think I can say with complete confidence that we fucked last night.”

“Wait, what? Are you sure?” he pressed, sitting up a little straighter.

“I… remember,” you explained, “just a little bit.”

He just prayed that you didn’t remember that little bit where he drugged you. “Well, what happened?”

“I don’t know, okay? I just remember you on top of me and—”

“And?”

You swallowed thickly, and he had to hide a smirk when he realized what the rest of your sentence was. And it felt good.

“I should go…” you mumbled awkwardly, and he reached out to grab your arm.

“Wait, please,” he begged, and you looked back at him with watery eyes. “Look, I’m not sure what happened last night, but maybe it wasn’t a mistake— I mean, how can we be sure if we don’t give it a shot?”

You tilted your mouth a bit as you considered it.

“I mean, they say alcohol takes away your inhibitions, not that it gives you new ideas, right?” he added. “So we both got way too drunk and… if this is where we ended up, then maybe this is what we both really wanted all along.”

He scooted a bit closer to you on the bed, wrapping his arms around you. You sighed as you leaned into his chest, relaxing a bit. “I just don’t want to lose this,” you breathed. “You know: this.”

“Of course,” he agreed, “we’re always gonna be best friends, nothing can change that.”

He leaned in to kiss your temple… then your cheek… then just below your ear...

“Alex,” you breathed as he slowly laid you down and pressed you back into the mattress, but you jumped a little bit when he pressed his cock against your thigh. “Alex!”

“C’mon, baby, let’s remember together,” he encouraged with kisses all over your neck, grinning as your back arched.

“But… but we’re just friends,” you protested.

“Not anymore,” he purred. “I don’t remember much, but I remember you begging me for more. You loved my cock way too much for us to just be friends now, Liebling.”

For all the conflict on your face, your legs spreading open for him was pretty unambiguous. Your mind might have missed the memo, but your body was already used to him. With you conscious he could make you come around him, he could hear you moan his name, he could make you beg him to come inside you… the possibilities were really endless.

He should’ve known he’d never have the self-control to let it just be one night; he was a goner from the beginning, he’d do anything to have you— lie, steal, kill, spike your drink— and he wasn’t going to let you get away so easily, not when you were finally right here in his arms.

“You’re gonna be mine, baby,” he whispered in your ear as he slowly pushed his cock inside you once again, “all mine.”

#dark!alex kerner x reader #alex kerner dark fic #alex kerner noncon #yep this is where we're at folks #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl dark fic

459 notes · View notes

chil2de · 3 years

Note

Your sharing a bed with the JJK men hc's were incredible 😩 special mentions for Megumi's bed head, Nanami being a secret cuddle bug, and Yuuta having to drink both iced coffees (that fucking sent me fjdndnfd I could picture it so clearly).

You're super talented so could I, er, possible get a NSFW version? 👀 💳💥💥💥💳💳💥💳💥

Thank you so much 🥺💕

hello anonie!!! thank you dear i’m so glad you liked them!! please the credit card emojis had me cackling LMFAOOOO you really made my whole day out here!!!(THE ICED COFFEE WAS MY FAVOURITE PART TOO)

well i managed to hit the max amount of characters allowed in a tumblr post with five characters alone so i’m going to have to split this up into several posts. it just kinda happened ig

characters in this post: itadori yuuji, gojo satoru, okkotsu yuuta, fushiguro toji (megumi was supposed to be here but i had to reserve him for next post😔)

this work is nsfw. if you’re new here, please read my disclaimer before proceeding. thank you and enjoy!

based off of this post

itadori

- itadori would prob be a ‘deer in the headlights’ if you woke him up in the middle of the night

- but after that? shit, he’s so nice to you. so kind and generous for his baby girl. whether he’s fucking you ‘cause he thinks you might be able to sleep after an orgasm or there’s just an incessant desire for him- doesn’t really matter all that much to itadori. he loves you either way :)

- gets horny so easily LMFAO

- would 100% dick you down if you asked him to and i like to think that he still keeps his really sweet personality during sex cause aaaa he would be so soft and reassuring

- hardcore dom yuuji sounds sexy as all hell but let’s be real… this man won’t kill a fly and apologises for stepping on ants. only exception being angry sex but overall reserving hard dom for sukuna :)

you pepper tiny kisses onto itadori’s face, treating him with the utmost care like handling fine china. his skin feels so soft against your lips, and he smells very faintly of milky soap. there’s some traces of brand cologne on his shirt, as well as his natural scent.

“yuuujiii-“ you coo, blowing air very gently. when he doesn’t stir, you run your fingertips through a bundle of his cotton candy tainted hair. it evokes a reaction from him, so you continue to press him.

“y-uuuu-ji!”

after a few moments, itadori lets out a soft whine before grumbling incoherent blabber. “i won’t eat the pineapple! kugisaki will scream at me!”

you giggle before prodding him again, when finally he relents and jolts awake, eyes wide and mouth slightly parted at how close your face is to his.

“‘s it morning yet?” he wrinkles his nose, stifling a yawn. you emit a hum in thought before wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling you into him. itadori squeaks in surprise when he feels you latch your lips onto his neck, suckling and carefully breaking the bonds underneath his sensitive skin. his moan comes out groggy, still laced with sleep.

“that drives me crazy, you know that, right?” itadori laughs, though his voice comes as a wobble.

“i know. and they look so good on you too, hm?” you giggle, caressing one hand from his neck and then down to the hem of his shirt. your fingertips flutter against his bare skin and he shivers physically and audibly. you smooth your palm flat along his chest, dragging your nails carefully against his muscles.

“kinda.. wanna.. go to.. sleep.. but i don’t.. wanna fall asleep…” itadori mumbles against his pillow. the fabric muffles most of it, but there’s a strain in his voice that leads you to believe he’s moaning lightly. guess after sukuna ripped his heart out, this area hasn’t been quite the same, huh?

“so? then go to sleep, yuuji. i’ll be fine-“ “-no way! i gotta take care of you”

“so why don’t you?”

“‘m going to! i was asleep just half a minute ago!”

“and besides-“

he shifts himself up into a sitting position, leaning his back against the headrest. itadori opens his arms, motioning for you to crawl on top of him. without any haste, you clamber over his built frame, ghosting just over the print of his hard dick.

“not that i mind but- we did, you know, in the morning already-“ “oh, shit, sorry- it’s totally fine if you don’t want t-“ “-just messing with you!”

itadori pulls your neck down and gifts you with the same treatment you were offering him earlier. his tongue is hot and wet against your skin and you can already feel the precipitation forming at the back of your knees. calloused yet tender hands smooth around your waist and he smooths his palms over your shoulder blades.

after itadori’s satisfied with the mark he left, you can’t help but groan a little into his mouth when his lips suddenly claim yours. he drinks you up, relying solely on your taste like he’s drowning and you’re the air he needs.

itadori takes his sweet time cherishing you, or rather it’s still his state of half slumber, but you can feel a dull ache prick your abdomen. you scratch up his shirt, motioning for him to take it off. you’re unsure what comes over you, but shit, you don’t want him- you need him.

“heyheyhey, ‘s okay. don’t worry, i got you.”

“i’ll take care of you.”

“just relax, okay? i got this.” he only coos with sweet reassurances, peppering small kisses and handling you with the utmost precision.

you whimper, balancing your palms flat against his abdomen for additional support as you sink down onto itadori’s cock. he lets out a hum of content, forehead bumping against yours as he allows you to adjust.

“you good?” he murmurs after a few moments, capturing a few strands of your hair in between his fingertips. you nod meekly and itadori hisses out a breathy exhale. he’s sure that if he goes rough as shit you might end up more broken than being able to sleep, so he screws his eyes shut and exhales to maintain his composure.

blazing hot lips scrape against your ear, and his voice comes out in a husky tone.

“tell me how you want it.”

by the lords of everything and all that is holy, itadori only chants the same phrase over and over in his mind. it’s a miracle that he’s able to think straight with all the blood rushing to his cock. he’s more than happy to take it slow, reward you with slow and long strokes while he showers you with high praises. but he can’t ignore the twitch that he experiences when he envisions that pretty lil fucked out face of yours, all messy and ruined for him.

you mutter that you have no preference, that you don’t care because anything he’ll do for you is perfect, and it only gives him a beaming smile at your words.

itadori grabs the scrunched up ball of his shirt that he was wearing before ripping the fabric into half with his bare teeth. you watch his eyebrows perk when he notices how fucking hot you just found that, evident with the way your walls fluttered around him.

“here, babe.”

you part your lips and he stuffs the fabric into your mouth, there’s a little bit of excess hanging out, but he reminds you that you look sexy as hell either way, on top of his dick like that with your hands on his chest, legs spread, face flushed and ready for him.

“don’t wanna be wakin’ anyone else up.”

yuuta

this man is about to end my whole career

yuuta wouldn’t bring it up on his own accord just because… respect.. and he doesn’t want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable into doing things you’re not ready to.

it’s kind of a gray area for him because he doesn’t relish the idea of bringing up sensitive and/or extremely awkward topics so he really said ‘i’ll leave it up to future me’s problem’

but holy shit. let me absolutely tell you.

the second you hint at it? anything of the sorts? 0 to 100. he is FREAKY you cannot tell me he’s innocent just LOOK at the man

can make you scream with ease. all that practice he’s been doing with handling katanas? he doesn’t need his dick to make you cum. will gladly lick up your leftover juices and remark with a smile on his face how ‘it tastes good, angel’

similarly to itadori, i think he would be sweet and patient when asking for your preferences, etc, but after that you’re gonna have to find something to bite onto

“and? what’d you tell her?” yuuta remarks from over his fanned out deck of three cards. his gaze flickers to you as he awaits a response before using his index and middle finger to lay down a +4 card.

“red, by the way.”

you huff and glare at your boyfriend, picking up four cards and attempting to hold them in such a way that they don’t all fall and rattle to the floor. truth be told? you’re seriously a sore fuckin’ loser. you don’t know how he does it, but you’ve never managed to win a game against yuuta.

“i told maki-san that it’s her problem, not mine. if she’s so pressed about people taking them, why does she keep noodles stored in the fridge? really, noodles in the fridge? they’re really spicy as well! made my nose run like hell.” you scoff in distaste, throwing down a random red card on the pile.

“you totally ate them didn’t you?” yuuta giggles, beaming you a wide smile.

“also.. told her that i didn’t see them instead but- yeah.”

“aren’t you worried she’ll find out? oh, and, uno.”

“she might just beat me up to be honest, and, uno, you say? not anymore, love.” you sneer, throwing down a +4 card.

“i want green.”

“i’d protect you.” yuuta states over his cards. you feel like cracking a joke and laughing, but there’s absolutely zero implication on his facial features to show that he’s joking. that, and his serious tone, of course.

you flip your cards down onto the table and yuuta squeaks, pointing towards them.

“uh- i can see your cards-“

“it’s okay, not like i was gonna win anyway.”

at this point, yuuta’s mind races a hundred miles an hour. he’s panicking, blood pressure raised, heart thumping and throat clogged. oh, shit, did he do something wrong? did he upset you? is it ‘cause he said he’d protect you with no regards to the fact that you’re perfectly capable of fending yourself off against maki? fuck, he’s such a god damn screw-up, can’t even take care of his girlfriend correct-

“hey.”

your fingertips slide around his neck, hands interlocking at the base of his head. your thighs balance on his lap and you straddle him, legs either side of his.

he can’t help but hitch his breath, holding it in as though one wrong move and you would dematerialise.

“what’re you thinking about in that head of yours?”

whether you’re referencing his mini panic attack just now, or if you’re referring to all the multiple times he’s battled just bending you over and railing the absolute shit out of you, there’s not much room for debate when you brush your clothed sex up against the print of his dick.

yuuta snakes his slender hands around your throat, holding it in place. you can feel the arousal pool and wash over you, and you’d be more than surprised if you hadn’t soaked through your clothes.

he lets out a breathy laugh, devastating your stomach with butterflies due to how attractive he sounds. yuuta’s soft lips brush the shell of your ear and his other hand moves to rest on your waist,

“why don’t i show you?”

before you can utter a tease something along the lines of “show me what? how you’re too scared to hit me in bed?” you’re already down, flipped over and bent over the table you and yuuta were using moments prior ago for uno. the cards have splattered all over the wooden floor and you only hiss in discomfort as the cool surface scratches against your delicate skin. your boyfriend towers over you, leaning down as his torso clicks into place against your back. even through his titanium white jacket, you can feel his calm and collected heartbeat. he rests his head on your shoulder, nudging his face into you.

“don’t scream, okay? or, try not to, at least-“

his warm fingertips ghost over the curve of your ass, where he pinches the skin there before delivering a loud slap. you squeak, back arching as you jolt from the action. he proceeds by grabbing the inside of your thighs, long middle finger hoisting around your underwear and pulling it to the side. he makes note of the red lingerie you’re wearing and gives you a small chuckle, peppering a kiss to the side of your face.

“-unless, of course-“

“-you’d prefer everyone hear me fuck you stupid.”

“safe word’s blue, angel. i love you and thank you.”

truth be told, you were never sure what to expect from yuuta. hell, you’d never really seen the man’s dick before, sure you caught glimpses in the morning whenever he’d wake up but it’s really not the same. nothing in the world can compare to the first time you felt his piping hot tip brush up against your slicked cunt. and it was embarrassing, actually, the way your pussy was seething for him already.

with a firm hold on your tailbone, yuuta utilises his lower body strength to ram his dick all the way inside. there’s a garbled and choked moan that hisses from you when you feel your walls wrap and deform around the girth of yuuta’s dick. you whine even more so when you can physically feel a thick vein that decorates his shaft.

“the mirror.” yuuta commands in a low tone, redirecting you to glance at the same mirror you’d always fantasised about him fucking you in front of.

his eyes are half lidded, riddled with concentration. it reminds you of that feral and focused gaze he gets during serious battles.

“don’t look at me. look here.”

you trail the outline of yuuta’s arm veins as a result of him rolling his uniform sleeves up; following his v line that points towards his dick. you can only gawk in awe when you realise you’ve taken him to the base of his shaft.

his gaze locks with yours for a split second and he snaps his hips out until just about his tip is visible inside your cunt.

and shit, if his pretty pink cock isn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, especially with that attractive curve. you’re sure the gesture is just to wind you up, but you can’t help but swoon at him showcasing his pride to you.

“so- mmhf- pretty-“ you whine, words jumbled and breath caught when he slams his dick inside without any prior warning. you can only shriek in exclamation when his tip bruises your cervix, and you’re unsure whether you lament the sensation or not.

he only gives you a cheerful hum, reminding you of his usual cheery disposition. it’s not until then that you realise how much of a fucking beast he’s acting right now.

“right? i’ll put it to good use, i promise.”

gojo

- i know we’re all thinking the same thing here lmfao

- trying to sleep? good for you, now, open your legs for satoru.

- oh you can’t sleep? atta girl, down on your knees for satoru.

- bye i can literally imagine gojo saying some dumbass shit like “think you were trying to sleep but i couldn’t help but think how good my dick would look down your throat like that. sorry, love, you’re not sleeping tonight.”

you blink your eyes in turn with the cicadas chirping aside, stifling a yawn. everything around you down to the very last detail screams at you to sleep, but you just cannot. from the pitch black night that floods the room obscurely, to gojo’s even and quiet breathing beside you. you’ve tried it all. you’ve counted an excess amount of sheep, you’ve tensed and relaxed your body more than you can remember. hell, no matter how many times you’ve flipped the pillow you always seemed to feel less exhausted each time.

you can’t watch netflix, because you’ve binged all your favourite shows. it’s not that you’d wake gojo up because, who cares? by the time you finish scrolling through the endless lists it’ll be time to get up.

you ponder over the things you can do, continuing to subconsciously blink furiously. that is until gojo makes note of your stupid actions and starts giggling like a high schooler at his first sleepover.

“what the hell are you doing?” he snorts, cackling into the pillow like it’s the best joke he’s heard for quite some time.

“shut up, satoru. i’m trying to sleep you ass.” you tut at him, berating him for ruining your divine concentration.

gojo audibly shifts onto his stomach, his right arm crosses over the back of his head as he lazily rests his palm onto his scalp. the other arm preoccupies itself by landing it smack bang onto your chest, fingers wandering up to cup your breast.

“satoru, huh? that’s daddy for ya” he remarks, still giggling in a state of half asleep.

��uh-huh. goodnight.” you dismiss him and his nonsense.

“just go take a shower. always helps me whenever i can’t sleep.”

“hm? you’re giving me actual good advice and being a normal boyfriend? i think i might be asleep already, this is the best dream ever.” you remark sarcastically, prying gojo’s glued wrist off of your breast and sitting up. you could go for a shower, actually. you’re not sure why but it’s always so therapeutic to take one at night rather than the morning.

“huuuh? how could you say that? you’re so mean, (y/n)-chaan! i offered you my love and the world and this is how you repay m-“

“-goodnight satoru. i love you.”

“don’t think professing your love for me will change my mind! i’m still upset at you right now, young lady!” gojo shouts from over his pillow, exclaiming and irritating you in the way he knows how to best.

“yeah, yeah. okay.” you mumble softly to yourself, bearing a wide grin from ear to ear nonetheless.

when you move to crank the water on in the shower, you realise that you didn’t bring along a change of clothes. you momentarily pop back into the bedroom to ransack the drawer for anything that you can find.

“are you back to apologise for being so mean to me?” gojo whines and you can see the pout evident on him even when it’s pitch black.

“no, i’m just here for clothes, satoru.”

you hear him mumble something but it’s muffled by the sheets he’s underneath so you don’t heed any attention to it and resume in taking a shower to help keep your insomnia at bay.

with a ginger step and a small ‘oopf’, you heave yourself into the large shower that only a headass like gojo would bother buying. it’s reminiscent to what a hot tub looks like on the inside, with surrounding jets practically in a full 360 degrees. the things so steep that there’s a small step up in front of the shower outside the actual structure. it must have cost quite the fortune.

you reach in for the built in shelf to grab ahold of some of your toiletries as you allow the water to fall in a gentle sprinkle, almost like rain. there’s an audible squeeze reminiscent to trying to get the last ounces of ketchup as you apply some body gel to your hands, lathering it up.

despite standing, the warmth of the water leads your muscles to feel less tense. the only noteworthy downside is that the running water is tremendously loud. how on earth is gojo sleeping through all that racket?

slender fingertips ghost over your inner thighs. you can feel his wet and sturdy chest in place against your spine.

“surprised to see me?”

“you know i can’t let my baby talk shit like that.”

really? that’s his issue at hand here?

“so which is it?”

“acting like an intolerant brat because you’re tired or ‘cause you wanna get dicked down?”

gojo loops his arm underneath your leg, bending it up. you almost topple over in the process and you lay one hand flat against the tile.

“don’t answer that. sometimes it’s so obvious that you’re such a whore for my dick.”

“huh?! what the shit are you saying?” you snap at how correct he is.

gojo yanks your face back, digging his fingers into your cheeks as he forces you to face him. it almost sends your neck into two pieces, straining to look back at him.

“oh, really princess? just the other day you were begging me to fuck you”

“remember that? couldn’t wait so you rode me in the car? you know, baby, all you gotta do is ask.”

your legs tremble and psyche wobbles when he pries your mouth open with his thumb, promptly before spitting into it.

“don’t bother with the bullshit. i’ll play the games, not you.”

he drags his hard cock against the curve of your ass, slapping it against you.

“i don’t think i feel like fuckin’ you right now.” gojo sneers, humming sardonically. his lips quickly latch onto yours when you spin around to meet his gaze. like the fucker he is, gojo moans and whines into the kiss- lips ravaging you whole and tongue capturing your essence.

“baby girl, i was gonna let you top me. you know i don’t let anyone do that.”

his long middle finger prods against your cunt, forcing itself in with ease.

“damn, you’re soaked. you really wanted to milk me dry that bad?”

you hate him. hate him so fucking bad. he flashes you that attractive smile of his, azure eyes sparkling and snow white hair disturbed with water.

gojo pulls his finger out before sucking onto it in front of you, lapping all the excess arousal off.

“i’m not playing with you tonight.”

toji

- i literally don’t even need to say anything here

- just be sure to make a hospital check up appointment or something

- um-i uh- please remember to breathe after this one? maybe touch some grass? ALSO my first time writing for toji AAA i hope he’s okay

maybe if you don’t breathe? nah, that wouldn’t work. there’s still air acting around your limbs when you move so you’d be disturbing the barriers there. let’s see… maybe bit by bit? surely if you slowly inched his shirt up? then again, wouldn’t toji chew you out halfway through? maybe you should just give it to him straight up? just slip your hand under his shirt. come on. but he looks so peaceful, sleeping like that.. long eyelashes fluttered closed, lips relaxed and not scowling. his eyebrows are softly arched. he looks so soft, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every breath.

fuck it. just do it. cuddle him already.

you muster up all your courage in one fell swoop and you bend one leg over toji, resting it just above his groin. your right arm sprawls out over his chest and your hand rests against his toned arm. he’s already sleeping with one arm bent up with his hand supporting the back of his head, so you utilise the free real estate to nestle your head in the crook of where his shoulder and collarbone meet.

when he doesn’t move after a while, you deem your life to be safe and exhale with ease.

“you’re not asleep.” toji states in a groggy, husky tone. it’s supposed to be a question, but, coming from him it almost sounds like a challenge.

“yes?” you squeak out meekly.

“‘yes?’ you asleep or not?”

“i can’t sleep again.” you murmur against his shirt and he exhales a small sigh. the arm that you’re clinging onto moves to draw small circles on your thigh that rests on toji.

“when’d you notice?” you inquire, glancing down at his large wrists.

“like five minutes ago. nice try, kid.” toji snorts indifferently, chuckling at your behaviour.

when you don’t make an effort to respond, toji’s interest peaks and he lets out a small hum of intrigue when he follows your gaze.

he turns his head, brushing his lips up against your temples.

“see anything interesting down there?”

“as a matter of fact-“

you nestle yourself in between toji’s large and built thighs, digits curling around the waistband of his boxers. he only smirks at you through the dark, cock twitching through the fabric. you notice toji hover his hips up so that you can slide his boxers off for him and you happily oblige.

“-i do.” you chime, licking your lips.

it’s cute, though, if you thought toji was gonna let you handle him like that all by yourself.

as you kiss a trail up his thick shaft, toji yanks ahold fistfuls of your hair before grabbing your face off of his cock.

“who said you could suck my dick? that’s real cute.”

“thinking you actually have a place in my house.”

“i didn’t train you to be such a depraved slut. know your fucking place, because this isn’t it.”

“how many times do i gotta tell you? you don’t belong here. look around. do you see anything that shows a woman lives here? no? that’s because you’re nothing but a fuck doll for me.”

toji hisses out profanities at the gag you spew when he slams your tiny little mouth back down on his dick.

“lose the teeth you imbecile. unless you’re trying to tell me that you can’t suck my dick properly.”

incessant whines and garbled sentences are muffled by toji’s cock. whatever remnants you had of your vision are nothing but a blur as tears stream your cheeks, nose running and sniffles resurface in a repeating pattern over the slick sounds of slurping and gagging. your mouth stretches as far as it can go and the corners of your lips shriek in despair. you can feel the skin there stretch and pull beyond what’s considered normal.

even through all that, you manage to glance up at toji through your water logged lashes. you’ll be a good girl for him. you need to be.

“fuuuck. that’s a pretty sight.” he grumbles and a deep chuckle resonates through his chest. within a few moments, toji fumbles to reach for something.

you can only wince and screw your eyes at the suddenly blinding flash of a light in front of you. one can only assume he’s taken a photo of you in your humiliating state.

you can feel the fear settle into your veins when that telltale ping of a message being sent vibrates throughout the room. if you were to listen hard enough, you could hear a notification go off in the next room over.

your throat feels raw, jaw tense and locked open. it’s been a good twenty minutes of toji face fucking you to teach you a valid lesson. it’s all in the will of him wanting to drag this on, savouring every miniscule slurp, whimper or gasp. when his strokes start to feel sloppier than usual, you can’t help but feel relieved.

as you squirm about due to toji shooting hot ropes of his thick cum down your throat, the door softly clicks open.

“megumi. you’re just in time.”

“she’s way more obedient than your mom ever used to be.”

494 notes · View notes

writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

Text

Aaron Hotchner / Ready for More

Summary: Aaron had married Haley right out of high school. He didn’t need a second or a third -- he just needed her. But things change. And after she’s gone, he’s finally ready for another relationship -- he’s finally ready for you.

Prompts: Aaron’s first time after Haley (second time overall)

Warnings: E, smut, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk,

Word Count: 3,387

Aaron Hotchner rarely felt nervous. But the few times he did, he was always grateful for the feeling — the jitters deep in his stomach, the adneradline that flooded his bloodstream, that occupied his muscles, and roused his mind — as this feeling kept him alive. However, right now — he adjusted the collar of his shirt, smoothing the stray hairs on his head — he wished he could be rid of the feeling. Right now, it wasn’t keeping him alive — in fact it was close to killing him, eating away at what semblance of cool he had left, and that was already too little. He scrubbed at his face, holding his forehead, feeling the brush of his fingers against his skin, noting the notable absence of cool metal of his wedding band.

It had taken him far too long to stop wearing it. It had taken him even longer to put it away. It felt like another part of him at this point, a part of his heart he was ripping from himself, hiding away in a drawer. But it was necessary. It was needed. He had to move on. He owed it to himself. And, he glanced at his phone — your last text still on his lockscreen: Looking forward to tonight! :) — he owed it to you too.

But still, his nerves remained on edge. And he knew exactly why.

It had been a long time for him. A long time since he had dated. He had the love story everyone wanted. He had met Haley in high school, high school sweethearts who married out of school, and stayed together for years. But no love story was perfect, and many didn’t have a happy ending. And nothing about his ending was happy. But it ended, nonetheless.

But that’s when he met you. A coincidence really.

He was shopping for Jack’s school supplies on his own, with only a list of things to keep him company. Jack was spending time with his grandfather and Jessica, his last day to do so before schools opened up, and here he was doing last minute school shopping by himself. Well, until you wandered by.

“Do you need help?” a knowing smile on your lips, your eyes flitted from the sheet to his seemingly hopeless expression, "I saw the list and figured—"

"Is that obvious?" You laugh, shaking your head, as he notes the absence of your nametag, “Do you work here?”

You nod, “I own the store,” you gesture around, “we have a lot of parents coming in today since all the big chain stores are fresh out of supplies and now they are trickling into the smaller ones.”

“Must be good for business,” and you shrug.

“Doesn’t hurt,” you hold out your hand, “let me take a look, we can have you out of here and back home with your—?”

“Son,” you smile, “his name’s Jack.”

Your eyes scan the list with a nod, “So we have everything, except one of these things, those three ring binders went fast today,” he frowns, his head throbbing at the prospect of hunting a three ring binder down today, “but I have a friend who owns a shop not to far from here. I’ll make a call and see if he can hold one for you.”

“You don’t have to—”

You shake your head, another smile graced your lips, and he felt his heart thump against his ribs, “I want to,”

“I don’t think I caught your name,” he says, and you hold your hand out.

“Don’t think you asked,” you offer your name with a ghost of a chuckle in your voice, and little did he know that’s not all you would offer him.

You offered to accompany him to pick up that binder. You offered a few suggestions for Jack’s reading list over coffee. You offered comfort. You offered friendship. Eventually, you offered him love. And more importantly, you offered him the time he needed to take with this. Patience for your first kiss. Patience with labels. Patience with your heart, which he knew he held so delicately in his hands. And patience with something else as well.

He hadn’t slept with anyone, but Haley. Ever. She was his first and his last — for everything. First kiss, first love, first lover. And last.

But now he was ready — he was ready for more. He was ready for —- the doorbell rings — he was ready for you, for all of you.

“Always right on time,” he says as he opens the door, finding you in a black number that rode dangerously above your knee, his eyes skimming your bare legs before flicking up to the smirk across your scarlet lips.

“I have to be, don’t I?” Your arms wrap around his neck, tugging him closer, his hands finding your waist, “don’t know when you’re going to be mysteriously pulled away by your lover.”

“My lover?” he feels your laugh fan across his fan, as you press your lips to his.

“Work, obviously,” he buries a laugh in your neck, pulling you even closer.

“So does that make you my mistress?" He swore he felt you shiver under his touch, your words practically whispered against his ear.

"I like the sound of that," you kiss his cheek, lingering a moment longer, before pulling back and smiling at him, "but I was promised dinner, wasn't I?"

You squeeze his hand, and he nods, fingers laced together as he let you in. Tonight was going to be the night.

~~~

"I didn't know you knew how to make paella," you sip at your drink, smiling over your now empty plate, "or that you could make it so well."

"Well I've been living on dinosaur nuggets for so long that I nearly forgot I could too," his hand brushes your knee before resting there, his thumb rubbing up and down, "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he murmurs, kissing you, and you taste the saffron on his tongue — it tastes even better on his lips.

Something was different about tonight.

He grabs your plate and his own, and you hop off the stool, "I can help clean up—" but he waves you off, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Just relax,” he says, placing the dishes in the sink, and you sigh, leaning against your hand, as you eye him in the jeans you had helped him pick out the week before. They were...very flattering, which was part of the reason you had insisted on them.

“Oh I am,” you hummed, as he shoots you a look over his shoulder, spotting your eyes entirely glued to his ass, “I’m enjoying the show.”

“Oh are you?” you hear the smile in his voice, his gaze still fixed on the dishes, “well consider this a teaser.”

You raise a brow, “A teaser? So I can expect more later?”

The clink of the dish against the dish rack, “If you’re good,”

His tone was rough and husky, teasing even — the words raking over your body and sucking the air from your lungs. Oh something was definitely different, as a distinct heat settles over you, a tension coming into view that you hadn’t even noticed. Until now, as you shift in the stool, heat stoked between your thighs with just his simple words.

Oh, something was definitely different.��

“In that case,” you slip from the stool, “let me freshen up in the bathroom.”

The door clicks close behind you, and you cover your mouth, ‘Oh my god,’ you mouth silently, fingers nearly messing up your perfectly painted lips.

He had invited you over tonight. No Jack. No kiddie food. He had dressed up in the collared shirt you liked, his arms on full display for you.

He wanted to sleep with you tonight — the thought of it sent shivers down your spine. The pace had been achingly slow, almost painfully so, but only because you loved him. And you did — which is what made waiting so worth it for this man who deserved nothing but love, especially after all he and his son had lost.

But, you resisted the urge to bite your lips, could you give it to him?

You had told you he hadn’t been with anyone since Haley, not until you. You wanted it to be good for him, you wanted to be good for him, so badly, but — you fussed with the hem of your dress — it was a lot to live up to.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but still nerves flutter in the pit of your stomach. But you choose not to focus on your shaking hands or jumbled feelings. He wanted this. He wanted you. And god knows, you’ve wanted him for so long. And each time he had pulled you into his lap, spread across his thighs, you’ve wanted him more — desire still burnt into your thighs, even though the bruises he left weren’t.

You emerged from the bathroom, finding him sitting on the couch with two glasses in his hands. You rounded it with familiar ease, sitting right beside him, and plucking one of the glasses from his hands. His arm rested against the top of the couch, the other still holding his drink.

“Welcome back,” he says, as you take a sip.

“Was my absence noted, Agent?” you mumble, as he leans closer, stealing another kiss, his tongue flicking against your mouth playfully.

"Of course," he takes the glass from your fingers, placing it and his own on a coaster, before his hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking the length of your cheek, "It always is."

"Aaron," you breath mingles with his own, as he dares even closer, noses brushing. He finally kisses you, your hand finds his shoulder, grounding yourself. He swallows your soft moan eagerly, his teeth digging into your lip. His large hand rests on your hip, and you crawl into his lap, splayed across his thighs. His fingers graze your bare thighs, teasing the hem of your dress, before venturing where you wanted him.

You part, his lips now lingering against the soft skin of your neck, all teeth and tongue, and your hips jerk against his, unconsciously, searching for some friction against the growing bulge in his jeans. Your touch soft, you pull him away, biting back a moan at his kiss ruined lips, “Are you sure, Aaron?” your fingers card through the hair resting on the back of his neck, “I don’t want you to do this if you’re not ready.”

His fingers trace your jaw sweetly, “I am, sweetheart. I’ve thought about this, a lot,” he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing chaste kisses to each finger, “I love you. I love what we have, but I’m ready for more. I want this. I want you.” he adds softly with a kiss to your palm, “if you’ll have me.”

Tears well in your eyes, as you cup his face and smash your lips to his, “I’ll always have you, Aaron. Again and again and again,” you murmur against his lips, and you pull a groan from him, as his arm winds around your waist, closing what little gap was left between you.

Your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt carefully. You would take this slow — you waited this long, you would wait forever for him. But it seems you don’t have to, as his arms rise, allowing you to tug the shirt over his head. Your eyes rake over the expanse of his chest with reverence, slowly tracing over the dips and divots, your touch lingering on his scars.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbles, as you shake your head, trailing kisses down his body, slipping down to your knees in front of him. Your lips dwelling over the scar on his stomach, the knife wound from the monster who had killed Haley, the very same one that almost took Aaron from you — before you even had him. His eyes grow sad, a sigh on his lips, “you don’t—”

“Every part of you,” you mumble against his skin, and he shivers under your attention, “every memory, every scar, every bump — I want to know every part of you,” and you brush your nose over his nose, “because I love every part of you.”

His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching as your fingers now find themselves at the hem of his jeans, toying with the button, “Baby,” he groans, as your hand begins to massage him, staring up with wide eyes and a wide smile on your lips, “fuck, I won’t last very long if you—”

“Then don’t,” you pop the button open, and he helps you pull these jeans and his boxers off, lifting his hips so he can then kick them off, “let me take care of you, Aaron. Let me be good.”

You eye his cock, thick and long, pre-cum nearly dripping from his tip. He stares at you with half lidded eyes, mouth falling open as your lips brush his cock, "Sweetheart, your mouth," a guttural groan deep in his throat, as your fingers trace his balls. His hips thrust into your mouth, "fuck, sorry," but you squeeze his hip, attempting to shake your head, as your tongue traces the length of him.

You peer up at him with wide eyes, and what assuredly must be drool dripping down the corner of your mouth and he practically whines, his fingers lace through your hair, tugging you closer, “Oh, what are you doing to me?” his hips jerk again, forcing his tip to brush against your throat, and you choke, “Fuck,” he hisses, shaking his head, trying to tug you off, but you don’t let him, his voice begins to crack, “Baby— I’m not going to last much longer—” And your fingers squeeze around his balls, as you hollow out your cheeks to suck, to let him know it was okay — that you wanted this. He pulls your hair, the sharp pain making you moan long and hard against the heavy weight of his cock, “where—” a low grunt rumbles in his chest, “where do you want to—”

Your fingers splay over his thighs, doubling down as your tongue curls around his dick, before sucking again, hard. He groans your name, rough and extended on his tongue, as he cums, his thick release coating your mouth and throat, and you swallow every drop of it. It’s salty, and thick, and something undeniable so him. And you love way the taste of him lingers on your tongue. His breaths come in small pants, his head lolled back against the couch, as you press slow kisses to his thighs, enjoying how his muscles twitch under your touch.

You shift, your heat throbbing in the confines of your clothes, blood roaring in your ears as he finally looks back down at you — utterly and completely ruined. His hand finds yours, fingers slowly intertwining as he smiles at you. His chest still rises and falls, as he gently urges you back up. You squirm under his gaze and touch, hands dragging over your curves.

“Are you okay?” you bite back the sigh on your lips — still now, always concerned about you. You nod, licking your lips, as you squeeze your thighs, and his gaze flickers down, and his eyes become molten, “come here.” he rasps, voice thick and heady.

His fingers guide you as he has you turn, unzipping your dress, his breath stuttering as he sees your bare skin, swallowing, “No bra?” he asks, in quiet reverence, as his calloused fingers trace down your spine, shivering under his attention, “were you that sure you’d get lucky?” he teases, a ghost of a laugh in his words.

You look over your shoulder, smiling, “I never thought I’d get this lucky.”

“You stole my line,” he says, pressing a kiss to the small of your back, his nose brushing against it. You help him slip the dress from your shoulders and frame, falling to a crumpled heap on the floor. You turn, heat climbing up your neck, as you watch his eyes sweep over you, lingering at your panties — eyes darkening when they spotted the damp fabric. He pulls you into his lap again, and you both let out soft moans as your clothes pussy drags over his cock, “were you this turned on by sucking my cock?”

Your breath hitches, his filthy words making your cunt twitch, “Fuck, yes,” he pulls you into a kiss, groaning when he must taste himself on your lips, “Please, Aaron.” His fingers brush your warmth through your underwear, rubbing up against your clit through the fabric, “just take me to bed, please.”

He licks his lips, wordlessly nodding, “Are you sure?”

You kiss him in reply, your arms looping around his neck, as his hands dig into your ass, lifting you. He stumbles to the bedroom with you, nearly knocking down framed photos and an end table, before he reaches his bedroom. He fumbles with the doorknob, a strangled whimper falling from his lips as your teeth pull on his bottom lip, before throwing the door open. He growls, pressing you against the wall right inside the bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer as his hand teases your nipple, “Aaron,” you whine, and he only grins against your neck, sucking at the hollow of your neck, “not fair.”

“When has anything you’ve done ever been fair?” he mutters, voice utterly thick and sinful, as his mouth closed around a nipple, sucking, “nothing about you is fair.”

You arch your back into his touch, and you savor the way his dark eyes look up at you, like he can’t bear the thought to look away even for a second, “Aaron, please,”

“Tell me what you want,” he sucks the skin above your breast, his voice growing soft, “I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Your fingers find his chin, tipping his gaze back to yours, “I want you,”

Your lips meet again, sloppy, messy kisses, as your tongue tastes him, as he slowly lies you back on the bed. He immediately crawls on top of you, pressing butterfly kisses up your body, lighting every nerve ending on fire, until he finds his way back to your lips. Your hands guide his own to the waistband of your underwear, and his fingers roughly drag the impeding clothing article down your hips, before you kick it off unceremoniously.

Your breath stutters in your chest when you see him eye your body, now on full display, squirming underneath his intent gaze. His hand cups your face, “You’re beautiful,” he breaths, before leaning to press his lips to your inner thigh.

You pull him back up into another kiss, your fingers finding his way to his semi-hard cock, stroking it until he is ready, “Are you ready?” you ask, licking your lips, as he stares down at you, eyes lidded, “if you aren’t, we don’t have—”

“You know for a long time, I didn’t know what I wanted, but now, I know what I want,” he smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “I want you.”

You blink away the tears in your eyes, a quick kiss to his lips, as he guides himself to you. You whine as his head brushes your cunt, “Aaron,” you swallow, and his hand finds yours, as he parts your folds with his cock.

Every part of you burns under his touch, as he pushes himself, inch by inch into you, and you both find each other’s gaze. Eyes glassy, you meet in a kiss — and all you can think of is him: his mouth moving against yours, his hands pressing you needlessly closer, and his cock now finally seated inside you.

“Aaron,” a high pitched moan you barely recognize bubbles up, and he replies with a growl, rumbling against you, “please, move.”

“You’re so fucking tight,” he pants, the expletive making you writhe against him, shaking his head, “I don’t know if I’ll last—”

You shake your head, cupping his cheek, “It doesn’t matter, just move.”

He presses a kiss to your lips, just as he begins to thrust, swallowing each other’s groans, your mouth falling away as you arch into him, “Aaron, I love you,” his fingers dig into your thigh, lifting it over his shoulder, your skin slapping together, his lips pressing a kiss to your knee, “fuck, you feel so good.”

He shakes his head, a choked grunt escaping his throat, “I needed you,” he whispers, as his hips begin to slow, “I needed you, because I was dying without you and I didn’t even know that I was.”

“Aaron,” his low grunts fill your ear as his hips take languid strokes, “I needed you too. I still do.”

He presses impossibly closer to you, as his fingers drift to your clit, “I need you to cum for me, sweetheart,” he swallows, slick sweat dripping down the hollow of his throat, “I need to feel you cum on my cock. Want to see you fall apart for me. Need you to fill you.”

His fingers rub at your clit, and you’re gone, his name a whisper on your lips, as your blood turns to lava, pleasure thrumming through every vessel, toes curling. You keen under him, as his hips stutter, before he finally fills you, languidly thrusting until he presses himself to you, fingers still thumbing your clit.

He buries his face in your neck, still twitching inside of you, taking solace in your slowing pants and in the simple rise and fall of each other’s chests. He eventually lifts his head, and your lips find each other, lazily exchanging chaste kisses, as your fingers curl against the small of his neck, as you smile up at him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, as your fingers trace his cheek and his lips catch them, pressing a kiss to each fingertip, sending a ribbon of warmth through your body.

“More than,” he murmurs, as he reluctantly pulls himself from you, as you whine in protest, “do you need anything?”

You hum, as you shift on the bed, before freezing, “A towel,” and he bites back his smile, but you catch it anyway, “this is your mess.”

“Our mess,” he corrects, “or did you forget you begging me to move?”

You scoff, “I was not begging,” and a smile pulls at his corners of his mouth, as he opens the bathroom door, throwing a look over his shoulder.

“You will be,” your eyes glint in the low light of the bedroom, as you lay back.

“I’ll be waiting,” he shakes his head, grabbing the towel, as he pauses with a smile.

He wasn’t just ready for sex with you. He was ready for everything. He was ready for a life. For a house. For a family, even. A small chuckle leaves his lips, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. A few years ago he didn’t think he would ever smile again, but because of you, he glances at the finger where his ring once was — he was ready for so much more.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut

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geesecannotlove · 3 years

Text

Some BakuIida as requested by @donnie-with-a-cup-of-coffee !! This took forever because I couldn't decide if they were going to kiss or not :') but it's finally here like a while month or so later and I'm sorry about that delay. I hope you still enjoy <3

• Adrenaline Rush •

Cw// foul language

. . .

"Glasses." Bakugo snapped from his place in the common room. Legs drawn up to cross in an improper fashion but Tenya supposed it was better than his previous position with his feet up on the table. His note book pulled into the bowl of his lap, Crimsion eyes glaring at the others in the room.

"Yes Bakugo?" Iida hummed, his own navy hues clashing with the blond's. A dying sun over the ocean, his grip on the small borrowed book in his hand increasing.

"Let's go, these idiots are too loud." Bakugo scoffed, ignoring the indignant whine that left Kirishima and Kaminari's mouths. They were sat against each other on the floor, bright colours flashing across the screen in a racing game they'd been yelling over for nearly an hour.

"Alright." Tenya said stiffly, the warm feeling he always associated with Bakugo's attention tingling through his limbs.

It had been an odd feeling to be on the receiving side of Bakugo's harsh affection. His words still cutting but his eyes relaxed in a playful manner, one that expected the energy to be returned. Something Tenya struggled to do, his clipped speech and perfected mannerisms hard to over come.

"I stole a pair of your shoes the other day, they're under my bed let's go." Bakugo breathed out in a whisper like tone.

"Bakugo, we are not allowed-"

"Cut the bullshit Glasses, we aren't going far. Just the track." Bakugo snarled pulling on his own shoes and the jacket Tenya assumed he must have taken when he also took the shoes. The relaxed fabric swallowing his narrower shoulders.

"The track?" Iida repeated, that warm feeling bubbling up stronger than before at the sight of the other. They'd never discussed it before, Katsuki's tendency to cling to Tenya's personal items, quickly snatching them back after Iida had them washed. Nor had they ever brought up the warmth that spread across their skin like sunlight in the summer. It was an odd dance of give and take.

"That's what I said. Let's fucking go already." Bakugo had already thrown open his balcony doors, the soft crackling in his palms growing louder as he threw himself in the direction of the ground.

"Why do we never take the front door. Cerfew isn't even for another few hours." Tenya grumbled, his own leap over the balcony much more precise to insure his joints were protected in the landing that was always too heavy.

"Tch." Bakugo snarled, his face screwed up in a way to intimidate others but over time it had struck Iida is endearing. He kept the feeling sealed away in his chest, afraid of the reaction it would spark in the other. His protests were always short lived on nights like this, where the blood was still pounding in his ears from the leap and Bakugo was already sprinting towards his destination.

"No fucking quirks"

The first thing that tumbled from Bakugo's mouth the first night they'd done this. His eyes adverted and his fists clenching and unclenching with soft crackles of light. Maybe it was seeing Katsuki embarrassed in the privacy of his own dorm that started the spiral of Tenya's thoughts.

"Come on dumbass." Bakugo taunted already too far ahead, a feral smile pulled over his features.

"Yes of course." Iida laughed to himself before he was well on his way, his body built for running, quirk or not. Iida had pushed his body to the physical limits so his quirk could do the same.

Katsuki had never won this race, but he always did a little better each time. His chest rising and falling too fast as he bent over his knees, red faced and sputtering half hearted curses. Tenya adjusted his glasses, a soothing hand on the blond's back and a water he'd snagged from Katsuki's night stand at the last second.

"Thanks." Bakugo spat, sipping the water between heaves of air.

He grinned when he stood again, pink tongue darting out over straightened teeth a feral display that stole Tenya's breath away and set fire to the butterflies humming peacefully in his chest.

"Of course." Iida breathed through clenched teeth, eyes cast to the side as he adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his wind tossed hair to smooth it back out.

Bakugo shed himself of Iida's jacket and left it in a partially folded pile by the mostly empty water bottle as he moved to stretch out his legs.

Tenya had come to associate Bakugo with the uncomfortable thudding of adrenaline in his chest. The burning feeling that crawled up his throat and demanded to be let free in the form of fond words and gentle touches. But he'd come to know the blond quite well and he'd seen the angry scowls when Kirishima or Kaminari got too close. He had no right to receive a different response.

"What's your problem anyway four eyes?" Katsuki growled half heartedly from where he sat, legs stretched in front of him and nimble fingers pulling at his toes.

"I'm sorry?" Tenya hummed back from where he was mimicking the pose.

"You've been fucking weird." Bakugo sat up straight, his vermilion glare locking iida in his place, "Not that I fucking care or anything, but I don't want to train with a loser. Bad enough you're friends with the damn nerd."

It pulled a laugh from the depths of Iida's lungs. His shoulders shook with the effort and a hand clamped over his mouth to try and stifle the sound. The soft blush that covered Katsuki's nose in the setting sun was breath taking and his childish behavior amusing.

"That's not a nice thing to call Midoriya." He scolded it partially, "But thank you for asking, I'm alright."

"Good, I don't like comforting people or whatever, but if you need to say anything I could fucking listen I guess." Katsuki was stubbornly looking anywhere but the smiling face of Tenya Iida.

"Thank you, Bakugo." Iida hummed, "We're friends, and I'll listen to you too."

"I don't have fucking friends." Bakugo sputtered, his crackling palms face down against the grass by the track, trying to keep a lid on everything that was trying to claw itself free.

"Of course." Tenya laughed softly, "But I consider you my friend."

"Tch, whatever nerd." Katsuki snarled finally standing and making his way to the marked starting line on the track. His shoulder bumping against Iida's side in a way to say he was just flustered, not angry.

"Are you ready then?" Iida hummed, locked in a running position patiently waiting for the other.

"Damn straight. And I'm going to win." Katsuki barked, his eyes locked forward.

He was glowing in the setting sun. His hair like a halo around him and vermilion eyes alive with adrenaline and determination. Ethereal. The word echoed in Tenya's head like the beat of a drum and he struggled to lock it away like he did with all his strong feelings twords Katsuki.

"Go." Bakugo shouted as he took off down the track.

He wasn't meant for running at the speeds Iida could achieve but he was getting there and Tenya was blindsided by the overwhelming desire to see Katsuki radiate with victory. The way his quirk would pop and smoke would drift around him. A feral smile and shining eyes that screamed with vanity. He tripped and stumbled right from the beginning, a problem he never had before.

"Fuck yeah." Katsuki celebrated as he put more distance between them.

"Not so fast." Iida shot back as he quickly regained lost time. This is who he was, a runner. It had been baked into his ever fiber. He would live up to his family name.

"Shit." Bakugo was whining, but he would never admit it and Tenya would selfishly never share the information.

Katsuki never won this game, but Iida could hear the heavy slap of his feet cross the lap line only moments after his own.

"Katsuki that was amazing." It slipped out before he really had time to think, he had turned around so quickly and the praise he'd tried to keep down couldn't be tamed any longer.

That warm feeling danced over their skin in a painful blush. Bakugo's mouth hung open like he didn't know how to respond. Iida had always strived to be proper, but here he was breathless on the school track with Bakugo Katsuki, the almost pro that snuck into his room to steal his jackets.

"Stupid," Katsuki finally grumbled, stalking forward and latching on to Iida's lose shirt, "Idiot."

He yanked the taller down before stretching onto his toes and slamming his lips onto the other's. It was all teeth and harsh movements. Tenya's shaking hands carding through the soft spikes of Katsuki's hair. The emotions Iida tried so hard to keep down came washing over him suddenly and overwhelmingly. Bakugo shoved away first, breathless and embarrassed he darted over to Tenya's jacket, pulling it on and cursing to himself. Iida couldn't find words as the blond was flying through the sky back to the school.

"Oh." Tenya whispered, a hand clentched over his chest where Katsuki had latched on and fingers brushing over his stinging lips.

He walked back to the school, Bakugo's water bottle in his hand. His mind elsewhere as he walked into the front dorm room doors. The common room was empty, but he could hear the distinct sound of everyone milling around in the kitchen and dining area.

"Iida, you're back! Kachan is making spicy curry and Shoto made enough cold soba of you'd rather that." Midoriya hummed from the doorway.

"I'm not hungry, thank you." Tenya sighed back, his skin prickling at the mention of Bakugo.

"Oi, you idiot, you have to eat after that work out." Katsuki snarled from where he stood behind Midoriya, a wooden spoon extended like a weapon.

"Oh." Iida blurted out, unsure of what else to say to the soft blush that painted Bakugo's features and the flutter of butterflies in his chest, "I'll help then."

. . .

Aaaa idk I have mixed feelings but overall I'm pretty okay with how this turned out. I hope you enjoyed <3

#bakuiida #bakugou katsuki #tenya lida #mha fluff #mha au #bnha fanfiction #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #bnha fandom

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hanniiesuckle17 · 4 years

Text

Stray Kids Reaction: Asking to Borrow S/o's Razor/ Wax

A/n: so this came from the revelation that stray kids probably freaking shave and wax their armpits. BC LIKE OMG THEYVE B EEN WEARING TANK TOPS RECENTLY and like idek man like i was just like its so smooth that cant be natural

Tagging: @distrikt9 @mini-meanhoe(if you want to be added to the tag list just comment or reblog! <3)

Warnings: probably some cursing

Bangchan:

“AAAAAHH NO!!!”

Hearing your boyfriend’s scream you raced to the bathroom door and knocked. This would not have been the first time Chan had fallen asleep in the shower and slipped. “Chan! You okay, love?” You asked, knuckled wrapping against the door.

“Uhhhh....one sec, Y/n.”

You waited patiently in the hall before Chan told you to come in. The shower had been turned off and Chan stood in the shorts he was wearing earlier and his hair hung in wet strands in front of his face. “You okay?” You asked eyeing him for injuries. Then your gaze fell upon the little pink razor that lay in two parts in Chan’s hand. Your boyfriend looked from you to the shaving utensil cutely.

“I think I broke it.” He mumbled.

Your heart fluttered seeing his adorable face looking down at the tiny pastel broken razor in his big hands. “Yeah, I think you did, babe.” You did your best not to laugh when he tossed the snapped razor onto the counter. You watched him reach under the sink and pull out a clear bag full of little pink razors. The kind you used to use in middle school. “Oh my gosh, Chan you aren’t using those are you?”

He blushed seeing you laugh at the bag. “Yeah...why?”

“Awww baby.” You kissed his cheek and took the bag and tossed it in the trash. Your boyfriend watched you open a drawer and pull out one of the extra razors you had lying around. “Here use this. I’ll go buy you an actual razor this weekend.” His dimples made an appearance as I handed him the metal razor.

“Thank you, Y/n.” He said kissing your forehead.

Minho:

“Y/n?” Your boyfriend called out into the apartment. “Y/n!”

You sighed and got up from your comfy place on the couch. “What, Minho?” One of the cats brushed up against your leg as you walked into your shared bedroom. “I thought you were gonna take a shower?” Minho lay face down on the bed, like the drama queen he was.

“I can find my mppphrhp.”

“You’re what?”

“My mmrmpr.”

“Babe, take your head out of the pillow.” Minho dejectedly rolled over and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t even move when Doori hopped onto the bed and snuggled into his chest.

“My razor. I can’t find my razor. My stylist called and told me she has me in a cutoff tee tomorrow and I haven’t shaved since before the comeback.” Knowing Minho, he probably left it out on the last tour or something and one of the boys swiped it. They were always ‘borrowing’ things from each other and never giving it back.

“Hold on. I’ve got an idea.” You said turning on the light to the adjoining bathroom. “Are you too upset to take off your shirt?” The only answer you received was a grumble from Minho and the sound of fabric rustling. You came back into the room with a box of wax strips.

Minho raised his head, hearing the box open and he shot up from the bed fear in his eyes. “Hey...back off.” He tried to laugh off the nervousness as I approached him with a wax strip in hand. “Y/n, you know I love you right?” He said holding a hand out so you kept your distance.

“Come on, Minho. It will only hurt like.....a lot.”

He sprinted out of the room only to trip over a cat, giving you a chance to tackle him and apply a strip to his underarm. “Y/N! NO- OWWWWWWWW YOU ASSHOLE!”

Changbin:

Your nap was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend loudly opening drawers in the bathroom. “Binnie! Shut the hell up please!” You said stuffing a pillow over your head. He mumbled an apology but continued to loudly open cabinets.

“Hey...baby?” Changbin asked crawling onto the bed. He lifted the pillow from your face and laughed at your scowl. “I need your help.” You shook your head and turned over. “Please....” He tried pulling the covers away from you, but the effort was in vain.

“Y/n I’ll order your favorite takeout if you help me?” He coaxed in a cute voice. Changbin laughed when your sleepy face peeked out from under the covers.

“What do you want, Binnie?”

He huffed and collapsed on top of you, a groan leaving you in response to his weight. “I forgot my razor at the dorms. Do you have one I could borrow?” You rose an eyebrow and wrapped an arm around his bare back.

“By borrow do you mean gunk up with your armpit hair?” Changbin laughed and nodded. “No, sorry. I only use wax.” He sighed and dropped his head down into your neck.

“Is it my only option?”

To be honest, you probably had a cheap razor lying around somewhere, but....he had woken you up from your nap. He deserved it. “Yes, this is your only option.” He whined and rolled off the bed. You told him where you kept the wax and paper and he retrieved them from the bathroom.

“I’m a manly man. This should be nothing.” He said, giving himself a pep talk as you spread wax over a strip and placed it under his left arm. He raised it over his head and readied himself for the pain. “Ooo. That wasn’t so bad.”

“Changbin I haven’t pulled it yet.” He just blushed and stared straight ahead. A high pitched scream filled the apartment when you ripped away the paper.

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin lounged on your shared bed, blonde hair laid out in weird directions as he scrolled through his phone. You walked out of the bathroom carrying the laundry hamper, most of it filled with Hyunjin’s workout clothes. “Oh, Chan called and asked me to remind you that you are filming your dance practice tomorrow.” You said adjusting your hold on the basket.

“Thanks, babe,” Hyunjin answered still on his phone.

“Your clothes are rank, Jinnie.” You said beginning to sort through the clothes so you could begin laundry. He shot up from the bed eyes wide. You watched as he ran to your closet and searched through the clothes. “What’s wrong?” You asked sorting the dirty clothes.

“All I have left are tank tops.”

“So? You look really hot in tank tops.” You said with a smile. Hyunjin collapsed against the closet doorframe. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong, drama llama?” He whined and groaned until he collapsed onto the floor in a puddle of depressed Hyunjin.

He pouted up at you. “I forgot to buy a new razor. I can’t film in a tank top tomorrow looking like Bigfoot!” You laughed, finding the tiniest bit of joy in his misfortune. Hyunjin was honestly overreacting. You were certain no one would care if his underarms weren’t smooth and shaved.

However, knowing he was going to whine and complain and be an overall pain in the butt until the problem was solved, you stopped sorting the laundry. Hyunjin was too caught up in his whiny fit to see you go into the bathroom and pull out an extra razor from under the sink.

“There. Problem solved.” You said tossing it into his lap.

“Thank you, Y/n.” He said, expression changing to a bright smile like a flip of a coin. He rushed over and gave you a sweet kiss before sprinting into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

Jisung:

“HEY BABY!”

The loud sound of Jisung’s voice rung out through the apartment making you jump. Your ears picked up on the sound of drawers opening and closing. You pushed yourself off the couch and ventured into the bathroom. Your boyfriend stood with messy hair and half his shirt over his shoulder rummaging through the cabinets.

“What’s up handsome?” He sighed, a small whine escaping his lips when his head rolled back.

“I can’t find my razor. I think I lost it on tour.” You leaned against the doorway and watched Jisung continue to search. He gave up eventually and tugged his arm back into his shirt. “Can I borrow yours? I have a performance tomorrow.” He asked cutely taking your hands in his.

“Jisung, I only have wax strips right now. I used yours if I needed a razor.” Everyone knew guys razors were better. He flinched hearing the word wax. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. He was debating whether to go through the pain of wax or go on stage in a tank top unshaven.

“Fine. But will you help me?”

You nodded and he trudged his feet into your shared bedroom. “Shirt off babe.” You called before grabbing the strips from below your sink. Jisung lay on your bed, feet planted on the floor and hands covering his face. His tan skin exposed to the air. You leaned over, crawling on top of him and resting your thighs on either side of his waist. “Ready.” He nodded squinting his eyes closed.

He raised his arm and you placed the strip down and smoothed it out. Jisung’s other hand held on firmly to the bedspread. “1...2...” You yanked off the strip before you got to three.

“HOLY FUCK!” Your boyfriend screamed. You took his face in your hands and peppered it with kisses.

“You ready for the other side?”

“No. But....just do it.” He flinched, feeling you press another strip under his other arm.

Felix:

Felix had been in the bathroom for three hours. You were starting to get a little worried. After another hour without hearing the shower or water running, you decided to check on him. Your knuckles tapped on the wooden door. “Felix, baby, you okay?”

“Actually could you come in? I need some help.” His deep voice floated through the door. The scene that greeted you when you opened the door almost made you laugh out loud. Felix was standing shirtless in front of the mirror his arm raised above his head. Foamy soap was in his armpit and he held scissors in his hand, the blade having little traces of foam soap on it. “What?” He asked when you started laughing.

“Felix, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m trying to shave. We are filming at a water park tomorrow.”

You could no longer hold in your laughs. Felix watched you fall to the floor clutching your side. “Oh my gosh....I can’t breathe.” You said between labored laughs.

“Why are you laughing at me?” He asked completely serious. You smiled seeing your boyfriend look at you with utter confusion his arm still slightly raised. He watched you lean in and place a kiss to his lips. “What was that for?” He asked, though he thoroughly enjoyed the kiss. He smiled feeling your fingers play with the end of his hair.

“You are too cute.” He blushed and looked down. “If you needed to borrow a razor all you had to do was ask, baby.” He smiled and kissed you again.

“Can I use your razor, please, darling?” I reached into the nearest drawer, a hand still on Felix’s cheek, and pulled out the shaving utensil. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“What’s mine is yours, Lix.”

Seungmin:

“Hey, Y/n?” Your boyfriend called.

You set down the spoon you were stirring with and turned down the heat on the stove. “Coming, Min. One sec!” You wiped your hands on a towel before following your boyfriend’s call into your bathroom.

He was on his knees and searching for something under your sink. “Hey, can I borrow your razor?” He questioned as if he was simply asking the time. The question confused you. He wanted to borrow your razor? Like the one you shaved your legs with?

“My what?”

“Your razor.”

Still quite confused you walked into your bedroom and pulled out your still semi-full suitcase. You had gotten back from a trip a few days ago and Seungmin had spent the last few nights at your place. He claimed that it was because he needed a break from the boys, but you knew he missed you. His arms wrapped around your stomach from behind and he watched you search through your bag for the shaving utensil.

“Why do you need this again?” You asked, pulling out your toiletry bag.

“Cause I usually borrow Jisung’s before a performance but Changbin stole it before I could.”

“I’m gonna ignore how unhygienic that is.” You said pulling out a clean razor from under your shampoo bottle. “Here you go.” His hand brushed yours when he took the commercial blade from your grip.

“Thanks cutie.” He surprised you by pressing an exaggerated kiss to your cheek before running back to the bathroom.

“KIM SEUNGMIN IF YOU CLOG MY RAZOR I WILL CASTRATE YOU.”

“I KNOW!”

Jeongin:

“Y/n?” Your boyfriend called. Innie was somewhere in your apartment doing something. This was one of the few days the Jeongin had free of any schedules and you were ecstatic he chose to spend it with you at home.

He turned when you opened the door to the bedroom. Jeongin sat on the edge of the bed in a loose tank top. “What’s up, handsome?” You asked jumping onto the bed and resting your chin on his shoulder.

“Do you have a razor I could borrow?” Your brows furrowed in thought. To your recollection, you only had wax strips. They gave you a closer shave job than a razor. He sighed when you shook your head ‘no’.

You rubbed his shoulder and he gave you a half-assed smile. “I have wax strips. They will be a little painful, but they will get the job done.” Jeongin let out a nervous laugh before shrugging and letting me go get the strips from the bathroom.

“How much is it gonna hurt?” He asked, eyes going soft. He laid down on the bed at your direction and raised his arms over his head.

“Not as much getting your ears pierced.” You said placing the wax strip in his armpit and smoothing it out.

“I don’t have my ears pierced.”

“Yeah, when are you gonna do that? You would look really hot with piercings.” In the middle of your sentence, you ripped away the paper making your boyfriend yelp in pain. “Aww....baby.” You leaned down and kissed his cheek before moving to his lips.

“You’re right that wasn’t too bad.”

Requests are open my lovelies! Just send an ask!

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maisondenachtai · 3 years

Text

Thanksgiving at Home (The Re-Up)

plot: a loving shot at my family through the eyes of Chris Evans and Reader.

a/n: ....I’m stupid. Thanks anon who told me that Boston was not in Maine. ...i feel like an idiot.

“No. It’s your turn.”

You couldn’t deny it. It was an absolute fact that according to the terms of your agreement that it was, in fact, your turn.

In the beginning of your relationship, which had started three years ago, holidays had always been a source of frustration. He was from the north, Massachusetts, and you were from the south, Georgia. You wanted to see your family, and he desperately needed to hug his mom.

So, you decided to split the holiday, you would go home to Georgia and he would go back to Massachusetts. After that first year, you would flip flop who you spent holidays with. That meant that the next year you spent Thanksgiving in Boston with him, and Christmas at home in Georgia with your mother and Sister.

So yes, that meant it was your turn to spend Thanksgiving with your family. But that didn’t mean you had to be happy about it.

“Seriously, we don’t have to do Thanksgiving in Georgia. I’ll take Christmas again. It’s nicer.” You were sitting on the bed, looking at his half-packed suitcase, Dodger laying next you, his eyes moving to and fro watching his Dad pack a bag of clothes.

“If I wasn’t sure that you loved me, I’d really think you didn’t want me in Georgia.” He looked back at you, a smirk on his handsome face. “You got an old boyfriend you don’t want me to meet there.”

“A? Many. And who said they were old boyfriends. Maybe I’m still seeing them.” You smirked back at him. You couldn’t help but fall into games with your man, even though you were far from light and joyous.

“Watch it.” He pointed at you with a mock serious look on his face. “I hate to have to fight them.”

“I doubt you could take them.” You looked up in the air. “One was a football player; he’s actually playing for the Falcons now.”

Chris looked back at you, a white button down in his hands. “Are you serious?”

You nodded, “Oh yeah. He actually sends me tickets from time to time. There’s actually a game on thanksgiving! Maybe we should go. I’ll send him an email.” You stood up, to grab your laptop.

“Y/n, so help me, I will throw that piece of tin out of the window.” He said, a smile threatening to burst onto his serious face. “Stop fucking with me.”

“I’m not. We should go to a game. We’re going to be in Atlanta anyway. …you know unless we go to Boston.”

Suddenly his eyes lowered and he shook his head, folding the shirt in half and walking towards his open luggage. “Dodger.”

The dog barked softly.

“Tell your mom that she’s got to try a lot harder to get one over on me.”

You rolled your eyes, flopping back onto the bed. You laid back and Dodger took this change to take a position on your stomach, making himself comfortable. “This is so stupid.”

“I mean, you know we bought the tickets, already right? So, the time for you to try all of this plan changing would have been a month ago.” He sat next to you running his hand over Dodger’s body. “And you were so fucking excited. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. …Nothing. I’m just nervous.”

“Why? I’ve met your family.”

You sat up, making sure to do so slowly so Dodger could adjust himself accordingly. “You’ve met my Sisters, their boyfriends, and her mom. Not my family.”

Chris looked at you, “I’m failing to see the problem. So we do some introductions and get to know each other? What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal Christopher Robert Evans-“You had hopped up, Chris grabbing Dodger before you flung him towards in the wall in your movement.

“Ooh Dodger, she used the government name. She’s serious.”

You tried hard not to smile, but couldn’t stop the thing from breaking your serious expression. “Stop it. I’m serious.”

“I know.” He smiled at you, and then rolled his hand around as if to say continue. “Come on lay it on me.”

“I’m from Georgia.”

His eyes shifted from side to side, as if the answer to his confusion was in the room. “I’m from Massachusetts…so what?”

“No, you don’t get it. I’m from Georgia…not Atlanta. My family is from Georgia. There’s a difference.”

In silence of the moment, Dodger slipped out of Chris’ arms into the living room. Chris folded his arms, looking at you.

“…If I get what you’re being obtuse about. You’re trying to say that you don’t want me meeting your overall wearing, one tooth, inbred, backwoods cousins.” He had that smirk again. You wanted to both kiss him and wipe it off of his face.

“Hey! None of my cousins are any of that.”

“Okay then, so what’s the problem.”

You sighed and sat down, and he pulled you closer to him. You placed your face in his neck, his gold chain pressing slightly against your nose.

“I’m not embarrassed by them…” You said a little muffled by his body. “I just want to say that.”

“Okay… I’m listening.”

You sighed again, pulling back from him. “…It’s just…like…okay. Your family, like the house was put together and everyone was sitting around the table. We passed plates and it was all very nice.”

“Okay, and at Christmas at your mom’s we sat around the table and we didn’t pass plates but no one needs to do that. It was nice too.”

“But it’s not going to be like that at Thanksgiving Chris. Most of my immediate family will be there. The table we at for Christmas will be covered in food. We’re going to walk around the table buffet style, and everyone’s going to sit around the house, wherever they can fit. There will be no real plates, no real spoons. There’s probably going to be a kids area that will be messy.”

“Kids are messy everywhere baby.”

“I’m not done. There will be foreign foods. Oxtails, and chitterlings. Dressing…not stuffing.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“It is not!” You shook your head. “It’s totally different. There are going to be several things going on too. My uncle is going to sit in the middle of the room, with tequila, a lime, and he’s going to tell stories we’ve all heard 18 million times. He’s going to curse and we’re all going to be annoyed. My younger cousins are going to sneak out of the house, stand in a huddle behind the house and smoke weed, and talk about us old folks. My grandma is going to get drunk on Sparkling Cider, and probably try to flirt with you, and you better flirt back Chris.”

He chuckled then rubbing your back, “Of course I will. Now are you-“

“And I haven’t even told you about Spades.”

“Spades?” He found your eyes. “Like the card game.”

“Yeah. Spades goes down at Thanksgiving, and it is SERIOUS Chris. It’s like war, but less civilized.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up walking back into the closet, “You’re being dramatic now.”

“I’ve seen my cousin pull a gun out on somebody who reneged. I SEENT IT.”

“So okay, I won’t play spades.”

“What? And look like a bitch in front of all my cousins. You’ll never live it down. They’ll be at our wedding giving a toast like, ‘Hey Chris is a cool white dude, but he still a bitch cause he won’t play Spades with us’. I don’t want to be the cousin who married a white dude who won’t play spades. I can’t do it. I’ll be the black sheep.”

Chris gripped your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him. “Breathe baby.”

And you did.

“Again. Good and deep.”

And you did again.

“You feel better?”

You did, so you nodded.

“Good. Now, I’m saying this because I love you.” He grabbed your shoulders and shook you back and forth. “You’re acting like a nut.”

“I know. I know.” You said when he let you go. “I just want them to like you.”

He kissed your forehead. “They will like me. I mean how could they not first of all?” He grinned at you making you roll your eyes. He smoothed his hand down the side of your face, “And even if they don’t like me right away, they’ll grow to like me. And if they don’t…” He kissed you softly, soundly. “It doesn’t matter. I love you. You love me. And that’s all that matters. Okay?”

You closed your eyes, nodding. “Okay.”

“Say it.” He commanded gently.

“I love you. You love me. That’s all that matters.” You opened your eyes and your irises met his, you felt calmer.

“Good.” He smiled. “Now pack, boarding is at 8.”

Atlanta never failed to take your breath away. It was so familiar, yet every time you returned there was always something new being built or done. You pointed out so many spots that you wanted to see before you returned to Los Angeles, and Chris made sure to note them all down on his phone wanting you to enjoy your time home as much as you could.

After your father died, your mother decided that the deep south had nothing to offer you and your sisters anymore and decided to uproot you from all that you knew. Suddenly you were nearly two hours from the bulk of your family, living in a suburb of Atlanta that you knew no one in. It wasn’t your home at first, but eventually you had come to love Atlanta as much as you loved your little small town in Southern Georgia.

As you came closer to your neighborhood you began to point of places of significance.

“There used to be this spot right there. Oh my god, they used to have the best hot wings. Like everyone tends to rave over American Deli, but they had better wings than anything I’ve ever tasted.” You said as you passed a spot that was under construction.

As you passed through the opening of the subdivision of your neighborhood, you smiled and pointed at the sign. “The neighborhood kids all used to hang around that sign. I had my first real kiss right there.”

Chris raised one of his eyebrows, “Real kiss?”

You smirked, “Tongue.”

He chuckled. “How old were you?”

“13.”

“Weak. I was 12.”

“Lie.”

“It is not a lie.”

“Chris, you’re about to pass it.”

“Shit!” He pressed on breaks, making you skid slightly to a stop a few inches away from your house.

There were cars parked along the side of the road, a few on the grass without care to your mom’s poor lawn. You figured you’d be a little late, traffic was heavy, the airport had been busy of course, but …this was a Black family thanksgiving. 1 meant 3, not 2:30.

“Fuck. We’re walking right into it.” You said, sighing.

“Will you calm down? It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re definitely fine.” He waggled his eyebrows a little making you smile and then really smile when his eyes traveled down your white knit sweater dress covered body to the camel colored knee-high boots that he nearly begged you to wear.

You reached over and adjusted the collar of his white cable knit crew neck under his camel colored jacket. He wore a pair of khaki trousers, that you thought gave him an air of formal to go with his more casual upper attire. “You’re pretty fine too.” You smiled and leaned over to kiss him-

Thump.

But you jumped instead when your sister appeared at your window, somehow sneaking up on you. You rolled your eyes, sighing and rolling down the window.

“Hello Cassie.”

“Hello Y/n.” She grinned. “Hey Chris, I’m so happy my sister is no longer hiding your beauty from the world.”

“Hey Cass. Glad to see you again.”

“Glad to see you too.” She smirked.

You thumped her forehead, “What did I say about flirting with my boyfriend?”

“Don’t do it when you’re around?” She joked.

“Wrong, you little bitch.”

She laughed.

You grinned too. “Where’s Falen?”

“Feeding Cam. He’s so chunky.”

“I can’t wait to hold him.” You smiled at Chris. He grinned back at you. You had been talking about kissing all over your nephew for a month now.

“Well if you stop hiding in this…very nice car. You can. Come on Chris, everyone is really excited to meet you.”

And just like that you were following behind your boyfriend and your little sister into what could be a doomed thanksgiving from hell. You nervously followed them into the house, not joining in on the conversation as Chris and Cassie talked about politics. Turning without much fuss, as Chris took off your duster and hung it in the closet, doing the same with his jacket.

You only followed numbly as you walked through the opening to your home, heart beating faster as the sounds of your family got louder. Just as it was at it’s peak, you gripped Chris’s hand, stopping in your tracks therefore stopping him.

He looked back at you, Cassie kept walking still somehow talking about how Biden was not the President we wanted or needed. You looked up at him, not able to say anything only looking up at him with wide eyes.

His lips were on your forehead quickly, placing three kisses in succession, one there, then your nose, and finally your lips. Silently he reassured you that things would be fine, and together you stepped through the threshold into your family room.

Gatherings could be a lot for you. In a lot of the memories of the gatherings attended by you in your youth, you could only remember being a fly on the wall. Choosing to instead be passive instead of active like your sisters and your cousins. You weren’t anti-social, but you felt more comfortable laughing at the jokes then trying to tell them.

As you grew it got a little better, but you never felt quite comfortable in big group of people. In fact, after an event such as this one, you often needed to sleep for a long time. When you told Chris this before your first Thanksgiving with his family, he admitted to being kind of the same. He might not need to sleep after a big event, but he wasn’t quite the social butterfly either. It made you happy that he understood when you had to excuse yourself from drinking eggnog with the family late into the night. It made you even happier when he told you the next morning that his family understood too.

With your family it was much of the same, your family understood that you weren’t the loudest and most of the time they were too busy being loud themselves to need you to be just as loud as them. It was just enough for you to be there sharing in the love of the family.

But not this time.

This time all the attention was on you and it was time to speak up.

“So, Chris…where did you two meet?” The slight drawl of your Aunt cut through the sounds of The Temptations singing Silent Night, a favorite of your mom’s anytime of year…obviously.

“Uh, she…I mean Y’N was a consultant on a movie I was doing. I saw her and she was too beautiful for me not to get to know. So I asked her out for coffee.” He smiled at you then. “She said no.”

“You said no?” One of your male cousins, Taylor, called out. “Shiiit, if I was a girl I would have jumped on his ass.” He sucked his teeth. “Hell, shit, I’d jump right now. He got hella money.”

The room erupted into laughter and all of sudden the ice was broken. Chris was no longer an interloper…well he was, but he was no longer covered in plastic. He could be touched, he could be handled, he could be interwoven into the group.

You sighed, a little of your worry dissipating.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad.

To his credit, if anything was making him feel uncomfortable, he was taking it in stride. Chris had enjoyed when all your little cousins came up to him and asked him questions about Captain America, and asked if he was always Captain America or just on TV. You could tell because when he smiled, his face creased. He even did a few poses for them, which they loved.

When one of your cousins, Devontae, came over to Chris with a bottle of something clear and a smile you knew that this one would be a little harder. But again, he took it in stride as Devontae pitched him an idea of a TV show with talking Weed Plants, kind of like Aqua Teen Hunger Force. Chris simply smiled through it, shaking his head when you made eyes at him obviously getting the message that you could save him if he wanted you to. After Devontae walked away needing to captivate the attention of at least 5 other people in the room.

He was considerably more relaxed in a group of the male cousins you had grown up around. They had formed a sort of semi-circle, Chris in the middle with a long neck beer in his hand, nodding at what ever George had to say.

“Chris is doing good.” Falen said, leaning over slightly, adjusting Camden’s bib while he was in your arms.

“Yeah. He’s really fitting in.” You smiled and then cooed at Cam bouncing on his knee. “I want to take him home.”

“He’s yours. I’ll sign the papers today.” Falen joked. “So, it’s serious then.”

“What?”

“What?” Falen mimicked you, rolling your eyes reminding you of yourself. “You and Chris.”

“You know it’s serious Fay.” You mom chimed in. “She brought him home.”

“I brought him to Christmas last year.”

“Thanksgiving is different and you know it.” Your mom said pointing her wine glass in your direction.

“I told him that.” You mumbled, looking down at Camden who only looked back up you with sweet innocent brown eyes.

“Well I’m glad you are trying to lock him down. You two match, you know.” Falen grinned.

“And the matching outfits were just the right touch.” Cassie chimed in smirking at you.

You flipped her off, discreetly. Your grandma was still in front of you…although already sleeping.

“Shut up Cassie.” Falen chuckled. “Seriously. …I think he might propose soon.”

You chuckled shaking your head, “Nah. I don’t think so.”

Falen grinned, “If you say so little sis.” She patted her knee and then looked around. “Ma! When’s the food going to be ready. You said 1!”

“You know that means 3. Don’t get brand new in front of Chris.” You smirked.

The spread of food was glorious. A beautiful turkey, a delicious ham from Honeybaked Ham cause no one had perfected the art of making a good ham, a huge pan of cornbread dressing collectively called dressing, two pans of Macaroni and Cheese cause one pan never survived your family’s greedy hands, turnips, collard greens and cabbages, cornbread muffins, hoe cakes, yams with marshmallow topping (your Auntie’s one and only dish that tasted okay), and a plate of various pieces of fried chicken. But none of this would be complete without your mother’s potato salad.

It was a feast to end all feasts. A dinner you dreamed about. You would have cried if it wouldn’t have made you look crazy. Chris held two thick paper plates, one for him and one for you, while you held Cam who you were never going to give back. You patted the baby’s back, he had just had a bottle full of milk thickened with a little baby rice, a special treat for Thanksgiving (it was your grandma’s idea).

“Come on little Cam, burp. Chris, more dressing. That’s not enough. It’s gotta be nearly half the plate. And you gotta put the cranberry sauce on top.” You said. It was comical to watch Chris hold his plate, your plate, and also try to ladle dressing onto a plate.

“Here.” You chuckled holding out Cam. “You hold my new baby. And I’ll make our food.”

“No, wait. I need to ask your sister if I can hold him first.” He said looking around for Falen.

“It’s fine, you won’t drop him cause if you do I’ll kill you.” You smirked at him.

“I need to wash my hands.”

You rolled your eyes, “Now who’s acting like a nut.” You took one plate from him then the other sitting them down and then walked into his personal space. He opened up for you almost cradling you and Cam.

“Now I know you have held a baby before, so don’t freak out now.” You handed him off to Chris and he instantly held the Camden in his arms, supporting him as Cam settled in the crook of his neck. You looked at the sight, your man holding a little brown boy, and you could almost imagine that Camden was your baby.

Your stomach flip flopped, and you gnawed down on your lip at the sight.

Chris smirked, knowing exactly what was on your mind. “Make the food.”

“I am. I am.” You chuckled, not daring to look at any of your family members.

“Ohhhhh, we’re making plates now. Okay, Y’n!” Julie, your Aunt’s daughter called out, making you chuckle in embarrassment.

Making plates had a lot of connotations in black families. It all but signaled that Chris was your man and you were totally subservient to him.

“You want some yams baby?” You said putting on a sickly-sweet voice to amuse your family members.

The room filled with Awws and whipping noises at your question. You turned and found Chris’s face red, but he was still patting Cam’s back like you had been doing.

“He didn’t burp yet?” You asked.

“Not yet, I don’t think.”

“Mm. We probably need to get you a burping towel. It might be-“

The wet burping noise stopped your sentence stopped you in your tracks, making you look up at your man who was looking down at Cam, who was looking quite satisfied at the burp he had just let out and the off white spit up stain he left on Chris’ shirt.

“Oh no babe.” You laughed a little.

“He spit up a little.” He said, a little amusement in his voice.

“Yeah. Good job baby boy.” You rubbed Cam’s back.

“Oh nooo. I’m so sorry Chris.” Falen came over easing Cam out of Chris’s arms, which made him a little agitated. “I can pay for dry cleaning.” She frowned a little.

“No. No. No. It’s fine. It’s just a little spit up. No need for all of that.” He laughed.

“Well Y’N, at least go try to clean it up.” You mom said. “We have tide pens and stuff in the upstairs guest bathroom.”

Your mouth opened up, jaw hanging a little, “But my food! It’s gonna get cold.”

Your mother put her hands on her hips, “Well yeah it is, cause you’re sitting here back talking me instead of getting your behind up those stairs and cleaning his shirt. Now go.”

“Yes mam.” You put the plates down on a slightly clear space on the table and grabbed Chris’s hand. “Come on Chris.”

Chris sat on the edge of the tub and watched you as you washed Cam’s spit up out of his shirt.

“Dang it Cam. Now my food is getting cold.” You muttered.

“You’re calmer.” He commented.

You looked over at him. He was only wearing his pants, a tank top, his pendant necklace hanging off his neck. He looked…really good.

“Yeah. It’s been a good day.” You nodded, putting more hand soap on his sweater. “Are you having fun?” You looked over at him, hoping that he would say yes even if he didn’t mean it.

“A blast honestly. Your family is so warm, and inviting. So funny. And I love how they love you.” He hitched his pants up and stood, walking over you and standing behind you in the mirror. You looked at his reflection, his shirt momentarily forgotten.

“But you know what I love even more?”

You smiled, “Me.”

He grinned too, kissing the top of your head, “…Your mom’s potato salad.”

You turned around and smacked his chest with a wet hand making a loud noise.

“What it’s so good. Oh my god. Get that recipe.” He chuckled and pulled you close to him wrapping his arms around you. You looked up at him, kissing his chin. “No, seriously. I love how bright you’re smiling. How happy you are to be home. How relaxed you are. That accent you have slipped back into.”

“I did not.”

“Oh yes you did.” He smirked. “But I love how you, you are right here in this house. …I would give up every thanksgiving to see you be this relaxed.”

“I love you Chris.” You said quietly.

“I love you. So much.”

And then he kissed you.

And you wished you could say that kiss lasted forever, or went on and on but of course-

Knock, Knock.

“Yn, Mama said no fornication in her Christian household.” Cassie shouted.

And you both laughed.

Epilogue

You placed Cam down on your Mother’s bed, patting his back and kissing his head.

“He’s an angel. Ugh, we’re going to be here tomorrow and you better be here.” You said to Falen pointing at straight index finger at her.

“I will be. I’m not letting yall eat up all the leftovers.” She rolled her eyes and then smiled at Chris. “You did really good with Camden today Chris.”

“He’s a sweet baby. I did nothing.” Chris shrugged.

“So…planning to have some of your own?”

“Oh kay, we’re leaving now. Tell mom I see her tomorrow and Cassie I will see her tomorrow and to eat a dick.” You gripped Chris’ hand pulling him to the coat closet, allowing him to help you into your coat, and helping him smooth out his jacket.

“Goodnight everyone!” He called out, earning many well wishes as he walked out.

“Oh shit.”

You walked out of the door, focusing on closing the door after yourself. “What’s wrong, is there a big dog out her or-“ You looked up and almost laughed.

Damien, your ex-boyfriend the Falcon football player was standing in front of you two. A bag in one hand and a smile on his face.

“Oh shit, Damien. I can’t believe you’re here!” You passed Chris, hugging Damien.

“Oh yeah. I always come out to your mom’s house after the games. Can’t pass up on the potato salad.” He smiled, sharing a laugh with you and then smiling at Chris. “So this is the dude. Nice to meet you man. I love Captain America.”

Chris shook off the shock, and stuck out his hand, shaking with Damien. “Thank you. And you’re a great football player.”

“Thank you man. Yall need to come out to a game. I’m always offering your girl here tickets but she says you’re a Patriot fan.”

“Oh yeah, gotta go with the home team.”

“Respect man.”

Chris and Damien talked for another couple of minutes before Damien excused himself into the house. Chris looked at you, shock written on his face.

You smirked, “You thought I was bullshitting you didn’t you?”

Chris shook his head, taking your hand and walking towards the rental car. “When we get home, I’m throwing that piece of tin out of the window and you’re changing your email.”

You smirked.

“Jealous.”

#chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #Chris Evans fandom

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spoiler1001 · 3 years

Text

Lucien laid next to Caleb, his tail waving in the air. Caleb was sleeping, his breath shaking. The air smelled of cinnamon and hazelnut. It was comforting. The fireplace was lit and warm. Yasha sat on the couch nearby, keeping watch and making sure Caleb was ok. Lucien played with Caleb's hair, musing. Lucien had a thought: a blue comb or pin would look dazzling on him.

Caleb still held the bead in his hands. He was clutching the bead so hard, his knuckles were white.

Lucien felt something to his side and liked up, instinctively leaning over Caleb to protect him.

"You look tired." Yasha's voice was soft. "You aren't taking care of yourself."

"There are more important things at the moment. I'm no longer…unbound by my responsibility." Lucien relaxed and looked up. "That freedom was your friend, so…"

"So you don't think you can be that person again." Yasha took a step towards Lucien. "We could promise you things like before but-"

"Empty promises. I thought about using that little bead." Lucien ran his thumb against Caleb's cheek. "But I still have this….everything. It would just be an extra piece that I can't worry about."

"Are you scared?" Yasha asked.

Lucien laughed. "Fear was something that left me years ago."

"Do you trust your teachers?"

"I trust my family."

Caleb stirred in his sleep. Lucien looked at Caleb's face. He was relaxed. Lucien started to purr softly, just to soothe him.

"Did you want us here? When you realized?" Yasha leaned towards him.

"I don't know. The only reason you are here is that your employer was hoping I would go through you all to get to her."

"And she was right. At the time." Lucien looked at the glowing bead. "Now… I find myself being pulled to all of you. If things were different, I would have left everything and ran with you."

"You still can."

"And live like Fjord? He got attacked just for being on a boat. I can't just look over my shoulder for however long I live." Lucien ran his fingers through his hair. "I will do this. I have to."

"No, you don't." Yasha shook her head.

"Whatever your plan is, I don't want to know. I just want this done." Lucien smiled. "I earned my place as the nonagon. I earned this power. I suffered through every lesson to get here."

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

Caleb woke up pressed into Lucien's chest. Caleb could feel a thick scar under his shirt. His hands were still clean, holding the bead. Looking around. It was just the two of them. He jumped a bit. The memory of the night before clashing with-

"You're ok. I didn't hurt you." Lucien pulled away.

Caleb looked at him. "Why did you stay with me? Cree-"

"Cree went behind my back. I wanted my new travel companions safe." Lucien cupped Caleb's cheek.

"But you aren't Mollymauk. You have no loyalty to me." Caleb tucked the pearl into a hidden chest pocket.

"I have loyalties to you, with the fact that you are traveling with me and that you want to travel with me." Lucien pulled away. "We should be heading to Aeor soon."

"Lucien… I heard you with Yasha last night. If we could see to it that responsibility was taken care of, would you be interested in traveling with us?"

"What would you be planning if I said yes." Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"You would just have to trust me." Caleb wrapped his arms around himself. His eyes were bright, full of ideas, and plans. It made Lucien's mood light up.

Lucien chuckled and patted Caleb on the chest. "I trust that your plan won't be boring." He stepped out of Caleb's room.

Caleb just smiled. "Life with us never is."

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

Lucien hummed an old show tune, waiting by the exit, with the other Tombtakers. His tail was moving throughout the air in a slow, easy-going way. He had his back to the wall, eyes closed. The other group was talking about something quite intently. Lucien wanted to know what they were talking about, but he wasn't a part of the group anymore.

Eventually, the group walked out to the main room, one by one.

"Are you ready to go to get this started?" Lucien asked.

Caleb looked Lucien in the eyes. "We would rather not do this but we understand what must be done."

"Wonderful." Lucien smiled. Caleb clenched his jaw.

Jester frowned, whispering a prayer that sounded familiar. Lucien picked some words in infernal, but it wasn't his business. The group was overall serious. Air seemed to freeze around them despite the tower being warm. Lucien grabbed Caleb's arm and pulled him towards the door.

"We don't have a moment to lose." Lucien hummed. Caleb adjusted his straps and went outside.

Outside was cold. Lucien shivered and felt anxiety fall into his stomach. It wouldn't leave him. He wanted to turn around and go someplace warmer. The tower was extremely tempting until Caleb called it back. Lucien was facing his destiny. He was…

He was scared. It was cold and he had no idea what he was doing. All of his lessons from the deities that taught him from birth was coming to a close. There was one more lesson. One more trial. His magic rang out and his nerves were on fire. He was tempted to take his heavy coat off, but it was still cold, so that was a bad idea. Caleb watched him with empty eyes.

The chamber that he was needed in was hollow. There were icicles and stones from the ceiling. Everyone's breath was visible. Cold pressed down on Lucien. He was getting squeezed. Yasha stood by the entrance, Beau with her. They gripped their weapons, ready for a fight. The tombtakers stood towards the back, giving their Nonagon space. Lucien's tail was swinging back and forth, nearly missing Caleb's hand. Caleb's hair was easily tied back, chunks of coming to the front of his face. Ice crystals were forming in the corner of his eyes, before vanishing.

Whispers of the wills of his teachers filled Lucien's ears. He took a deep breath, followed by another one.

"Place the crystals. Opposite ends of the room. We should start now." Lucien dropped his coat to lessen the restrictions of his spell. He was wearing a white silk vest, unbuttoned all the way down to his belly button, and tucked into high waisted pants. Caleb took a sharp breath. Lucien almost smiled. His hair was untied, dipping loosely down to his shoulder blades. Caleb just grabbed a strap at his waist, his knuckles turning white. Caleb shouldn't be there, but Lucien's tail found its way around Caleb's wrist. Caduceus stood by the Tombtakers. Jester had something shiny in her hands, and she stood by Fjord, her tail wrapping around his leg and tears in her eyes. Lucien hummed and began his spell. Caleb's pulse quickened.

One of his eyes flashed. Then another, then the rest. Lucien was glowing bright red. Even Mollymauk's tattoos seemed to shimmer.

Caleb pulled a small dragger out of his waist scabbard.

Lucien was pulled inward. A caring but monotone voice spoke to him.

Lucien. Of all the lessons, this might be the one that stuck the hardest. The other Nonagons never let love be their power. You have loyalties. Your final lesson, the source of all of your power:

The chamber grew hot with the near-black ooze of old blood seeping through the walls. There were screams of anguish and blissful laughter. Lucien made a noise that was a mixture of both. His eyes turned jet black, the color leaking into the veins around the eyes. The scar on his chest opened a bit. Lucien expected an attack from his teachers but they hesitated.

"Sacrifice…" Lucien whispered. The words echoed between the Tombtakers.

He turned to look at Caleb. Caleb had tears in his eyes. His hands were clasped around a dagger, shaking.

"Look at you, Mr. Caleb… moving on from failing to break into a hospital." Lucien chuckled. Caleb let out a choked sob. The blade sunk into his heart. Right on target. Lucien pulled Caleb into an embrace, pulling the blade deeper. "It's ok. You always knew the way to my heart. It will get better." Lucien whispered. His tail squeezing Caleb's hand before going slack. One eye went out. Then another, then the rest. The tombtakers watched as the ooze burned and the oppressive aura faded.

Caleb sank to his knees, pulling Lucien closer to him, keeping him warm. Jester ran up, summoning the diamond. The Tombtakers took a step forward, but Caleb stabbed the wand into the ground. And Caduceus cast something, making them all freeze. Caleb summoned the tower around them. Jester ran to the door and took a step forward.

Caleb was just, cradling Lucien. Caleb pulled out a bead. It was no longer glowing.

"Is that-" Jester asked.

Caleb nodded. "He remembered."

"We can bring him back in one piece." Jester nodded.

Caleb nodded and Yasha knelt next to him. Caleb stepped away. "I'm...I have to leave."

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

Lucien opened his eyes. Yasha had his head in her lap. "...Yasha, you look radiant as ever."

"You remember us. But who are you?" Yasha brushed the hair out of Lucien's face.

"I- you saved me. I am your friend and ally." Lucien sat up, looking around. "Where's Caleb."

"He's… not ok." Jester wiped the tears from her eyes. "He had to-"

"I was going to die anyway, but because you came along, I succeeded. I'm free to be Mollymauk again." Lucien pulled off his shirt. And brushed off the dried blood. "I'm gonna check on him."

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

Caleb laid on his couch, a familiar tapestry wrapped around him. He stared at his fireplace in thought.

"I should thank you. Because of what you did, I could be brought back." Lucien's smooth voice filled the room. Caleb didn't react. Lucien took a step closer. "Is it ok if I sleep here tonight?"

"Do you still sleep naked?" Caleb sat up straight, still clinging to the tapestry.

"Only if you want me to." Lucien smiled and placed a kiss on Caleb's forehead. "But there's time for that later. Sleep now."

Caleb slept clinging to Lucien, his head on the other's chest. Lucien slept in Caleb's robe with his tail wrapped around Caleb's foot.

#critical role #caleb widogast #widomauk #lucien critical role #cr spoilers #just assume that the fey cats got Cree

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

Text

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.XIII

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

First day of the final week of posting my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang in collaboration with my favourite @gen-syz-art as my artist 💕

______________________

My love.

Geralt keeps thinking about it the entire time it takes him to change out of his clothes into the shirt that he usually sleeps in and overall get ready for bed. It’s not even midnight yet, but he feels absolutely exhausted.

He didn’t really mean to say it so soon.

It’s true, of course, and it’s way too late to deny that he loves Jaskier with his entire being, but actually admitting it to him seemed… terrifying.

And while Geralt knows that calling him “my love” and actually confessing his feelings are two different things, for him, utterly inexperienced in either, it’s still just on the verge of overwhelming.

He goes through the process of getting ready for bed as fast as he can, knowing that Jaskier is waiting for him in his own bedroom and unwilling to leave him alone for too long. He still looked so shaken when they parted on the staircase, so exhausted with his own memories and emotions, that all Geralt really wants to do it to hide Jaskier in his arms and keep him safe there until he feels better again.

Geralt remembers the way to Jaskier’s bedroom just as well as the way to the downstairs library, even though he’d only been there once. Down the hall, up the stairs to the fifth floor, and then to the left, all the way into the far end of the west wing.

It’s a little cold in the corridors but Jaskier had given him a heavy, warm dressing gown some days before, and though Geralt is still getting used to the feeling of black velvet against his skin, he can’t deny that it keeps out the cold.

Geralt stops in front of the door, and before he can reach up and knock, it opens. The medallion hums against his chest but Geralt has already grown used to the magic that fills the mansion.

Jaskier is already in bed, the warm fur blankets pulled all the way up to his chest, and it takes Geralt everything he’s got not to comment on the number of pillows and cushions that he’s got on his bed.

The room is illuminated only by the fire in the hearth, long shadows slowly swaying on the walls, and it’s so… intimate, that it feels like Jaskier is letting Geralt into his own world, not just a room.

Geralt leaves his robe on an armchair by the bed and slips under the covers, immediately moving closer to Jaskier. Asra and Lucio, already half-asleep by the bard’s side, flick their ears at him but move towards the other end of the bed, giving him space.

Jaskier finds his way into the witcher’s arms easily.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs, almost inaudibly, tucking his face into the curve of Geralt’s shoulder, his warm breath ghosting over the witcher’s skin.

Geralt wraps his arms around him tighter and adjusts the covers, placing a gentle kiss on Jaskier’s temple. He smells like himself again, without those sharp notes of fear, and if there’s still that lingering heartache somewhere under the familiar vanilla and dried herbs, it’s growing fainter.

Jaskier is only wearing an oversized shirt and smallclothes, and Geralt finds it very hard not to concentrate on the feeling of his warm skin against his own when the bard settles in more comfortably and tangles their legs together. It would’ve been easier had it not been the first time them being this close.

Unable to help himself, Geralt lets one of his hands slip from Jaskier's waist and onto his thigh, brushing his fingers over the soft skin there and squeezing just enough to feel resistance.

Jaskier huffs a quiet laugh, nosing at Geralt’s neck and, though he still sounds exhausted, it makes warmth spread through Geralt’s chest.

“Enjoying yourself, Witcher?” he teases, touching his lips to Geralt’s neck.

Geralt hums an affirmative, brushing his thumb back and forth over the bard’s thigh. It’s perfect to the touch.

Jaskier shifts just a little, moving even closer to Geralt, and throws one leg over his hips, giving the witcher better access. Something possessive deep inside Geralt’s chest purrs in satisfaction and curls into a ball.

He doesn’t allow himself anything more, knowing that now is not the time and that both of them are too worn-out by the conversation in the library anyways, but it feels nice to be this close, to know that Jaskier is comfortable with him.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me,” he says after a few seconds. “No matter what it is, Jask.”

Jaskier falls silent for a long moment, slowly tracing circles onto Geralt’s chest before finally pressing his lips to the witcher’s neck one more time, warm and gentle.

“I know,” he says. “It’s just-- hard sometimes.”

He raises his head from Geralt’s shoulder to look at him, and shifts forward, catching Geralt’s lips in a long kiss, making him forget about everything else.

“What do you say we stay in bed for a couple of days, hm?” he murmurs, running his hand through Geralt’s hair to find the leather strip holding it together and untie it without looking. “Just you and me.”

Oh, that sounds like everything Geralt could even want.

He hums in agreement, never breaking away from Jaskier’s lips and not even trying to suppress the little shiver that runs down his back when the bard unties his hair and runs his fingers through it to smooth out the silver locks.

Jaskier breaks away first, leaving one last quick kiss on the witcher’s lips, and settles into his arms again, closing his eyes.

“Will you hold me like this through the night?” he asks. “Will you be able to sleep?”

Geralt snorts and smooths a hand down Jaskier’s thigh.

“I’m a witcher, Jask. I can sleep in just about every position you can imagine, including standing up. Surely, I won’t have trouble falling asleep with your weight in my arms.”

Jaskier looks up at him for the sheer purpose of rolling his eyes, but there is a smile tugging on the corners of his lips that helps Geralt keep his worry at bay.

“Alright,” Jaskier nods, tugging the blankets over his shoulders and hiding his face in the soft furs. “Goodnight then, my darling.”

Geralt leans down to touch his lips to the bard’s hair one last time before settling into the countless pillows and cushions more comfortably and closing his eyes with a content sigh.

He stays awake until Jaskier falls asleep, guarding his peace and listening to the bard’s deep, even breathing, and as soon as he feels sure that nothing will disturb them, he, too, slips into pleasant darkness.

***

Geralt wakes a few hours after the sunrise, warm and comfortable.

Before he even opens his eyes, he registers the pleasant weight on his chest, the warmth of someone else’s breath against his skin, and the familiar scent of dried herbs and vanilla.

Jaskier is still asleep, his head resting against Geralt’s shoulder and one arm thrown across his waist. He’d barely moved since he fell asleep, and when Geralt shifts on the pillows, he can still feel his leg hooked over his hips.

There’s a low, soft thrum of pleasure coursing through Geralt’s veins, and it takes him a few very long seconds to realise with bashful urgency that he’s half-hard against the soft flesh of Jaskier’s inner thigh.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, praying to every god he knows that the bard won’t wake up before he gets the chance to calm his body down.

He closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath to try and get control over his body back. It’s not like it’s anything new, and it’s certainly not limited down to him of all men, but he still can’t help the heat crawling up his chest and towards his cheeks.

What he doesn’t take into consideration, however, is that every time his chest rises and then falls as he breathes, his shoulders move with it, disturbing Jaskier’s sleep.

When he finally realises, it’s way too late.

“Geralt?--” Jaskier murmurs softly, still half-asleep.

Fuck.

Geralt makes his entire body go absolutely still, not even breathing, but Jaskier arches his back, stretching as he wakes, and as his thigh presses closer to the witcher’s hips, Geralt can’t bite back a shaky breath.

“What did I-- oh,” Jaskier whispers. “Oh.”

Jaskier shifts, not even trying to hide that he does it deliberately, and Geralt groans with something between pleasure and shame. He can feel the blood spilling over his cheeks, and reaches down to grip Jaskier’s thigh, making him stay in one place.

“Is that blush I see on your cheeks, Witcher?” Jaskier grins, significantly more awake now as he props himself up on one elbow. “Or are my eyes deceiving me?”

With little to no effort, he twists out of Geralt’s grip to straddle his hips and lean in closer, brushing his thumb over the witcher’s cheekbone before touching his lips to it, making Geralt shut his eyes against the windstorm of emotions rising in his chest.

It’s all so new and so, so much that it’s almost unbearable.

“Is it something you’ve dreamed of?” Jaskier prompts, pressing his nose to Geralt’s cheek to get his attention. “Or is it just me?”

With much effort, Geralt makes himself open his eyes and meet Jaskier’s.

“It’s you,” he says, barely even registering as his hands come up to rest on the bard’s thighs. “Your scent, your warmth, the weight of your body against mine. It’s hard to control myself when you’re this close.”

Jaskier makes a pleased little sound somewhere in the back of his throat and rolls his hips against Geralt’s, tearing a choked moan out of him. Before Geralt can say anything, his lips are already captured in a long, soft kiss.

“Well,” Jaskier murmurs against his mouth. “I suppose this will save me having to take the first step, hm? Because gods, Witcher, I’ve wanted you for months , and I don’t want to wait any longer.”

He breaks away just enough to get a proper look at Geralt, and it’s all that Geralt can do not to chase his lips again immediately. Jaskier’s words get right under his skin, burn through his veins, and he can’t suppress a shiver that runs down his back.

He sits up straighter, resting his back against the pillows, and pulls Jaskier closer to his chest, until there’s barely a breath between them.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly.

It almost hurts, just how much he wants him, but he needs to be sure, needs to do this right. After all, it’s almost like an entirely new experience - sharing the bed with someone that you love. It’s not just sex, and he wants them both to feel that way.

Jaskier throws his arms around the witcher’s neck and pulls him into a warm kiss, smiling against his lips.

“I’m sure,” he murmurs, breaking away.

And, by the gods, how could anybody refuse?

Geralt wraps an arm around the small of Jaskier’s back and props himself up, flipping them both around to lie the bard down onto the pillows and cushions, keeping him as close as he only can. He dips his head down and catches Jaskier’s parted lips in a gentle, comforting kiss, barely suppressing a low moan when the bard spreads his knees for Geralt to settle in-between.

He only breaks away to take in a shallow breath, and then slots their mouths together, again and again, until they’re both breathless with it.

He kisses a line down his jaw and neck, comforting rather than thrilling, and nips at the smooth skin of the curve of Jaskier’s shoulder, making him gasp and then laugh, running his fingers through the witcher’s loose hair.

Somewhere behind them on the bed, one of the dogs sneezes as it wakes up, and Geralt stops, giving them both a look over his shoulder before turning to Jaskier again.

“Will they mind too much if we send them away?” he asks.

Jaskier rolls his eyes in fond exasperation.

“What, you dislike being watched?” he teases but quickly raises his hands in surrender when Geralt nips at his shoulder again, a little harder. “Alright-alright, give me a second.”

Jaskier clicks his tongue, getting the attention of both dogs, and moves his wrist through the air, opening the door of the bedroom. They both give him a little look, flicking their ears, clearly unwilling to get out of a warm bed, but Jaskier tilts his head expectantly, and that does the trick.

“Go on,” he tells them. “Arthur will let you out into the gardens.”

Both Asra and Lucio give them what Geralt could swear is an accusatory look, but jump down from the bed and disappear behind the door, regardless.

“You’re gonna be the one apologising to them,” Jaskier warns, moving his wrist again to close the door and turn the key, locking it.

“I shall be repentant, then,” Geralt grins with exaggerated theatre. “For I fear nothing less will suffice.”

Jaskier laughs and pulls him into a kiss, most likely to shut him up, but Geralt can’t quite find it in him to mind. He kisses back, slowly and sweetly, leaning into the touch when Jaskier runs his hand down his back.

There isn’t much clothing to separate them, but Geralt doesn’t rush, despite the fire in his chest gradually growing hotter and spreading through his veins.

He takes his time with really learning the taste of Jaskier’s lips, obediently parting his own when the bard runs his tongue over them, and then takes even longer with discovering what little sound he can coax out of Jaskier’s chest if he licks into his mouth just right.

Jaskier melts in his arms like a lit candle, leaning into every touch and arching his back to be closer.

He throws his head back to give Geralt more access when the witcher moves on to his neck again, and breaks off into breathless little moans every time Geralt sucks a mark into his skin, slow and deliberate. It makes Geralt’s head spin.

He slowly makes his way down Jaskier’s neck, keeping himself propped up on one elbow, and when there is no open space left, pulls on the lace keeping the front of Jaskier’s shirt closed. It sends a thrill through his entire body - undressing him.

Jaskier keeps one of his hands in Geralt’s hair, playing with the long strands and pulling on them just right when he wants another kiss in the same spot, while his other hand slips under the fabric of Geralt’s shirt.

“Have you thought of me like this?” he asks, arching off the bed when Geralt kisses over a particularly sensitive spot just above his collarbone.

Of course Geralt has.

Almost ever since they met, he couldn’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to get Jaskier into his bed, strip him of all his expensive silks and take him apart. Couldn’t stop thinking about all the little sounds that he’d be able to coax out of him, each next one louder than the one before.

“I have,” he admits, nosing at the bard’s neck. “Had a dream about it once.”

He doesn’t have to look to know that Jaskier’s eyes light up with interest at that.

“You had a dream about being in bed with me?”

Geralt hums an affirmative, opening the front of Jaskier’s shirt as far as he can and running a line of soft, dry kisses down the centre of his chest, smoothing his hand up his thigh. He’s not going to tell Jaskier the details, of course, but it’s nice to tease him just a little.

“And what did you-- ah, gods,” Jaskier breathes, biting his lower lip as Geralt sucks a mark onto his collarbone. “What did you do to me in that dream?”

Geralt raises his head, considering whether or not to tell the bard anything more, and Jaskier pulls him down to his lips immediately.

“You’ll have to wait and see,” Geralt grins after he breaks away.

Jaskier gives him a gorgeous little whimper but doesn’t ask again, letting the witcher go back to his chest.

Geralt pays special attention to Jaskier’s collarbones, sucking marks into them and then licking over the bruised skin to soothe the pain. He’s fully hard under the thin fabric of his smallclothes, mind hazy with pleasure, but they’ve got nowhere to rush.

Carefully, he runs his hand up Jaskier’s forearm before lacing their fingers together and bringing Jaskier’s hand up to his lips to press a kiss to his knuckles, catching and holding his gaze.

“May I?” he asks, smoothing his thumb over the lace holding the cuff of Jaskier’s sleeve tight around his wrist.

Jaskier falls silent for a long moment, eyes searching, before he nods.

“Yeah,” he whispers, pulling Geralt into another kiss. “I’ve got nothing to hide anymore.”

He never takes his eyes off the witcher as Geralt undoes the lacing on his sleeve and rolls it up, exposing the tender skin and the long line of a scar underneath.

Geralt’s heart skips a beat at the sight but he makes himself stay calm, keeping his emotions at bay, and dips his head to run a line of soft kisses up the inner side of Jaskier’s forearm. It makes the bard shiver, his breath getting heavier, but he doesn’t recoil.

“You can always stop me, alright?” Geralt reminds softly, shifting to undo the lacing of the other sleeve. “If it ever gets too much.”

Jaskier nods, watching his every move carefully, and, gods, Geralt could drown in those eyes, the pupils blown so wide that there is almost no blue left.

He wants to say that he loves him, that he has never felt this way about anyone before, but the words can’t quite pass his lips. Maybe, it’s not yet time.

Once the lacing gives way, he reaches down to find the hem of Jaskier’s shirt and pull it up, all the way to his chest, not taking it off him just yet, giving them both time to get used to this closeness. He moves lower, running his lips over Jaskier’s stomach, and the bard arches into the touch, biting his lip when Geralt slips a hand under his thigh, holding him in place.

His skin is soft and warm, every line of his body even more perfect than Geralt had imagined, and he allows himself to be just a little greedy about it, nipping at the tender flesh with sharp teeth and then watching the faint red marks bloom over it.

The scent of arousal is thick and heady in the air, and when Geralt makes his way to the band of Jaskier’s smallclothes, he’s not surprised to find him fully hard. Not that Geralt himself is in a different state.

Jaskier spreads his legs even further, giving him better access, and arches off the bed with a breathless moan when Geralt presses a wet kiss to the inner side of his thigh.

“Gods, please--” he pleads, and his voice is so wonderfully sweet that Geralt can’t help but pull him into a proper kiss, finally tugging his shirt off over his head.

And, gods, he’s gorgeous.

In nothing but his smallclothes, with marks scattered all over his neck and shoulders, he looks like he belongs to Geralt. Everything about him: his parted lips, his smooth pale skin, the perfect lines of his muscles and bones, even the scars on his arms - all of that belongs to Geralt and to Geralt alone.

It’s a heady, intoxicating feeling.

Geralt breaks away from the bard’s lips only to find his way back to his chest, listen to the quickened heartbeat, and then graze his teeth over one of the hardened nipples, sucking it into his mouth.

Jaskier throws his head back and whimpers, clasping his ankles behind Geralt’s back and pulling him closer, pressing their hips together. He rocks against him, sending sparks of pleasure up Geralt’s back, and tightens the grip on his hair, his other hand clinging onto the witcher’s shoulder.

Geralt rolls his hips in return, barely able to take in a breath as his cock slips over Jaskier’s, and lets his nipple out of his mouth only to move on to the other one, biting just a little harder before circling his tongue around the sensitive flesh and closing his lips around it.

Jaskier moans, open and loud, his hips snapping forward, and when Geralt finally breaks away, he’s left panting.

“Gods, Jask, I didn’t think you’d be this sensitive,” he murmurs, a pleased little purr to his voice as he helps the bard strip him of his shirt. “Have you ever done this before?”

“Have I ever done-- gods, Geralt, of course, I have,” Jaskier says, shoving the witcher in the shoulder with no real force and flipping them both around to straddle his hips again. “Never wanted anyone as much as you, though.”

Before Geralt can answer, Jaskier already presses his lips to his neck, and all words leave the witcher’s head altogether. Jaskier slips his fingers under the hem of the witcher’s shirt, rucks it up to his chest, touching everywhere he can reach, and tugs Geralt’s shirt off him, letting it drop off the bed and onto the floor.

He runs his gaze over the witcher’s shoulders and chest, all the way down to his abdomen, tracing over the scars with the tips of his fingers, and it sends a shiver down Geralt’s back, making him lean into it.

“Have you thought about me this way?” he asks, smoothing both hands down the bard’s sides as he runs his lips over the curve of his shoulder, paying special attention to the scar there, still not fully healed and overly-sensitive.

Jaskier hums, brushing a lock of hair out of the witcher’s face, and rolls his hips against his, mouth falling open in a soft gasp.

“I have,” he says, sucking a mark into Geralt’s neck, slow and thorough. “That day that you left all those marks on me - do you remember? I went to bed that night and couldn't sleep for what seemed like hours, thinking about you. Wanted to sneak into your room and see what you’d do about it. What would you have done, Witcher? If you’d found me in your bed?”

Geralt runs his hands down the bard’s sides, gets a proper grip of his thighs, holding himself back from leaving bruises, and slips his fingers under the band of his smallclothes, tugging them down until he can wrap a hand around the base of his cock, making Jaskier roll his eyes with pleasure, breaking off into a moan.

“Had I found you in my bed that night, I would’ve made sure you remember it,” he murmurs, slowly moving his hand over the entire length to brush his thumb over the head, making Jaskier shiver and hide his face in the curve of Geralt’s shoulder.

He’s hot and slick beneath Geralt’s fingers, the veins throbbing deliciously, and, gods, Geralt is but a man, and he can’t always control himself.

He takes his hand away, earning a disheartened little whine as a reward, and brings his fingers up to his lips, licking off the precome to learn the taste. Jaskier watches him with darkened eyes and whines breathlessly at the sight, pushing Geralt’s hand away to bite into his lips.

Geralt helps him to finally undress fully, and immediately pulls him closer to flip them both around once more, settling in-between Jaskier’s spread knees. No matter how much he enjoys being the one pressed to the bed, right now he wants to properly study his bard - his prince .

Jaskier doesn’t seem too opposed to it, either, throwing his head back to grant access to his neck when Geralt leans down to run his tongue over the fresh marks. He strips the witcher of the rest of his clothes before he even really notices, but then their bodies finally slot together without any barriers between them, and they both gasp at the heat of it.

Over the years, Geralt had had many lovers - both men and women, but it has never felt this good to just have someone else’s body next to his.

He stops for a long moment, just letting himself register and feel all the places where they touch, and then tips Jaskier’s chin up to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

“Don’t want you to dress back up ever again,” he murmurs, brushing his nose over the bard’s cheek and then moving on to his neck again in a line of slow kisses.

Jaskier laughs, running the tips of his fingers over Geralt’s side, soft pinpricks of magic making the witcher’s breath stutter, and reaches between their bodies to wrap his fingers over both their cocks, pressing them together and breathing a soft moan.

“We can stay in bed for as long as we want,” he smiles, running his other hand through Geralt’s hair and stroking them both slowly. “And not even think of clothes.”

Pleasure sparks up Geralt’s spine brighter with every move of Jaskier’s wrist, and the fire in his chest is now burning so hot that it’s making it hard to breathe.

He leans into the touch, keeping his balance with one arm, and rolls his hips to meet Jaskier half-way. The bard seems to take that as an encouragement, picking up the pace just enough to have them both panting.

“Fuck, I don’t think I’ll last,” he whispers, biting his lips as Geralt reaches down to switch the bard’s hand for his own. “It’s been long since anyone touched me like this.”

“You don’t have to,” Geralt murmurs softly, touching a comforting kiss to the sharp of the bard’s jaw. “Not with me. I just want you to feel good, hm?”

Jaskier shudders, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck, and pulls him closer to hide his face in the curve of his shoulder again. Geralt allows for it without any words, though he’s dying to see the pleasure on the bard’s face, and concentrates on the soft moans that he gives him, instead.

He moves his wrist just a little faster, keeping a steady rhythm, and clenches his fingers tighter every now and then before relaxing the grip, just to tease them both a little, to build up the sensitivity.

His own pleasure grows hotter, sharper, pooling low in his abdomen and threatening to overspill if he’s not careful, but all he can concentrate on is Jaskier.

He brushes his thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing precome over it, slips to the underside, where the tender flesh is even more sensitive, and catches every little sob that falls from Jaskier’s lips, letting the sound flow through his veins with blood.

Jaskier whimpers and moans, rolling his hips to meet Geralt half-way but losing the rhythm of his thrusts almost immediately, clawing at the witcher’s shoulders and sucking marks into the same spot on his shoulder, until it’s so hyper-sensitive that it hurts.

Geralt doesn’t have to see his face to know how close he is, his scent alone is enough.

“Don’t hold back,” Geralt murmurs, nosing at the bard’s tousled hair and pressing a kiss into it, gentle and comforting. “I’ve got you.”

And that is all it takes to push Jaskier over the edge.

He arches off the bed with a breathless moan, sinking his teeth into the witcher’s shoulder, and spills over both their stomachs, holding onto Geralt painfully-tight and trembling all over. Geralt holds him through it, still moving his hand over the length of both their cocks, making the pleasure even sharper, even hotter, just on the right side of too much.

His own cock throbs almost painfully, and it’s getting harder and harder to think, but he still takes his hand away when the aftershocks of orgasm in Jaskier’s body subside and every touch starts bordering on painful.

“You didn’t--” Jaskier starts, but Geralt just pulls him into a kiss, mentally apologising to him for wiping his hand off on the sheets. They’ll ruin them anyway.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, closing his eyes to calm down and nipping at Jaskier’s lower lip. “Witcher stamina, remember?”

Jaskier doesn’t open his eyes to look at him, only hums something and keeps holding Geralt close for a few long, blissful minutes, just breathing. Where their hips are pressed together, he’s still half-hard.

Geralt gives him his time, keeping himself busy with soft, comforting kisses that he peppers all over the bard’s neck and shoulders. He pays extra attention to the fresh marks, most of them already changing from red to a deep purple, and every time he runs his tongue over one of them, Jaskier holds onto him a little tighter.

“Have you ever had anyone else in this bed with you?” he enquires, unable to help himself.

Jaskier reaches down to tip Geralt’s chin towards him and holds his gaze for a few long seconds before pulling the witcher into a long, heartfelt kiss, not letting him go even as all air leaves their lungs. When he does finally break away, it’s with a soft, distinctive sound.

“No,” he says, holding Geralt’s gaze. “Everyone I’ve slept with in this mansion, I’ve slept with in one of the guest rooms. And before you ask - no, never in your room. You’re the first one to stay there.”

He doesn’t let Geralt answer, just pulls him back to his lips, deepening the kiss as he slips his fingers into the witcher’s hair, and, gods, it’s impossible to resist.

They both shift, just enough for Geralt to reach down and catch the bard’s ankle, lifting it up to his shoulder, and Jaskier gasps sweetly but doesn’t resist.

“Checking how flexible I am, Witcher?” he teases even as his breath catches in his throat once Geralt runs his fingers up his thigh.

“I promised to show you what I did to you in that dream, didn’t I?”

Geralt leans in closer, until he’s got his shoulder under the bend of Jaskier’s knee, and wraps his fingers around his cock again, making the bard whimper with overstimulation and snap his hips forward. It’s just what Geralt needs to get his fingers slick and sticky with precome.

“I got you,” he murmurs softly, nosing at Jaskier’s neck as he reaches down between their bodies to brush the tips of two fingers over his hole.

He’s dying to turn Jaskier around, get him onto his knees and see what he would do if he was to press his lips to the mark in his back at the same time as he’d slowly stretch him open, but right now he can’t bring himself to look away from the pleasure on Jaskier’s face.

He circles a finger over the entrance, teasing, and Jaskier leans into it, rolling his hips impatiently. With his other leg, he pulls Geralt in even closer, hooking it over his hips.

“You just love making me wait, don’t you?” he purrs, pressing his lips to Geralt’s neck, right under the sharp of his jaw, and tugging on his hair. “Weren’t all those months enough?”

He looks like he wants to say something else and already takes in a breath, but then Geralt finally pushes a finger inside, and all words fail him. Jaskier moans breathlessly, eyes fluttering closed as the witcher presses his lips to the inner side of his thigh, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on the tender skin as he slowly sinks in deeper.

Jaskier takes him eagerly, even as he tries to match Geralt’s gentleness, and his body is so hot and tight that Geralt’s vision goes dark with the thought of what it will feel like to be inside.

“Where do you have oil?” Geralt asks, controlling his breathing as much as he can to ignore his throbbing cock even as it drips with precome.

It takes a little time for Jaskier to register his words but then he blindly searches for Geralt’s other hand and, before the witcher really knows it, there’s a glass phial being pressed into it. His medallion hums, and he can’t suppress a laugh.

“So this is what you’re using your magic for?” he asks.

Jaskier gives him a look from under his eyelashes, still holding onto his shoulders tightly and rocking his hips in a slow rhythm.

“Would you prefer to reach all the way into the nightstand?”

And that’s, well… that’s a very compelling argument.

Geralt shakes his head, capturing the bard’s lips in what’s almost an apologetic kiss, and pops the phial open, dripping the oil onto his fingers, though that requires him to pull away. Before Jaskier can protest at the loss, however, the witcher already pushes back inside, two fingers instead of one this time, and Jaskier arches off the bed with a gasp.

He’s fully hard again, his cock curving up towards his stomach beautifully, and had Geralt not been busy with stretching him open, he would’ve already wrapped his lips around the head. But they will have time for that later.

Jaskier’s body is pliant and malleable, easily giving way to Geralt’s fingers, and when he brushes over just the right spot inside, Jaskier drags his nails down his shoulders, leaving burning scratches behind and trembling with pleasure.

Geralt can’t hold himself back from sucking a mark into his inner thigh, making the bard whimper and bite his lips, the pain bordering on just too much. He then takes his time licking over it, comforting and soothing as he slowly stretches the tight muscles with his fingers, and that makes the scent of Jaskier’s arousal spike up so much that Geralt feels dizzy with it.

“Gods, Geralt, please--” Jaskier begs once two fingers slip in and out of him easily. “Please, I’m ready, I can’t wait any longer.”

And maybe, Geralt shouldn’t listen to him.

Maybe, he should give them both more time, add a third finger to get the bard ready properly, but it’s been so fucking long of him dreaming about this, that when Jaskier asks, it’s just above him to refuse.

“Alright,” he whispers, reaching for the oil again and catching Jaskier’s parted lips in a kiss.

The soft lavender scent of the oil makes his head reel, and as Geralt drips more of it into his hand to slick himself up, he has to clench his jaw not to wrap his fingers around himself tighter.

He slips his fingers out, and Jaskier whimpers at the loss but the sound drowns in another kiss.

Geralt feels a hot thrill of anticipation that runs through his body, and he moans into Jaskier’s lips even as he lines himself up, the pressure on the painfully sensitive tip of his cock almost unbearable. He pushes in slowly, giving them both time to adjust, and Jaskier is so fucking tight around him that Geralt knows immediately that he won’t last long. Not after having waited all this time.

Jaskier’s mouth falls open in a gasp, and the way his brows knit together in pleasure leaves no air for Geralt to breathe.

“Fuck,” Jaskier whispers, his breath hot against Geralt’s lips as he pulls him in, holds him close enough for their lips to touch. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

It’s too hard to talk with the haze of pleasure over his mind, so Geralt just surges forward, biting into Jaskier’s lips as he slowly rolls his hips, sinking in deeper. Jaskier takes him, urges him closer where his leg is pressed into the small of the witcher’s back, and once Geralt is finally fully settled, they both stop, just breathing together.

Pleasure courses through Geralt’s veins like fire, fueled by the flames in his chest, and he can only take it for so long before he starts moving again.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs for what feels like the hundredth time, calming Jaskier’s soft whimpers and gasps. “I’m here.”

Jaskier clings onto him as he slowly picks up the pace, turning slow, shallow thrusts into deeper ones, pulling away almost entirely every time only to sink back in a second later. He’s just as flexible as Geralt had imagined, arching his back and desperately trying to pull Geralt closer even as his knee remains hooked over the witcher’s shoulder.

“Gods, Witcher, I hope you know that when I said that we’re not leaving this bed for the next couple of days, I meant it,” Jaskier pants, brushing his lips over Geralt’s jaw in a heated, wet kiss.

Geralt shifts just a little, adjusting the angle of his next move, and Jaskier cries out as he rolls his hips, leaving another set of burning scratches on his shoulders, almost hard enough to break skin.

The witcher takes that as an invitation, dropping his forehead to Jaskier’s sweat-slick shoulder and moving even faster, keeping the same angle and hitting the right spot every single time, making the bard tremble all over, gasping for air.

He’s very distantly aware of just how loud they both are, and it makes his head reel even more to know that they are allowed to be this loud, that they’re in their own bedroom, in their own bed, and not it a cheap inn with thin walls where they’d have to keep quiet not to get kicked out.

Their own bedroom.

Jaskier desperately tries to keep up with the witcher, meet him half-way every time to take him in even deeper, but he loses the set rhythm more and more with every second, until he just gives up, letting Geralt guide them both.

There are going to be bruises on his thigh where Geralt is holding him, but it does nothing if not thrills both of them.

“Fuck, Geralt--” Jaskier gasps, his eyes nearly black when he catches the witcher’s gaze. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

Geralt doesn’t have to hear it to know that he is. It’s in his every move, every breath, every sound, but his voice still pushes the witcher closer to the edge with him.

He lets go of his thigh, reaching in-between their bodies, but Jaskier intercepts his wrist with shaking fingers and takes his hand away,

“No,” he says, rolling his eyes with pleasure when Geralt snaps his hips forward again. “Let me come untouched.”

And fuck, that immediately pushes Geralt to the very edge.

“Together, then,” he whispers, biting into Jaskier’s lips as soon as he nods.

He’s already so fucking close that it almost hurts, fingers numb with hyperventilation, and it only takes Geralt one more snap of his hips, one more drag of Jaskier’s nails over his shoulder for an orgasm to crash over him in a wave of hot, suffocating pleasure.

He keeps moving even as he spills deep into Jaskier’s body, and a second later, the bard follows, arching his back as he comes for the second time, making a mess of both of them. Geralt fucks him through it, doesn’t let go until it gets too much, until there are tears in Jaskier’s eyes, and both their stomachs and chests are marked with his spend.

Slowly, with the aftershocks still running through his body, Geralt comes to a stop, holding Jaskier close to his body as they both tremble with exhausting pleasure.

Time stretches, and he’s not sure how long it’s been before they finally move and he gently lowers Jaskier’s leg back onto the bed, falling onto the mattress beside him and pulling the bard into his arms.

Jaskier turns to hide his face against his chest, heart still beating hard and fast between his ribs, and murmurs something grateful when Geralt pulls one of the soft furs over him.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs softly, leaning down to nose at the bard’s damp hair before touching his lips to it. “Do you know that?”

He wants to say that he loves him. Oh, he fucking aches with it.

But he also wants Jaskier to know that he means it, and while they’re still riding off the high, it might not be the best time.

Jaskier doesn’t answer for a few long, comfortable minutes, just touches his lips to Geralt’s chest to let him know that he’d heard him, and when he does finally raise his head, propping himself up on one elbow, he looks more beautiful than Geralt had ever seen him.

“It’s not fair,” he breathes, one hand slipping under the covers.

It takes Geralt a few long seconds to decipher the little half-grin on his lips.

“What isn’t?” he asks.

Jaskier leans down to his lips, runs his tongue over them and catches the lower one between his teeth before finally kissing him properly.

“I got my pleasure twice, and you - only once.”

His fingers brush over Geralt’s stomach and lower abdomen, slipping lower as the bard bites on his lower lip in what might just be the most suggestive gesture Geralt’s ever seen.

“Well,” he murmurs, running his fingers through Jaskier’s hair as he runs a line of kisses down his chest, moving lower. “We can always fix that, can’t we?”

#the witcher #geraskier #geraskier big bang #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the drug the dark the light the flame #my writing #calton writes

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downwiththeficness · 4 years

Text

A Need So Great-Chapter 8.5

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~2,700

Warnings: Smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Eva woke alone. Groggy, she rubbed her eyes and squinted against the morning sun. She rolled to the side and instantly regretted it. The inside of her thighs, the muscles over her ribs all cried out, telling her that she’d overexerted herself. Experimentally, she reached down and pressed four fingers of one hand against her folds, wincing just a bit. She’d definitely overworked it.

Rising, she pulled on a too baggy t-shirt from her dresser and wrapped her hair up into a bun. She could smell coffee and it drew her out to the kitchen. Horacio was sitting at the bar the ran along the back of the sink, sipping from one of her souvenir mugs—Las Vegas Welcomes You!

“You’re one of those people who wakes up early and goes to the gym, aren’t you?” She deadpanned as she crossed the kitchen to make her own cup.

He laughed softly and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she knew he was shaking his head. Coffee made, she turned and circled the bar, sitting on the stool next to him. He hadn’t bothered to pull on more than his boxer briefs, and she took a moment to just look at him. Taking a sip, she reached out to smooth an errant curl. He smiled and took her hand.

For a long while, they were just...there. Sitting, drinking coffee, holding hands. Eva didn’t think that she’d done this, well, ever. With anyone. And, it was so, so nice, this feeling.

Setting his cup down, Horacio placed both hands on her knees, thumbs tracing little circles on the outside, “How are you feeling?”

She knew what he was asking, and she wondered when she’d gained the ability to read his intent so clearly. Eva covered his hands with her own, “I’m sore, but its been a while, so that’s to be expected.”

Though he said nothing, there was doubt in his expression. And then, his eyes narrowed, “You just had an inside thought.”

Eva blinked, startled, “I did.”

He shot her a look that she was coming to understand as, ‘tell me, or I will make you tell me.’ For a very short three seconds or so, she considered diverting his attention in some way. But, something told her to just get it out there. It wasn’t worth it to avoid the conversation, not when it was ruining a perfectly good hand hold.

She ran a hand up his arm, “You’ve had this conversation before, haven’t you?” He didn’t answer, but his eyes did glance to the side and back. She was right. “And, it did not go well.” Not a word, but she’d hit the nail on the head.

“You like me?” She asked, a twinge of anxiety hitting her in the stomach.

Releasing a breath, he nodded, “I like you.”

She didn’t really want to admit how relieved she was to hear it, “And, you don’t want to scare me.”

Another nod. She wondered what had happened to make him think that she could be scared of him. What had he done that was any worse than what she had done?

“When we first met, you asked me why I wasn’t scared of you. Do you remember what I said?”

One side of his mouth quirked up, “Because I wasn’t a threat to you.”

“That’s right,” she said, “Has anything really changed since then? Leave the sex out of it, for a minute. Have you suddenly begun to regard me maliciously?”

“No.”

“Do you want to hurt me?”

“No.”

“Alright, then why do you think that you would while we were—while…” A flush crept up her neck as she stumbled over her words. Eva took a breath, then said, “What’s the difference?”

He pulled his lips between his teeth while he thought, “I don’t always have the best control when I’m…”

She smiled, “You seemed to do just fine last night.”

And, he had. He’d been attentive and considerate, warm in a way that she hadn’t ever had in a partner. That he was so unsure only solidified her resolve to clear up whatever hesitations he might have.

His brows lifted and he gave a little nod, “Barely.”

Running her tongue along her bottom lip, Eva decided to go with a different tactic. She slid from the stool and stood between his legs, cupping his face.

“Horacio,” she breathed, skimming her thumbs over the stubble on his jaw, “I’d like to ask you a question, and I hope that you’ll be able to answer me.”

His lids fell to half mast, arms coming up and around her hips. Eva kissed him sweetly, letting him pull her deeper into his body.

“Tell me,” she murmured, “How many times did you make me come last night?”

Eva didn’t give him the time to answer, kissing him deeply. Hands in his hair, she kept kissing him until she had to break away for air.

“Are you going to answer me?” She asked, rising up on her toes to kiss him again. “Do you remember?”

He nodded, capturing her lips again, nipping at them with his teeth, soothing them with his tongue. In between one kiss and the next, he choked out the number ‘three’.

“Mmhmm,” she hummed, sighing when he palmed her breasts over her shirt, “Three. All with you barely holding it together. Now, I want you to imagine how many I would have had if you hadn’t.”

Every muscle in his body tightened, eyes alight. Eva couldn’t be sure, but she might have actually shocked him. Patting his chest, she grabbed her cup, intending to get a refill. When she turned from him, his arm enveloped her waist, pulling her back. He took her cup and set it pointedly on the bar.

Dropping his hand, Horacio traced up the side of her thigh until he reached her hip. Eva was pretty sure he’d just discovered she wasn’t wearing underwear. Eyes forward, she remained still as she waited for him to process and react.

His hand changed course, moving to cup her firmly. Breath hitching, she widened her stance. Next to her ear, he muttered something in Spanish, tone hot.

“What was that?”

Tucking his nose behind her ear, he said, “You have the sweetest little pussy.”

Jaw dropping, she looked over her shoulder at him, “Really?”

Eva might have had it in her to feel embarrassed by the way she desperately wanted validation from him—might have, if he wasn’t caressing her so nicely. He rubbed with just enough pressure to coax her arousal along at a steady pace, mindful that she might be sensitive. She sucked in a breath, rocking on the balls of her feet, her toes curling on the hardwood.

He hummed his assent, “I love how wet you get for me.” He plunged two fingers inside, inhaling, “I love how you smell.”

Suddenly, she was being lifted up and thrown over the back of the couch. She landed with a sharp yelp, her eyes wide with surprise.

He leaned over her, smiling wide, “Don’t move.”

And then he was gone. Chuckling, Eva stayed right where she was, listening to his footsteps fade and then come back. He stepped around the end of the couch, tossed a condom onto the coffee table, and crawled over her. Pulling her thighs up and around him, he kissed her softly. One kiss blended into the next, growing deeper, hotter. Eva couldn’t stop touching him, couldn’t stop her hands from running over every inch of exposed skin.

Pulling the t shirt off her body, Horacio threw it aside and looked down the length of her, hands smoothing along her sides. He eased her hips open, thumbs slipping down to hold her open.

“Pretty,” he breathed.

Eva, feeling just a bit exposed, gave a nervous chuckle, “First I’m sweet, now I’m pretty.”

Looking up at her from beneath his lashes, half smiling, he said, “You’re both. Sweet, pretty.” He leaned down and licked—too light to give her any real stimulation, but the visual made her suck in a breath, her heart stuttering. “Tasty.” He ran the flat of his tongue over her again, swirling it over her clit, “Hot. Wet.”

His words trailed off as he got honest about it, two fingers pushing inside. Eva’s eyes closed, a low moan sounding. Against all reason, the wave of her orgasm rose fast and hard. She cried out, head tipped back, hands gripping the cushion beneath her. He worked her through it and kept going, slowing only long enough for her to get her breath.

“I can’t,” she said hoarsely, “I can’t so soon.”

He groaned against her, lifting up just enough to say, “I disagree.”

The fingers inside her curled, pressing hard against a spot inside her that made her vision go completely black as her eyes rolled back. A strangled squeak eeked out of her throat, her muscles burning from being held so damn tightly. Her body obeyed him without having to be told, and she was soon coming again, her face buried against the back of the couch.

When she could see again, Eva pushed him to sit back into the couch cushions. She leaned over and grabbed the condom, rising to straddle him. He held her hips, steadying her as she rested most of her weight on the back of the couch, keeping distance between them.

She kissed him, dipping her tongue inside to taste a mix of them both. Mouthing down his jaw, she rasped her lips against his stubble. He dropped his chin and nuzzled into her breasts, reaching down to grab a handful of her ass.

Eva traced the waistband of his briefs, “Off.”

He slid them off, kicking them to the side while she opened the packet. She rolled on the condom, giving him a firm stroke. When she went to lower herself down on him, he grasped her hips. He held her gaze as he guided her down slow. She was wet enough that the glide was only hampered by the need to pause and let her body adjust to him. The full light of the day told her that she hadn’t been wrong when she’d felt how big he was the night previous. He stretched her wide with every push downwards, pressing against her walls deliciously.

As she took the last few inches, Eva let her forehead fall to his, their noses brushing against one another. She let herself just sit there for a minute, soaking in the heat of his skin, the way they breathed the same air. Her body was so full that she could feel his heartbeat from the inside. Though he had to be needing her to move, he didn’t pull at her, didn’t try to push her to start rocking on him. She could kiss him for that—so she did.

Long, slow kisses that poured out from her like honey, making her feel drugged. She was absolutely steeped in his scent, anchored down by it. Eva thought that she could stay just like this forever. It was a dangerous thought, one that Eva set aside as she laid kisses down his neck and over to the sensitive skin behind his ear.

Beneath that skin was a little ridge, a scent gland that told the world what he was and signaled all kinds of information—his moods, his bond status, his wants and needs. For an omega, for this omega, it drew attention and care. She pressed her tongue to it, pulling the taste of him into her mouth.

Groaning, Horacio’s grip tightened, but she felt him breathe deep, visibly centering himself. This was disappointing. She should try again. Eva rolled her tongue over the gland again, ending it with a firm suck, the sound of it loud in the quiet of the room.

He exclaimed harshly, hips driving up hard once, twice. He held her to him, one hand buried in her hair, the other wrapped around her waist. Seeming to catch himself, he rested his head on her shoulder, mumbling a sincere ‘lo siento’. He whispered it again, using the leverage of his grip on her hair to pull her face to his. She smiled, kissing him briefly, wordlessly letting him know that she was fine.

And then she went right back to what she was doing. His entirely body went lax and somehow clenched at the same time, his hands squeezing into fists. He groaned her name. He panted against her skin. But, he didn’t move. Eva marveled at the sheer amount of control he had—if the situation had been reversed, she would have done anything to get the stimulation she needed.

As it was, she could feel her body pulse with want, all her senses inundated with the feeling of the strong, aroused alpha beneath her.

“You’re doing so good.”

The thought came out as soon as it entered her mind, along with the need to reward him for everything that he was trying to do. She nosed over to the other side of his neck, thumb rubbing at the gland on that side. A rumbling growl vibrated against her chest, his heart hammering underneath. Eva leaned down and let him feel her breathe against it. God, but he smelled good everywhere. She took in deep lungfuls, fingers curling over his shoulders to hold him still—not that she needed to.

“So good,” she repeated, drawing the gland gingerly between her lips.

His chin tipped back, allowing her all the access she wanted. His moans sounded in time with her kiss, interrupted by little growls that she could tell he was fighting to hold back.

Pulling away, she looked at him. He was biting his lip so hard, she thought he might actually draw blood. Brows together, she ran a thumb over his chin, pulling gently. When he released it, she drew the reddened skin into her mouth, running her tongue over it.

Horacio kissed her hard, hands cupping either side of her head. Eva swiveled her hips a little, enjoying the little gasp he made when she ground down on him. The movement was smooth, her slick running down his cock with every pass. Unable to keep the slow pace, it wasn’t long before Eva was rocking her hips over him, angling to hit her g spot with every downward thrust.

Her entire world narrowed down on the way her body was lighting up with pleasure, tightening around him. Little groans grew into high pitched rhythmic moans. Fuck, she was going to come again. He seemed to know it, too.

Horacio helped her along, when her hips started to falter, “I got you. Wanna feel it. I wanna feel you come on me.”

Fire burned low in her belly, billowing out so that her whole body felt encompassed by blistering heat. Eva felt a kind of ragged scream scrape past her vocal chords. She threw back her head, hair falling over her shoulders. This was different than when he made her come on his fingers or mouth. Now, she had something hard to fill her up, to crash against. There was no room inside her to push down, so the contractions rippled out, shaking her down to her bones.

He supported her through it, his own orgasm following not far behind. She sighed at the feeling, arms wrapping around his shoulders as her muscles gave out. For a long time, they just sat there, holding each other. Eva was pretty sure she’d lost all feeling below the waist. There was nothing but tingles all over her body, and this nice, lazy relaxation. She enjoyed it immensely.

Later, when they’d finally gotten dressed, he’d told her that he did need to go raid that bar, but that he’d call her later to see if she wanted him to come by. By the door, he kissed her over and over, before saying that he really did need to go, and that he would try to get back before sun down.

When he did actually leave (several kisses later), Eva laid back on her bed. She could still smell him in the sheets. She lazed for most of the day, smiling wide when the phone rang in the late afternoon.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

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sxveme-2 · 3 years

Text

Strawberry Pancakes // Bucky Barnes

MASTERLIST

SEQUEL TO BLUEBERRY PANCAKES

DESCRIPTION: Lily Osborne and Bucky Barnes were never blessed with an easy relationship. Whether it be emotional trauma, or Lily's parents trying to be evil scientists. But they somehow made it work, after coming together once again after the birth of Lily's nephew. They were smooth sailing for a while. He proposed, they got engaged, but have yet to marry. While also juggling raising a teenager together as Hunter reaches the age of 16 now. All the while struggling with adjusting to their new lives in Long Island, balancing careers. Meanwhile, Lily struggles with the new found fame of being the fiancé of The White Wolf; and handling the tabloids critiques on her life and gossip columns digging up any information they can on her. While trying to maintain a low profile; and handle her life as it is. And becoming parents. Lily for the second time, while Bucky, well, this is his first attempt at a biological child. All the while a new threat from their past rises up once again, blind siding the family. Bringing forward old hatchets that had been buried, and putting their relationship at risk once more.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any original Marvel characters! All canon plots and canon characters belong to Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. This is an original work. You may not publish it anywhere else

STATUS: Unedited

NOTES: Takes place after endgame. I have elected to ignore Tony's death and Steve's leaving. Did not happen. Quick Reminder! My works are only published here, AO3 and on Wattpad, thank you.

Chapter Five: The One With Her Uncle

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 2286

"Keep five feet away," Lily snapped, eyes not wavering from the man that stood on her porch, "Bucky go keep the kids upstairs."

No one argued with Lily as she grabbed a shoe and stepped out onto the sandalwood porch where the man stood. Her eyes stayed glued to his, though hers burned with a fiery rage that could only be described as murderous. The light spring breeze of Long Island danced along Lily's exposed legs as the door shut behind her. Everything inside of her wanted to grab the gun that Bucky always kept near the bed and threaten the man within an inch of his life, seeing as he deserved it.

But what kind of sister would she be then?

"Surprised you're even giving me the time of day," Cedar whispered, stuffing his hands deep within his pockets, "After everything that happened."

Lily stayed silent, eyes lowering as she continued to kill her brother a thousand times over in her head. He had nerve showing up at her home, where her kids were. Of course, he had no idea Stella even existed. She didn't bother keeping in contact with him or her parents when they were in prison. The only way he would have known about Stella, or Leo for that matter, would be if Rose had told him. But as far as the eldest Osborne knew, she didn't bother seeing them either.

"You have five minutes to explain how you're here before I call the police because you're trespassing," Lily stated, face blank as she stared down her brother, "Any longer and I'll throw this shoe at your head."

"Awfully small shoe for you, Bucky, and Hunter," Cedar joked, seemingly attempting to lighten the mood.

Glancing to the side, Lily noticed she had grabbed one of Stella's Crocs. She smiled softly at it before returning to her stone-cold facade. As far as Lily was concerned, Cedar had no business knowing that he had a niece sitting in the house they were both standing in front of. He had no business knowing what was going on in Lily's personal life. And she had no intention of telling him anything explicit.

"I'm going to guess that you've had another kid," Cedar sighed, "Can I at least ask her name?"

"Stella. You have three minutes," she sighed, shifting her weight.

"I was released because they dubbed me a victim," Cedar shrugged, rocking back and forth on his feet, "I have to attend court-mandated therapy and I'm on probation for a bit just in case. I got in contact with Scott and asked him where you were living now. I don't have anywhere else to go."

Lily felt her heart long to embrace her younger brother. But the rational side of her reminded him of the terrible trauma he had caused her and Hunter. The things he said to her the day he was arrested. They still haunted her at night, kept her wondering what else she could have done to help him. To protect him from the terrible things her parents forced him into. He was her baby brother, her only brother. And there he stood on her front porch, asking for help. What could she do? Say no?

"Try Rose," Lily stated simply, turning and walking back into the house without risking another glance at the frail boy on her porch.

When she shut the door, Lily saw Hunter and Bucky standing on the landing of the stairs. They both looked crestfallen and upset, but Lily didn't know what else to do. He had hurt her and her son more than words could truly describe. She used to drop everything for Cedar. And yet there she was, standing on the other side of the door where she knew he was still standing. Hoping and praying for his big sister to change her mind. He had been released on probation and as a victim. The legal system trusted him enough to let him walk free. Why couldn't she?

"He can stay in the guest room," Bucky whispered, squeezing Hunter's shoulder, "Rebecca's heading back into the city today."

Lily let out a breathy sigh before twisting the doorknob once again, opening the painted wood. Stepping around the other side, she noticed he was still there, just as she had predicted. His eyes were soft and his cheeks were hollow. It broke Lily's heart to see him in such a solemn state. This wasn't her brother. This was the same shell she had seen all of those years ago when he had asked her for help. When he needed her the most. And she used that against him.

"She's asleep, but you can meet her when she wakes up," Lily nodded, opening the door wider for her brother.

-----

An hour or so later, Lily found herself terrified for Stella to meet her Uncle. It was just the week before when she had asked if she'd ever get to meet him. It was ironic timing, to say the least. She knew that Stella would be overjoyed to meet Cedar and she was sure he'd be a dotting Uncle. But it didn't help the fact she was terrified that he would use her and manipulate her family to work in his favour.

After getting dressed in a pair of loose jeans, a flowy gray t-shirt and one of Bucky's flannels, Lily raised her daughter from a dead sleep. The young brunette whined as the light hit her eyes, earning a gentle laugh from her mother. Dressing Stella in a white shirt with frills at the top and a pair of red overalls, Lily prepared herself for the man downstairs to meet her. She brushed out her long dark hair before placing a gentle kiss on the girl's forehead and scooping her into her arms and shutting the door behind her.

"There's someone here who is very excited to meet you," Lily whispered into Stella's ear, earning a giggle from the girl, "Any guesses?

"...A new puppy?"

"You won't give that one up will you?" Lily laughed as she landed on the main floor of their home, "No. Chandler and Joey are enough as it is. Plus Alpine. The best I could do is get you a fish."

"Fish smell," Stella cringed, "Hunter and I went fishing. I don't like them."

Lily shook her head and laughed at her daughter's story before rounding the corner of the living room where the rest of the family sat, attempting conversation. Even from the threshold, Lily could feel the awkward tension that laid heavily in the room. Pursing her lips, the blonde continued her entry, Cedar watching her with a sad look in his eyes as he admired Stella.

"Stella, this is your Uncle Cedar," Lily cooed, placing the four-year-old down on the floor, where she ran into Bucky's legs beside her mother, "Remember you were asking about him last week?"

"Well aren't you so pretty," Cedar cooed, bending down from the couch so that he was at eye-level with the girl, "It's nice to finally meet you, Stella."

Lily watched carefully at her daughter's reaction. The best judge of character were dogs and young children. And the dogs were in the backyard, so Lily was selfishly relying on her young daughter to see. If Stella was uncomfortable with Cedar, there would be no questions. He would have to find somewhere else to say. If Hunter even showed an inkling of discomfort around his Uncle, Lily had no issue book a hotel for the man. If anyone, and she truly means anyone, found issues with Cedar, there was no doubt in Lily's mind that she would have him leave without a second thought.

"Everything alright, darling?" Bucky said in a hushed voice, running his flesh hand down Stella's, "He's your Uncle it's okay. I promise, nothing will ever hurt you. As long as I live."

"Yeah, remember meeting Aunt Mary for the first time?" Hunter piped up, "You were so confused as to why she was black and white in all her photos, same with Aunt Frances. You thought they were ghosts. But then Dad told you that we'd protect you from everything, even ghosts," he cooed, bending down so he was face to face with Stella, "Uncle Cedar won't hurt you. I promise."

Lily felt tears gather in her bottom brim, threatening to pour over as she watched her two boys comfort the young girl who was clearly hesitant with new people. She chuckled softly as Hunter raised her pointer finger, prompting his little sister to make the same promises he and Lily used to make before he went to Scott's. Lily's heart grew ten sizes as Stella wrapped her smaller finger around her big brothers before turning and walking over to her Uncle with her arm outstretched.

"I'm Stella Barnes."

-----

"You let him in your house?" Rose scoffed as she took a sip of her wine, almost spraying it all over Lily.

Lily pursed her lips as she glanced between her sister and best friend. She knew they wouldn't take it well when she told them she and Bucky agreed to let Cedar stay with them. It was only a natural reaction. Even Lily was still hesitant to let him stay. But Bucky seemed confident that it was okay and that Cedar would be fine. It surprised Lily, how much faith he had in the law and the legal system. Especially after the life he has had.

"And Stella actually went up to him?" Gen asked as she took a quick sip of her wine, "It took that girl almost a year before she even let me hold her."

It was true. Stella and Gen did not have the best start to their relationship. Despite being the baby's godmother, Stella despised Gen for the first bit of her life. If Gen even attempted to pick up the newborn, Stella would scream bloody murder. Lily was terrified that her daughter had an innate dislike towards her best friend. Luckily, the Barnes child was able to outgrow the distaste towards Gen and now looked forward to the times her 'Auntie Genny' would babysit her. Which wasn't often, seeing as both Lily and Bucky were homebodies. But it happens every once and a while.

"I was just as surprised as you guys," Lily admitted, shrugging as she leaned back in her seat at the table, "I almost cancelled dinner tonight because I was too worried to leave everyone home with him."

"Yeah but Bucky and Sam are there, so is Hunter," Rose sighed, crossing her legs and shaking her head, "I would have told him to get lost."

"I did at first," Lily chuckled, running a hand through her blonde hair, "Told him to go to you. But when I went back inside...I just couldn't do it."

She knew it wouldn't be forever. There was no way in hell she was letting Cedar squat at her home and live off of her and Bucky's hard work. He had managed to get himself into the mess. But that didn't mean Lily wouldn't be a loving big sister and let him stay for a bit. She knew Bucky agreed, seeing as he was the one who gave her the look that convinced her to let him stay.

"You said he got your address from Scott?" Rose asked, smiling as the server placed the three women's food on the table, "Wonder why that was the first place he decided to go."

"Well, it's not like he would have the nerve to show up at your place." Gen shrugged at the younger Osborne sister.

"I would have thrown one of Leo's toys at him without a second thought," Rose sighed, twirling pasta onto her fork, "The audacity he has to just show up at your doorstep though."

"He was released by the court," Lily sighed, shaking her head, "I don't trust him fully but I couldn't just toss him out onto the street. No one could survive the streets of Long Island."

"You're nicer than most people though, Lily," Gen sighed, taking another swig of wine, "I'm with Rose. Honestly surprised Bucky didn't stare him down so much he ran away in fear."

Lily chuckled softly as she cut into the chicken parmesan she had ordered. A light conversation ensued as the girls began each of their dinners, all now a bit relieved that the elephant in the room had been talked out. Lily still wasn't entirely confident in the decision she had made to allow Cedar to stay with them. She worried that he was just using her to his advantage. If that were the case, Lily had just put her entire family in danger. But it was Cedar...he was her baby brother.

Lily lifted her gaze from her food and felt the air escape from her lungs. Just across the room sat two people Lily would have killed to keep apart from one another. They were talking in hushed voices, each glancing from side to side constantly as if they were ensuring that their surroundings weren't listening in on whatever conversation they were having.

She could have gone her entire life without having to see the two of them together. Sharing a meal and talking back and forth. She wondered what on earth they could have been talking about. The only thing that they had in common was Lily. And barely so for one of the parties. But there the two sat, leaning over the table and speaking with one another as though there were unspeakable secrets being shared.

"You alright, Lil?" Gen asked, placing her hand on her best friends.

"Walker's here. With Scott."

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muchadoaboutbucky · 4 years

Text

Old Wounds, New Scars (oneshot)

PAIRING: Bucky x Reader WARNINGS: brief description of injury, surgery-related ptsd, comfort fluff, talk of therapy, smut NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. Image credit. 18+ only.

Bucky’s terrified of doctors. Anything that comes with the smell of antiseptic and the glare of bright lights on white walls and metal tables is a significant trigger. He’s a little more comfortable when you go with him, but his fight-or-flight instincts skyrocket regardless.

This appointment is a little more invasive than usual. When he’d had his old arm, he’d apparently fought to claw it out, gouging deep into his own body around where it was attached to his shoulder and pectoral. The injuries had left him with deep scars that, over time, healed into long, raised marks that he hates to touch or even look at. To add to his discomfort, the battle with Thanos two years before had resulted in his vibranium arm taking a bad hit from an explosive. The metal, of course, was unaffected, but the bone joint of his shoulder has gotten too painful for him to ignore.

The only option for remediating both of his afflictions is surgery. That means doctors, which means Bucky’s scared.

He’s in a private room at New York Presbyterian, pacing back and forth with his arms folded across his chest. The doctors have given him a gown to dress in, but he feels too exposed, especially with the four security cameras constantly monitoring him. The room is reinforced, meant to house enhanced individuals with various abilities. Knowing that he’s trapped in a room he can’t escape only makes him more anxious.

“Buck.”

He glances towards the sound of your voice, sees you perched on the edge of the bed. You’ve been watching him the whole time, barely able to do anything but brace for an explosion of panic. It’s three forty-eight, and the doctors are due to collect him for surgery promptly at four. The minutes are ticking down and he’s only getting more scared.

“Yeah?”

You pat the bed next to you. “Come here.”

“No.” He shakes his head, glancing up at the clock for the upteenth time. “I need to walk.”

“You need to settle down.” Your tone might sound firmer than it needs to be, but Bucky’s reached the point where simply being his kind, gentle wife isn’t going to work. “Come here and sit. Hold my hand.”

He shuffles over, lowering himself onto the stiff mattress. The restraints hang from the steel posts, thick cuffs reinforced with iron buckles. They’re strong enough to hold him, and he flinches at the idea of being tied down.

You gather his vibranium hand into yours and reach up to thread your other fingers through his hair. He leans in, resting his cheek on your shoulder with a deep sigh.

“I hate it here.”

“I know.” You kiss his forehead soothingly, tone growing softer. “But this isn’t HYDRA, baby. They’re good doctors who wanna help you.”

He swallows. His flesh hand fists in the rough fabric of his hospital gown. “How long will it take? I forgot.”

He hasn’t forgotten. He just wants to hear it coming from you. “The doctors said two hours, tops,” you reply. “And when you wake up we’ll be going home, okay?”

He nods slowly, closing his eyes as the clock continues to tick down the seconds. Finally, just when he’s relaxed into you with his nose buried in your hair, the buzzer on the heavy metal door creaks open and he jerks his head over his shoulder so fast you’re sure he’s given himself whiplash.

“Easy.” You reach out to steady him with a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Two hours and it’s over, Buck.”

He eyes the doctors as they ease into the room with a surgical gurney. Restraints identical to those on the bed hang from the handrails.

“Don’t leave me,” he says, voice low and quaking.

“I’ll go as far as they’ll let me,” you assure him. “And when you wake up I’ll be right there.”

You hold his flesh hand as he climbs onto the gurney. His eyes never leave yours as the doctors fix the restraints around his wrists and ankles. It’s just a precaution, just to prevent him from trying anything between here and the O.R.. With your hand still clenched in his, you walk by his side towards the doors to the operating room. He heaves a quick sigh as the attendants come to a stop, and you bend low to kiss him.

“Two hours,” you remind him, “and then we can go home.”

He swallows thickly and closes his eyes as the attendants wheel him through, and the moment he’s out of sight, you hurry back to the recovery room, tugging your phone from your bag.

You’re going to need backup.

***

Sam gets down to the recovery room an hour later. He’s got two cups of Starbucks with him, and you gratefully take yours when he extends it.

“How long has be been in?” He asks, lowering himself onto the bench next to you.

“Just since I called,” you reply, sipping your drink and closing your eyes. “He was terrified.”

Sam nods in agreement. “I didn’t expect it to be easy for him. You afraid he might snap?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh heavily. “The doctors said the anesthesia could affect his memory slightly, but it’s Bucky… he’s a strong guy, but all it takes is the right triggers and he’ll…”

Sam rubs a palm against his jeans. “He’ll be all right. It’s been six months, he’s been goin’ to therapy, he’s been doing everything right.”

You remain silent, unable to do anything but swallow the emotion that wants to break free.

True to the surgeon’s word, Bucky’s out of surgery in just an hour and thirty two minutes. The scar tissue was an easy cosmetic fix, and the injury to his shoulder only required a simple adjustment to fully realign his shoulder joint with the vibranium socket of his prosthetic. He’ll have to take it easy for a couple of weeks, but overall, he should be just fine.

He’s placed back in the recovery room to wake up from the anesthesia on his own. You and Sam watch him sleep through the thick panes of glass as the doctors work around him, checking his vitals and recording notes in their logs. He looks peaceful, but you know that when he wakes up, it’ll most likely be a different story.

You’ve just reclined back on the bench when a loud crash echoes from inside Bucky’s room, closely followed by an anguished yelp.

“Who are you!? Get off me!”

He’s writhing on the bed, straining at the heavy restraints that bind him. One doctor is clutching his wrist to his chest; Bucky had evidently caught it in his vibranium grip. You reach for the doorknob, but Sam pulls you back.

“Y/N, he’s not balanced,” he warns, “let them calm him down—”

“He won’t calm down,” you protest, tugging out of his grip, “they’ll only hurt him more.”

You storm through the doors, kicking a stand of instruments out of your way as you rush towards his bed. One nurse attempts to hold you back.

“Ma’am, we have this under control, you need to stay back—”

“I’m his wife, damn it!” You shove past them as Bucky lets out a panicked yell, his struggle growing more and more violent. “Bucky! Baby, hey…”

He jerks away from your touch, eyes lit with a combination of fear and rage, but when you bend low, holding his face against your shoulder, he freezes. He can smell your jasmine perfume and feel the texture of your hair on his face.

It’s not HYDRA. It’s just you.

The sob he lets out almost breaks your heart, and you reach down to grip his flesh hand in yours. His breathing is heavy and ragged in his throat, and you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes at the sound of his distress.

“Shhh,” you soothe him gently, fingers running through his hair. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

You lift your head, nodding at the doctor with a syringe full of sedatives. Quietly, she steps forward and injects the medication into Bucky’s IV. Within seconds, he goes limp, head falling back against the pillow. Gently, you wipe the tears from his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead.

“We’ll be home soon,” you promise quietly.

***

Bucky wakes up in your bed at home. The sun’s shining through the sheer curtains, casting shafts of light onto the light bedspread. He’s been redressed in a pair of gray sweats, and the bandages from his operation lay thick and heavy on his left shoulder. He can’t move his vibranium arm without feeling an ache.

“Hey, he’s awake.”

He glances to his right. Sam’s sitting in the heavy chair, a Men’s Health magazine in one hand. “Hey,” he croaks back. “What time is it?”

Sam checks his watch. “Just past nine. You’ve been out a long time. You feelin’ okay?”

Bucky gives a tentative shrug. His shoulder aches, and he feels a taut well of emotion filling his throat. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Kitchen,” Sam replies. “Told her I’d keep watch while she made breakfast. She’s been up all night makin’ sure you’re good.”

Bucky swallows. His throat’s dry, and he’s having a hard time keeping his voice steady. “Can you get her, please?”

“Yeah. I gotta head out, but I’m just a phone call away, you got that?” Sam waits for his friend to give a short nod before he pats his uninjured shoulder and walks out of the room. A minute later, Bucky hears your light footsteps on the carpet. You slip into the room, not bothering to close the door as you beeline for his side of the bed.

“Hey.” You cup his face gently and peer into his eyes.

At the feeling of your smooth palms on his cheeks, Bucky gives in to the knot in his throat. Tears blur his vision, and he wants nothing more than to pull you into bed with him and hold on tight forever and ever. “I don’t want to do that ever again.”

You let him cry, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “You don’t have to. It’s going to be okay, baby, you’re home.”

Bucky wraps his arm around you, fingers clenching tight into the fabric of your tee-shirt as he lets go of a shuddering breath. You feel his tears wet on your shirt, and all you can do is hold him and allow him to show this sliver of emotion.

You wait until he’s calmed, his breathing resuming its usual slow, deep rhythm. “Do you want to call your therapist?”

Bucky swallows thickly. “I can’t leave the house.”

“You can do a video call.” You pull back to run your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears that fall. “I’m making breakfast, do you want me to bring you something? We can find something to watch and just stay in bed.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

***

You spend the rest of the day in bed. He’s calmed by the scent of jasmine and the feeling of your body tucked against his. Around five, Bucky’s stomach growls, and you break away to let him finish an episode of The Great British Bake-Off to whip up something for dinner. When he’s able to stand, he shuffles slowly into the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face. He’s just turned the tap off when he looks up into the mirror.

God, he looks awful. Dark circles under pink-rimmed eyes. Pale skin. He’s let his hair grow long again, and it looks wild and scraggly… he needs a trim, and soon.

He starts the shower and lowers the wooden bench. Ordinarily he’d stand, but he’s still tired and it’s easier to reach the handheld showerhead. It only takes him a few minutes to lather his hair with shampoo and scrub as much of his body as he can with his good arm. Luckily, he manages to avoid getting his bandages wet, and he dries himself off before retreating back to the bedroom.

By the time you bring dinner, he’s dressed in a simple pair of boxer briefs and gotten back under the covers. He sighs appreciatively at the smell of spaghetti and tomato sauce, and he cradles his larger bowl (he still has a supersoldier appetite) on his lap, biting into large forkfuls of pasta until only a few swipes of red sauce remain.

“Good?” you ask jokingly, setting both your dishes on the bedside table.

He smiles. “I feel much better. Thank you.”

“Mm. I love cooking.” You lean in to kiss him. “Especially for my husband.”

“I thought women didn’t like doing that stuff anymore,” he jokes.

You giggle against his lips. “Women like to do whatever they want.”

Bucky smiles and loops his arm around your waist, dragging you closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You can’t help but blush when he scrapes his teeth over the pulse point on your neck. It’s something he only does when he’s craving intimacy. “Baby, are you sure?”

He nods slowly. “It’s been a rough couple days. Could use the release.”

With a soft sigh, you slide one leg over his hips. Bucky lets out a soft huff against your mouth; due to your schedules, it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been intimate, and he’d be lying if he said it hasn’t been bothering him.

He’s dragged from his thoughts by the feeling of your warm hand sneaking into his briefs, stroking his shaft until he’s hard and throbbing. He lifts his hips enough for you to get the thick waistband down, and you slip your panties off before reaching up to strip your shirt over your head.

“Damn.” Bucky traces his thumb over one nipple and gazes up at you. His eyes flutter closed when you rub the tip of him against your warmth. His hand floats down to hold your waist, fingers digging into soft flesh.

“Just relax,” you whisper, “lemme do the work.”

Bucky hums, sucking in a deep breath as you lower yourself down. His lips part, and when he feels your slick, wet heat fully wrapped around him, he can’t hold back a loud moan of pleasure. You watch, palms braced on his chest as he gathers himself, cheeks flushing pink.

“Feel good?” you ask playfully.

He nods quickly. “Yeah… God, you’re so warm.”

He gives a little push with his hips, and you take his hint, settling into a slow, steady rhythm. He follows the steady rocking of your body, emitting little gasps and groans as waves of pleasure swell and recede. You don’t ask for more, just give him what he needs in silence.

When he decides that the simple teasing isn’t enough, he slips his hand down between your legs, pressing his thumb over your sensitive nub. You tense, squeezing around him, and he smiles when you let out a soft whimper and grind against him a little faster.

You climax together in a single explosive moment, bodies shuddering and clenching as Bucky pours into you, a low moan leaving his throat. He clutches at you, holding you down tight until he’s given you everything and your rapid contractions have subsided.

“Hey,” he pants, gazing up through half-lidded eyes. “You all here?”

You nod and slump down on his chest, lifting your head to meet him in a kiss. “I think we needed that.”

“Me too.” He chuckles and runs his hand down your back. “Baby.”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for not…” he swallows, “y’know… thinkin’ less of me.”

You frown. “Why would I think less of you, Buck?”

“Dunno.” He sighs. “Just… for a little bit, I thought you might be getting fed up with all my crap.”

“Don’t say that.” You run a finger over his lips. “I’ve known about your issues for the last three years, Buck. When we got married, I said ‘in sickness and in health,’ you remember that?”

He closes his eyes. “I just thought… I dunno. Must be my head gettin’ away from me again.”

“I’m never leaving.” You brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “This was just a rough spot. We’ll get through it, we always do.”

He smiles and kisses you again. “How did I get so lucky to find a girl like you, hmm?”

Your cheeks flush hot. “Guess you were just in the right place at the right time.”

If you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

MARVEL TAGS: @acf2510 @beefcakebarnes @breezy1415 @cosicas-cuquis @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999

MUTUAL TAGS (if you wanna get on my tag list or don’t want to be tagged please let me know): @suz-123 @nacho-bucky

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction

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kaleidescope-writes · 4 years

Text

Heart of Audrilluria- Chapter IX; Complexity

Modern Fairytale AU

Prince!Tom Hiddleston x Thief! Reader

“No, no,” Y/N argued, “I can’t just break… whatever that is with him out of the blue!” She was pacing around the main room of their suite as Amelie sat on the couch with her feet propped up on the ottoman. They’d been discussing for an entire hour about what happened between Y/N and Thomas. “It’s a risk! If anything goes wrong, we’ll look suspicious and we’ll get caught!” Amelie challenged, shoulders stiffening as she kept her eyes on Y/N. “It’ll look suspicious if I just push him away suddenly!” Y/N snapped, “It already happened. We have to work our way around it. It won’t be for very long.”

Amelie rolled her eyes in frustration, slouching onto the couch further, “I don’t suppose you included ‘prince falling in love with you’ in your A-Z back up plans.” Y/N stopped pacing for a moment. She looked at her sister with irritation and crossed her arms over her chest. “No,” she responded bitterly, “It wasn’t. It was never supposed to happen, but it did. I haven’t stolen the Heart of Audrilluria yet, but I managed to steal the prince’s heart. There’s a lot more at risk now.” Amelie stood from her seat, adjusting her shirt. “Well we have to make sure we don’t screw this up even more,” she muttered. “We have to get ready to parade around Audrilluria. Let’s get dressed and try to maintain a level head. We’ll argue about this when we get back,” Amelie said before making her way to her room in the shared suite. She paused before turning to face Y/N again. “And please,” she began in a softer tone, “Don’t get attached.”

Y/N smiled softly at her sister, letting her arms rest by her sides. “I won’t,” she responded in the same tone as her sister. I won’t.

~~~~~

“So you mean to tell me,” Charles began, sitting across from Thomas who was finishing getting dressed for the day’s events. “That I missed this romantic interaction between you and the love of your life that happened after you kissed her?” Thomas sighed, buttoning his blazer before turning to face him. “Yes,” he said plainly, “All of that happened since the last time we spoke.” Charles smiled proudly, going up to Thomas and putting a hand on his left shoulder. “I’m happy for you, Tommy.” Thomas smiled back, “Thank you, Charlie.”

“Anyway,” Charles said, stepping back, “I suppose you’re going to make another move today.” Thomas looked back to the mirror, making sure his hair was ok. “I will try to get closer to her, but I won't force anything. I don’t want to pressure her into anything,”

“Ah, always the gentleman,” Charles commented, making sure his own appearance was acceptable. Thomas just chuckled. A knock on the door made both men turn their attention to the footman entering the room. “Forgive my intrusion, your majesty, but it is time to go.” Thomas thanked him silently before he left. “Ready?” Charles asked, preparing to leave. “Always,” Thomas responded.

~~~~~~~~~~

“We’ll be walking around for a few hours before the day ends,” Amelie recounted, “I hope your shoes are comfortable.” Y/N looked out the window of the car at the passing scenery. “They are, but that’s the least of my worries,” she said simply. Amelie turned away from the map of the town nearest Audrillore Castle and looked at her sister. “You’re worried about pushing him away,” Amelie stated more than asked. Y/N sighed, slouching into her seat further as they approached the meeting area before they began their grand tour of the Town of Ethania. The vehicle came to a stop and the valet opened their door. They stepped out and were immediately greeted by the warm, spring air.

The nobles stood around the meeting area, waiting for the tour to begin. The buildings around them looked like antiques. Their architectural design dated them to medieval years in which the country was first being established. Despite their age, they kept a certain charm that made Y/N understand why a tour of Ethania was on the itinerary. The stone streets matched the old aesthetic of the area surrounding them. It was as if they’d traveled back in time the moment they stepped out of the car. It was beautiful in the town. Y/N couldn’t help but look around.

“Now that we are all united,” Thomas announced, “It is time to begin the tour of Ethania.” A number of footmen began to lead the group through the old town. Bystanders looked at the group as they began their trip through the town. Many of them in awe to see that many nobles and royalty walk the stone-covered roads of their home.

The walk was peaceful. Every once in a while, the footmen accompanying them would tell some history regarding certain buildings or structures. They’d been walking for almost ten minutes before a particular building caught Y/N’s eye. It was an orphanage that looked like an old school building. The children outside of the orphanage looked in admiration as the prince and his noble guests walked past their home. Y/N continued to look at the children and her pace began to slow. Amelie noticed her sister’s absence by her side and looked back to see what had captured her sister’s attention. Upon realizing what Y/N was looking at, Amelie’s mood was saddened. “Y/N,” Amelie called out, catching her attention. Y/N looked away quickly and regained her previous pace. The orphanage was a reminder. A reminder of what was at stake. A reminder of why everything had to go well in the job. This is why she couldn’t get distracted. This is why she needed to end whatever was going on between her and Thomas.

The group continued to walk through the town, learning some of their rich history along the way. During their walk, Thomas occasionally glanced at Y/N. He awaited the perfect moment for him to approach her, but he was constantly interrupted by other nobles asking him about the town’s buildings. He noticed when she stayed behind to look at the orphanage. He made a mental note to ask her about it when he had the chance, but for now, their walk had to continue. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder the reason behind her interest.

After thirty minutes of walking through the town, they made it to an open area, the center of Ethania, where they would rest before making their way back. This was the chance Thomas was waiting for. Y/N made her way to the large fountain to sit. She looked at her surroundings, trying to enjoy the overall feel of it, but finding herself still thinking about the orphanage. She thought about how happy the children seemed. About how they were well dressed and each had a toy of their own. It made her smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“Enjoying the tour?” that deep, smooth voice asked. Dammit. “It’s lovely here.” Y/N said simply, not looking at him. “I believed you would be accustomed to things like this.” He countered, turning his full attention towards her. Don’t look, she thought, if you do, you won’t get rid of him. “Every place has its beauty,” she responded, turning to him, “I’m not accustomed to this beauty.” Dammit, you looked. Thomas chuckled softly, showing that smile that mad Y/N melt just a little.

“I couldn’t help but notice you kept your eyes on a specific building,” he commented, moving a little closer to her. “The orphanage,” she responded, looking at her feet. Thomas nodded, “Is there a reason behind your interest?” Y/N took in a deep breath, attempting to find the words to explain it without saying something he could detect as a lie. “Where I live,” she began, “Only the fortunate children end up in orphanages. Those that aren’t as lucky live on the streets, helping older homeless people to get just enough food to eat that day. It made me happy to see that it's not the case here. They look happy and healthy. That’s what I want for the children from my home.” Thomas gently took her hand in his, catching her off-guard, “I’m certain you’ll find a way to help them,” He comforted, looking into her eyes only to get lost in them once more. Y/N smiled, wordlessly thanking him for his concern.

“We are ready to move on,” a royal footman announced. The nobles gathered again to make their way back to the meeting area. Y/N and Thomas walked side-by-side while a concerned Amelie glanced at them as they walked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: We are almost at the Half-way point of the story!! YAY! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I added a little bit of exposition in this that I will explain in a later chapter. Just wait. Thank you guys so much for your support. I hope you’re doing well during these rough times. As always, feel free to leave feedback translation; Plz do!! Thanks again for all the support! I wouldn’t have gotten this far had it not been for you guys!! I love you all so much and please stay safe out there!!

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#marvel imagine #loki layfeyson x reader #loki fanfic #tomhiddlesedit #loki x reader #tom hiddleston #loki (marvel)#loki imagine #thomas hiddleston #loki laufeyson #thomas william hiddleston #tom hiddles #tom hiddelston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddelson #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x you #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x reader

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quillomens · 5 years

Text

Good Omens: The Cottage, His Darling

This is the fourth in a series of fluffmeister fics, here on Ao3. This is what a short commission is like, less than 2k! Also, reblogs help a lot more than likes? <3 <3

Crowley has been jumpy and uncomfortable in his own skin lately. Aziraphale gently offers a solution.

-------

Aziraphale, even as an unemployed angel, could still sense the emotions of others. After all, his angelic abilities were still intact, and his empathy wasn’t even considered a miracle so much as a natural sense. There’d been a time, as humanity grew and multiplied, that he’d been overwhelmed by all their myriad of feelings pressing in on him; indeed, he still rarely chose to put himself into long-term crowded situations. He’d learned to block it out, control what he wanted to “hear,” and that had made life much easier. The only people he’d never been able to completely tune out had been his fellow angels (so shocking at the end, their anger, their thirst for war, where once there had been love) and Crowley.

Given his beloved’s tendency to attempt to be cool, calm, and collected at all times, Aziraphale didn’t consider it cheating to peek beneath the surface. And, as Crowley occasionally (most of the time) managed to fool himself into thinking he was as cooly evil and calm as he claimed, this meant that often as not Aziraphale knew more about what his demon was feeling that Crowley did himself. Therefore, it was Aziraphale who first noticed that Crowley was feeling antsy in his skin one random Tuesday as they walked beside the sea.

He didn’t mention it. One didn’t; it was a very personal thing, and by all rights it should be Crowley who decided what to do about it. What Aziraphale could and did do was nip by Crowley’s tailor in London and pick up a few items that he took home and hung neatly on Crowley’s side of the wardrobe.

Crowley usually miracled his clothes, save the few staples he had personally tailored, but Aziraphale still felt the happy little flurry of warmth when he saw the items Crowley had added to his wardrobe, and he wanted to try and return the favor. He didn’t have Crowley’s eye for modern style, but of course Crowley’s tailor did. The woman was a mad genius, or so Crowley claimed; Aziraphale found her a bit overwhelming, though always polite.

(Crowley had no idea they had met, believing she would be a little too much for Aziraphale, and, if he had known, would have been horrified to learn that Aziraphale introduced himself while wearing his old standby outfit and a small basket of loose teas. He would have been further astonished to find out that the way to his tailor’s tattooed, pierced, black-loving heart happened to be a small basket of loose teas, and she was very fond of “Anthony’s angel.” )

Two mornings after making his additions to Crowley’s rarely opened wardrobe, Aziraphale was pulled from his morning reading by a discontented grumbling from the covers curled up on the other side of the bed.

“Good morning, dear,” he said softly, because too much enthusiasm as Crowley was waking up could lead to the most baleful of snakey glares, and it did hurt his feelings a bit to be snarled at.

“Nggk,” Crowley muttered, managing to curl all of his human limbs into a petulant ball.

Aziraphale gave his hair a fond pet. “Why don’t you take a shower? Or a bath? I’ll have some lovely tea waiting, just as you like it.”

The syllabic noise was more accommodating this time. “Bath? I can start the water for you?” A negative sound. Crowley did generally prefer showers. “Shall I assist you in getting out of bed, or shall you wait a while longer?” This question was asked with a smirk that made yellow eyes pop out from the sheets and give him a sleepy glare, followed by:

“…Yes.”

So Aziraphale gently unwrapped his demon and nudged him to his feet, all yawning inches and silk pajamas and disastrous hair. The angel loved morning Crowley with a tenderness that ached, because it was only after everything, when they became this, that he was allowed to see him in such a vulnerable state. “Off you go,” he said, giving Crowley a nudge forward at the small of his back. Crowley’s “thngzz” was enough like a thank you to make Aziraphale chuckle to himself.

His polite demon.

As soon as the door to the bathroom was closed behind Crowley, Aziraphale crossed to the wardrobe and pulled out the new items, laying them out neatly on the miraculously made bed. He gently ran a hand along one piece, smoothing out a couple of tiny wrinkles, before humming a note of satisfaction and bustling off to the kitchen to make tea.

He was heartened to feel the shift in Crowley as he came out of the shower. Aziraphale tried not to constantly eavesdrop on Crowley’s feelings, but the last few days his darling had felt so terribly awkward and unhappy, and Aziraphale was a little nervous that perhaps he’d gone too far in his attempt to help. But there was a sense of surprise, and then that spicy flavor of love that was intrinsically Crowley.

Aziraphale smiled and moved the tea set, with croissants for himself, to their little kitchen table by the windows over Crowley’s incredible garden (envy of everyone in the village, and Crowley’s little bit of evil, spreading jealousy and grumbles among the most dedicated gardeners).

“Good morning,” came Crowley’s voice, just a touch softer than usual, and then hands were on Aziraphale’s hips and a warm kiss pressed in his curls. “You’ve been in my half of the wardrobe.”

“What’s good for the goose,” Aziraphale said tartly, dressed himself in one of the lovely vest and shirt combinations Crowley had bought him, “is good for the gander.”

Crowley laughed, and Aziraphale knew he’d chosen exactly the right cliché as Crowley came around him to perch on the table (heaven forbid Crowley sit properly in a chair).

Crowley picked up her teacup and brought it to her lips. Her hair was styled differently-still short, but just a little softer-and the blush of lipstick clung to the side of the cup as she looked almost shyly at Aziraphale. “How did you know?” she asked, trying to sound aggrieved and failing spectacularly. “I wasn’t even sure yet!”

Aziraphale smiled. He reached out and ran his thumb first along Crowley’s right jaw, then the left, the prickle of a minor angelic miracle dancing in its wake. Crowley could guarantee that her beard not grow when she wanted, but a little insurance never hurt. “You’ve been restless, my dear. I took a chance.”

“Well. Not a bad one,” she eyed him ominously, because she was a demon and had an image to maintain, “this time.” Her glasses were tucked neatly in a pocket included purely for that purpose. “Where did you find it?”

“Your tailor. She said it was just the thing.” Aziraphale glanced over the outfit. Crowley had made adjustments, of course, but the overall look was what Aziraphale had brought home: layers of black cloth wrapped off the shoulder, the “snakeskin” belt with it’s golden eyes, the asymmetrical skirt. She’d decided on shortening the front and wearing exquisitely tailored slacks underneath, and added a kick of golden heel to her version of shoes. “It does look lovely.”

Crowley scoffed. “Of course it does,” she said airily. “I always do.” Then she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before resting her own there. “Thank you, Angel,” she said softly, and Aziraphale felt his cheeks pink up a little. Crowley, the brat, grinned sharply as she always did when she made him blush.

“Oh hush and drink your tea,” Aziraphale told her. “We’re still going to the sale at the botanical gardens today, I assume?”

Crowley, her good mood bringing out her inner (really, very outer) femme fatale, draped herself artistically across his lap and sipped her tea. How she fit comfortably when he was in a straight backed chair was an ode to her confusion concerning snake vs. human spinal columns. “Yes we are,” she said, pecking a kiss to his cheek. “You owe me a romantic date among the roses.” She reached out, happy and settled in her own skin again, and tempted Aziraphale’s hair into proper curls, humming one of her old lullabies under her breath.

Aziraphale tipped his head obediently and wrapped a steadying arm around her waist, thoroughly pleased. He had centuries of holding Crowley at a distance to make up for (no matter what Crowley said about understanding), and there was nothing more incandescent in his world than his darling, comfortable and happy and well-loved.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphalexcrowley #quill writes #genderfluid crowley #they're soft and I own it

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