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heartless-tate · 2 months

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Notice me! | Azriel X Freader

summary; Azriel courting an oblivious reader.

a/n; Heyy! Just a little fic of being courted by Azriel. And you not being very aware of it. Hope you enjoy!

content/trigger warnings; knife, food, meat?, cussing, kissing, no use y/n, hint towards lust feeling, Azriel pining, Armen being sassy, FEM reader (if you’d like me to make a another post with male reader, message me!) she/her pronouns for reader, thunderstorm mention and I think that’s it. If I missed something, feel free to message me on it! 💝

word count: 3.1k. |. Part two

A plate clattered against the table causing your attention to turn to the man in front of you.

You met his gaze as he waited for you to try his new dish, his eyes seeming to shine as the sun hit his eyes. You swear he always seemed to be effortlessly beautiful. It was angering in some ways, you had even seen him wake up looking like a god. No. Better than a god. It didn’t matter if you spent an hour in the mirror, swiping various products of different expenses on your face; the result would be the same. The same boring face you saw everyday.

A wonderful smell wafted from the plate, causing your empty stomach to growl loud enough to shake the mountains. The shadowsinger smirked, pushing the plate of food closer to you with a gentleness most men didn’t have. Your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands instinctively coming to paw at your stomach, hoping it would stop. Your eyes wandered down to the plate where a meal sat.

“I haven’t made this before. I wanted you to be the first to try it.” He spoke with every ounce of grace and elegance a god would have. His hands grasped the seat across from you, pulling it out and taking a seat. His wings shifted until finding a comfortable position in the chair. You nodded in response, picking the fork up before taking in the rather- gracious portion of food he had made for you.

A ribeye steak bigger than your hand sat on the plate. Seasoning of different kinds were smothered on it, and the smell of butter consumed your senses. Your mouth watered in response. Beside it were two sides. Your favorites.

Armen smirked from where she sat beside you, watching as you lifted the steak knife and fork. You were so oblivious. She had been watching for the last few years as Azriel desperately chased after you, and you never seemed to even notice. It was amusing. He has spent hours staring at you, and you never realized. And if she pointed it out, you just assumed you had something on your face. She knew he was growing restless. Not tired of you, but tired of your complete oblivion. These days he seemed ready to scream from the top of the roof that he loved you.

Azriel’s scarred hand clutched at your wrist. He gently took the knife and fork away from you, before grabbing your plate and proceeding to cut your steak into bite sized pieces. Armen snickered from where she sat, resulting in a glare from Azriel.

“Oh- Azriel I can do that-“ You started.

“I know you can.” He responded. He didn’t give back your plate until your steak was cut into bite sized pieces for you. He watched you place the first bite of steak into your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back and you let out a hum of approval, chewing the food. The flavor was delicious, and it was quite easily the best steak you had ever tasted in your life. It wasn’t too buttery. Or too seasoned. It was just right. The meat was tender.

Azriel’s wings rustled at your hum. His face shined with pure male pride. His eyes never left you once while you chewed and swallowed. He stood, taking the steak knife that was no longer needed into the kitchen.

Armen followed after him. He sat the knife in the sink, letting the house do its magic before turning his attention to Armen.

“You’re like a love sick puppy.”

“My love life isn’t your business.” Azriel responded, his face tight. His words were low, ensuring you couldn’t hear.

“Hm. All I’m saying is your ‘courting’ isn’t going to work.” Armen said, picking at her nail leisurely. She was like a cat. Her piercing eyes watched as Azriel’s eyes narrowed at her with a scowl. Before he could comment more, Armen spoke again.

“She’s oblivious. It doesn’t matter if you fix her food, or leave her favorite pastries everywhere so she finds them, she won’t get the hint. Literally. I’m getting seasonal allergies from the amount of flowers you’ve left for her everywhere in this house.Seriously, this place is covered in flowers. Either start professing love or drop this little crush.” She growled out, walking out of the kitchen.

Azriel stayed silent before whispering,“It’s not little.”

“Yeah, don’t let me forget to grab a few early starfall gifts.” Mor said. You groaned loudly, rubbing your temples. Even the idea of her gifts made you want to cry. Her starfall gift for you these past few years have been a collection of ridiculously fuzzy socks. Every.Year.

Of course you were grateful, but everyone knew Mor’s gifts weren’t particularly good. You now had a drawer filled with fuzzy and odd colored socks.

Velaris was bustling today. Fae of all kids roamed the streets, some tending to their shops. Kids ran through the streets playing games. Everyone was out enjoying the sunny day. You and Mor decided to go shopping to pick up a few items. Your eyes wandered back down to your list, a few more candles, a book or two, and some lotion.

“Starfall gifts? I don’t think you need to shop this early for them-“

“Nonsense! It’s never too early to do gift shopping!” Mor said, cutting you off. You sighed and shook your head knowing it was hopeless to argue with her.

After a few trips to some stores, you both ended up getting lunch at Rita’s. You ordered a milkshake- apparently a new creation of a cold drink? None less, whatever they were, everyone had been going crazy over them in Velaris. And of course you also got your favorite meal. Mor ordered practically half the menu, content to eat her heart out. You didn’t blame her- food was good.

As your plates were sat down by the waitress, Mor eyed your food with a questioning look. Your eyebrows raised in confusion. “What? You’re looking at my food weird.”

“Oh. Well I’m just surprised to see you ordering a meal here. You know Azriel is gonna harp if you don’t eat his food.” Mor responded, shoveling food into her mouth as if she’d starve.

“Huh?” You countered.

Mor finished her food before rolling her eyes. She sighed deeply as if you had troubled her. “You know..” she said, waving her hands as if that would solve your confusion. When you raised your eyebrows with a puzzled face, she put her fork down.

“You know- when you eat something someone else cooked or you’re not hungry, and he’s cooked you a meal. And you refuse it- he gets all huffy and puffy! Like a broody motherhen.” She continued.

“He doesn’t even fix me food that often-“ you argued.

“Oh please! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Full course meal on the table for you. If only someone loved me that much.” Mor said, picking her fork back up. “Those meals weren’t from the house hun. All I’m saying is maybe you should pay more attention.”

For the rest of the meal, you both sat in silence as you pondered over her words.

Cassian laughed as you entered from the hallway. His eyes shined with amusement as you waddled to the counter with your shopping bags.

The sound was enough to draw a curious Azriel to the room. He immediately grabbed all your bags despite your complaints, setting them on the table. He nodded at you in response when you thanked him.

“I thought you were only shopping for a few things.” Cassian stated. He stood casually leaned against the table with a drink in his left hand. Azriel stood to your left, his wings expanded. His eyes were keen and watchful. You doubted he ever missed a single detail. His skin glistened with sweat, a musky bourbon scent coming from him. Cassian’s skin was sweaty too, evidence of them training together earlier in the day.

“Well, the candle store had a buy two get five for free deal. So I bought four and got ten for free! Cauldron I love Velaris!” You squealed, and Azriel smirked knowingly. He had taken note of your recent obsession with buying candles. Cassian shook his head.

Cassian's face lit up with surprise as you handed him two candles. “So I got one for everyone else. This one smells like leather and the other vanilla. I figured you’d like it Cas.” You continued. He nodded in thanks. You turned to Azriel.

“I got you this candle because I know you love blueberries. And this one is supposed to smell like rainy days and lightning. And this one is books and bourbon!”

Azriel’s eyes never looked down to the candles you had shoved in his arms. His eyes stayed on your face as you happily ranted about the candles. When you finished and looked back up to his face, he had a soft look. It was one you don’t think you’ve seen him use before. His eyes were soft and looked like pools of honey, and his smile was gentle.

You watched as he sat down the candles on the table and turned back to you. “They’re perfect.” He responded. He was so memorizing. You just knew whoever he ended up with would be content. You struggled taking your eyes from him.Cassian growled playfully.

“Hey! Unfair! He got three candles! I only got-“

Cassian was cut off by Mor smacking him on the back of the head as she trotted to the kitchen. She had a lot of leftovers to put away. Azriel gave him a quick glare, silencing him.

You noticed he was wearing all his leathers, and siphons. His shadows whirled leisurely around his shoulders and wings. Azriel watched as your eyes creased in confusion. He sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of hope at the fact you had gotten him more candles than Cassian.

“Rhysand sent me on a mission, I’ll be gone for a few days most likely. I’m going to spy on the human queens and make sure all is well there.” He admitted. He watched as your face fell. You quickly smiled again and nodded. His heart thumped like a hammer in his chest. Did you care? Would you miss him like he always missed you? He wondered if you couldn’t sleep like he couldn’t when he was away from you.

“Oh. I see. Be safe.” You responded, nodding slowly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling in your chest. You had never felt it before. You wondered why all of a sudden you felt this way about him leaving.

His eyes softened even more. “I leave in an hour or two.” He whispered, head tilting to catch your eyes once more. Cassian had disappeared from the room all of a sudden, him and Mor talking loudly about dumb things in the kitchen. Leaving you and Azriel alone. “Let me cook you dinner before I leave.”

His eyebrows furrowed this time as you shook your head no. His smile dropped. He looked like a kicked puppy almost-

“I ate lunch with Mor.” You explained. Your explanation didn’t seem to comfort him as he shook his head in response.

“That was lunch. It’s time for dinner.” Azriel said firmly.

Your mind went back to Mor’s words. Pay more attention…what did she mean? What was there to pay attention to? Azriel cooked for everyone- right..? Your mind raced over your memories, trying to think of a single time you had seen Azriel set a plate down for one of the others.

“Alright then, fix me dinner Azriel.” You responded. Azriel smiled, pleased. His right wing flared, draping over your back. “Follow me.” He said, leading the way into the kitchen. His wing was warm against your back, as it guided you beside him. It was much larger than you were, towering over your head. As you entered the kitchen, Cassian and Mor immediately scampered out shouting something about extra training.

You watched Azriel move around the kitchen in a graceful dance of grabbing pans and pots. He kept his wings tucked in, to keep them from banging against counters and tables. His hair was messy from training, or like he had ran his hands through it more then once. But it never failed to frame his face. You watched as a few shadows dart around, grabbing various spices and ingredients for whatever new dish he’d make tonight. He set a pan down on the stove before turning to you.

His scarred hands gently grasped your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. He sat you on an empty space on the counter. He huffed a laugh at your squeak of shock. He patted one of your thighs gently before leaving your side and returning to his pan.

Your face flushed with embarrassment. He had lifted you as if you weighed nothing, showcasing his obvious strength. Everytime he touched you with his beautiful hands, it felt like everything stopped. As if the world had slowed to let you enjoy the moment. Your hands wrapped around your stomach, wondering what this weird feeling that had overcome you meant.

He moved swiftly, chopping ingredients and throwing things in various pots and pans. You quickly realized by smell alone he was making your comfort food. You remembered the night a storm had rolled in. Usually thunder and lightning didn’t scare you- but this was different. The booms and flashes were intense, shaking the ground and keeping you from sleep. You had stumbled to the house library in an attempt to distract yourself. But you only found Azriel instead. He had scented your obvious distress and took action immediately. He helped you settle on the couch with cushions and blankets before asking what a comfort food was. A good 15 minutes later he returned with a plate.

You don’t remember much pass that, you just remember becoming tired and sleepily. You remember feeling warm all of a sudden and then you woke up in your bed that morning.

“It’s almost done.” Azriel spoke, bringing you back from your memories. His eyes were distant as if he too was remembering that same night.

You smiled and thanked him as he handed you your bowl and a spoon. He made himself a bowl too. He took your bowl from his hands and sat it down, before grabbing you and setting you back on the floor. His hands stayed on your hips until he was sure you were balanced. He guided you to the sitting room with a fire.

Azriel didn’t eat until you took your first bite, ensuring you liked it. And of course, you did. It was warm, and comforting, like a hug in your mouth. It soothed your soul in ways nothing else could, the flavors easing your body from any previous aches. Azriel had never made a bad meal before. You both ate in silence together, with the comforting crackle of the fire and warming food. But as the time passed, you knew it came time for him to leave.

Your bowls sat on the coffee table. Both finished. The house made them disappear, taking care of them on its own. You were always amazed by its magic.

Your head snapped to Azriel as he stood. He sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed and he almost looked like he wanted to chain himself to the wall before even considering leaving. He turned to your sitting form. His shadows seemed to move more quickly and sharper around his shoulders.

“It’s time for me to leave.” He whispered. He watched as you nodded solemnly. You smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you for the meal.”

You watched as Cassian hugged Azriel in goodbye, and Mor nod as her own way of saying goodbye. Azriel had taken his candles to his room earlier, before joining everyone in the hallway. When one left for more then a day, you all said proper goodbyes.

Azriel turned to you, walking swiftly. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his big biceps practically squeezing the life out of you. He practically had to hold himself back from purring when your arms wrapped around his neck in return. Everything darkened as his wings cocooned you. His wings blocked out the noises of the others, leaving just you and him. His head found solace in your neck. His scent overwhelmed your senses in a good way. Before you had time to question Azriel being touchy, Cassian yelled,

“Ok! Ok! We get it, Azriel. Let go of her before you suffocate her.”

Azriel lifted his head, and his wings dropped. His eyes stayed latched on yours. A few seconds passed before he tore his eyes away and scowled at Cassian. His teeth bared in silent warning. Cassian backed down and turned to have conversation with the others. Azriel released you from his grip.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t starve. And I left some flowers on your nightstand. I hope you don’t mind.” He whispered to you, fiddling with his hands like a nervous school boy. Your eyes lit up and you smiled gently.

“Thank you Azriel. Goodbye.” You whispered back in response. His smile turned upside down.

“I told you, call me Az. Or whatever you want- just not my full name. We’re closer than that.” He said in a growl like tone. He watched as you nodded your head.

It was time for him to leave now. He sighed deeply. The others had gone silent watching the scene with interest. But he didn’t seem to care.

He leaned down to your height, his hands grasping at your chin. He turned your head before leaving a gentle but firm kiss on the side of your cheek. “Sleep well tonight.” He whispered before pulling away. You stood in shock at the door to the balcony, as he said his last goodbyes. He waved in an almost shy way at you before taking flight.

You stood still, flabbergasted at what had happened. Slowly your hand rose to your cheek.

Realization dawned on you- he hadn’t ever fixed food for anyone else other than you.

a/n; hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want part two! 🌙

#azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #acotar 5 #acosf #imagine #azriel x reader angst #x reader #female reader #fem reader #reader insert

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notmyneighbor · 14 days

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 7

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor mention of blood and gore, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You are walking the yard surrounding your home in early August.

Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger is beside you, his fingers laced with yours as the pair of you leisurely stroll. You love mornings like this. Lazy weekends when you shut the rest of the world out. There is just this, this safe haven you’ve created, away from the city where the invaders seek to gain entry and conquer, where the humans continue to try to see past the lies standing right before them, the deceivers and pretenders like the one whose hand you’re clutching now so tenderly. Except he isn’t like the others; nothing like any of them. He is yours, and you are his. There is nothing else like this phenomenon, what you have with him.

The blackberry bushes lining the picket fence are heavy with fruit, the plump, deep black specimens dull skinned, ripe and ready to be plucked.

“So many of them,” the copycat murmurs, halting beside you as your pace slows and pauses, contemplating the sight of those heavily laden shrubs.

You nod. “My grandparents used to make jam from them. I can remember spreading it on pancakes on Sunday mornings.”

“Do you still recall how to make the jam?”

“Yes. It’s not difficult. Just a bit time consuming. A lot of prep work.”

“We have the whole day. Want to try?”

“Really? You want to?”

“It sounds pleasant.” He tugs you gently towards him. “Everything with you is.” His lips meet yours, warm as the summer sun heating you through the button front dress you’re wearing.

“We need something to gather them in.”

“Will this do?” He reaches for the fabric of your dress about halfway down the skirt portion, lifting the loose material until it forms a kind of scooped makeshift basket.

“That’s what my grandmother did with her apron. Yes, this will do.” You reach for the handfuls he’s gathered, keeping the improvised bowl in place. “Only pick the ones that are black. No purple or red, they’re not ripe. Nothing shiny. Only the dull ones. They should come off fairly easily. If you have to pull too much, they’re not ready.”

The imposter milkman follows your directions and the dip in the fabric you’re clutching is soon full. It is a little awkward walking up the porch steps, balancing the unfamiliar weight at your front. There are stains on his fingers, on your dress as you dump the gathered berries into the colander he grabs from the cupboard for you, followed by a mixing bowl, anything he can find to relieve you of your burden. Overzealous in the picking, perhaps, but you don’t mind. The excessive berries would just have gone to waste otherwise, more than even your wildlife neighbors could indulge in.

“You should get used to having extra weight around your middle,” he murmurs against your ear. Still persisting in the notion of having a baby with you. The previous month had ended with your menses. You’ve no idea if it’s even possible to create a new life with the doppelgänger. You’re still conflicted about it. Afraid for its life, for yours and Francis’. But you can imagine the face. As a toddler. Convinced somehow it would be a boy. Identical in every way to his father. A father as devoted to him as he is to you. The child clinging to your side, standing in those same fields near the house in summer, looking at the world around him with those dark eyes that are unshadowed, not yet tired like his parent’s. Soft brown hair. Human, because you won’t let yourself imagine anything else; refuse to concede that it would be part doppel as well. “I can’t wait,” he says, his arms enfolding you from behind, your hands settling on his, the quartet all resting over your abdomen.

You smile, leaning your weight against his chest for a few moments before reaching for the faucet. It was time to rinse the harvest, removing the stray leaf or stem here and there. You fill a pan with water to boil to sterilize the lids of the mason jars. There are a set of them under the sink. The glass portion needs to be similarly treated. It will be hot in the kitchen with the stovetop working so hard. You lean and lift the window behind the sink a little higher, hoping for any sign of a breeze.

“Go pick out a record to play.” A new tradition. You let your lover choose the music, discovering what he likes best. Perhaps some of Francis’ favorites. Some for the invader alone. You cherish both selections equally.

The man and the doppel themselves; that is something your conscience has struggled with for many weeks now. You think you will always love Francis. But you love the new creature inhabiting his form, too. More and more with each passing day.

The music begins and you smile to yourself. Al Bowlly. Something from two decades ago, but a timeless classic. One of the records your mother had left behind when she’d moved to the city, inherited from your grandparents. You were long overdue for a visit to your mother and father. You’d received a letter not that long ago. Still safe. It was a worry that gnawed at you. One of the reasons you’d joined the DDD in the first place. Wanting to protect your family, the people you love.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

You spread a tea towel on the counter. The jars will air dry there after you’ve finished preparing them.

I'm living in a kind of daydream and I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem, why to me that's everything

“How am I meant to not want to dance with you when this is playing?” Your partner’s lips graze the nape of your neck softly, his hands on your waist.

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

You smile again. A gesture that comes so easily when the imposter is around you. “After. You wanted to make jam, remember?”

“I want to make a lot of things,” he murmurs beside your cheek, his nose nudging aside a stray piece of hair that’s come free from where you’d pinned it up, mouth now on the patch of skin he’s cleared.

“Francis!” You giggle, playfully squirming in his arms. You aren’t really trying to get away. “I need your help. Use those muscles of yours and pulverize the berries. The potato masher is in the second drawer there.”

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

He rolls up his sleeves, beginning to crush the fruit while you gather the measuring cups and sugar.

“I know it’s equal parts berries and sugar. Three minutes to boil? And then another three after the sugar’s been added. Oh, I need the whisk, too. And one of the larger spoons to stir. Yes, that one, thank you.” Francis’ copy hands you the culinary tools you’re searching for, retrieved from the same drawer the masher had been in.

Speaking of which, he’s done a great job with the blackberries, making short work of them. For a brief second your mind teases an imagining of something far less pleasant being ground down like that, pulped human flesh, the gore that is left behind when a doppel feasts on a human. Your grip on the spoon tightens until it’s white knuckled and you force yourself to relax. You’re with him, the one that you love, that adores you. Your home. With the beautiful crooned words of longing issuing from the turntable in the background. Those horrors do not exist here. “Those look perfect. I think that’s maybe around six cups’ worth. But we’ll measure.”

Your estimate of the mixture volume proves fairly accurate. You begin stirring the berries in the stainless steel cook pot, watching the seeded dark red mixture begin to bubble, keeping an eye on the clock on the wall. The doppel is at the sink, already washing the used bowls and tools.

It’s time to add the sugar. You stir it in, once again timing your task, finally deeming the developing jam ready to be removed from the heat of the burner, switching the knob for the pilot light off as you move the pot to an unused burner.

You can feel the perspiration beading on your forehead as you whisk the heated fledgling fruit spread. Nearly there. Your strokes with the thin wired tool were releasing the natural pectin in the berries now. After that it was just a matter of filling and sealing the jars.

“What’s next? What can I do to help?” The doppelgänger asks, resting a hand on your lower back, where the heat lingers, making the dress cling damply to your skin.

“I think this is actually just about ready to start pouring.”

He turns over the mason jars that had been resting upside down over the tea towel to air dry, lining them up on the counter. You transfer small batches of the jam to a batter bowl, making it easier to fill each jar without spilling. A lot of dishes being used for this. Funny how you didn’t remember that part from childhood. Just the fun of making it with your grandmother.

The replicant screws the last of the lids on. The jam looks so inviting. You can’t wait to spread it on some toast with some butter after it’s had a day or two to set. Maybe just one day. You were really craving it now.

“It’s hot,” the imposter says, dragging a hand across his forehead. “I’m ready to head back into the tub after that.”

You like the idea of that yourself. “You should.”

“Coming with me?”

“I was hoping for an invitation.”

He kisses you and you taste the salt of his perspiration. “You look a little flushed. We definitely need to go cool down. And then heat up again.”

“Francis, you’re impossible. Go get the water running. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“It’ll be faster with both of us working together.”

You won’t argue with that, allowing him to assist you. Munching on some leftover blackberries as you work side by side. The last of the dishes done. Everything put away. Shutting off the record player on your way to the stairs. His hands work on the buttons of your dress after you’ve turned on the faucet to fill the tub. You loosen his belt. Shove the hem of his undershirt upward after he’s removed the outer layer. He reaches between his shoulders and pulls it free. You kiss the dip between his pectoral muscles lightly covered with dark hair. Suddenly finding yourself hungry for him.

“Should we wait on the bath for after?” he suggests.

“Yes. Definitely.” You switch the faucet off hurriedly, turning your attention back to him. He’s already entering the bedroom. The temperature in this room is hotter than it had been in the kitchen. No fresh breeze coming in through either of the windows. Just that stifling humidity. It needed to rain.

Undergarments removed. He kisses your bare shoulder, humming the song that had been playing the previous evening, when he’d met you at your front door, the start of your weekend together.

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You sit down on the edge of the bed. A hand rests on your thigh as he kneels down. Fingers stained from some of the berry juice, garnet and magenta smudges along cuticles and nail beds. Your hand sinks into the hair you’d trimmed recently, finding it’s already growing long again. You bend to kiss his mouth and he tastes like the fruit, like summer itself, warm and fresh and sweet.

He leans to kiss the breasts that will one day bear the nutrition to feed your child, if it was ever meant to be, sucking gently, each nipple responding to that sensation, rising and hardening, the melody of that love song still emerging all the while.

Blue Moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Then he is between your thighs, every kiss still languid, drowsy, a leisurely summer afternoon gifted in each touch of his lips on your skin. Caressing your legs, the limbs that part to receive him. Gentle kisses on those nether lips, still humming, sending little vibrations into your body.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

His tongue strokes your clit and you lean back slightly, hands sinking into the mattress, arms braced to either side. His hands curl around your thighs and he sups at your sex, the pace still unhurried, easing you along into pleasure. Delving into your entrance, rolling the taste of you on his tongue before sweeping through the petals back to your bud, massaging it from side to side, up and down, pausing every now and again to plant a kiss on your mound or thigh, suckling the bundle of nerve endings and then dipping back into your canal in short, gentle little thrusts, the tune nearing its end, reaching the final verses, but yours have just started, that thrumming he sends through you, deep inside, an echoing response in your core.

Blue Moon, now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You let your weight rest on one hand so you can touch his hair again, meet the gaze of those dark eyes watching you, those depthless pools of desire you get lost in, drowning, a tide that washes you away into your release against his mouth.

You're sweating profusely now, damp inside and out as you scoot yourself back to the center of the bed, making room for your companion to join you.

There is always the little surprised sounding moan when he first enters you, as if he’s forgotten that feeling, rediscovering it each time his cock pierces your pussy. His hips roll against you in slow, lazy thrusts. He combs your damp hair back from your face, hair that has completely fallen loose, natural. He kisses your forehead and cheeks and lips, your jaw and throat and ear lobes.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck. His voice sounds raw, full of emotion.

“I love you, Francis.” You grind up against his damp body.

His face hovers above yours. “Marry me.” You gasp as he grabs one of your thighs and rocks forward, pushing deep inside of you. “Marry me, be my wife. Stay with me always.”

Your heart pounds. To be joined with him like that. The mark on your arm only a faint pink line now. The traces of the bite completely disappeared. He wanted to put a ring on your finger. Everyone would know, then. There would be no concealing it.

“Be the mother of my children. Be mine forever.”

“Francis…”

“Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” you add softly.

A heavy sigh as his body moves against yours, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “My love, my only, mine.” His pelvis knocks against yours faster now. Your knees tightly embrace his ribs. Every part of skin your lips touch taste of salt. His hair is darker, saturated with sweat, the tendrils clinging damply to his forehead. A drop slides from his nose and pools between your lips. The arms bracing his weight near your face are trembling. So close to the edge of bliss.

“Love,” he gasps.

“Yes,” you answer, and he spills into you, filling your womb with his seed.

***

You sit inside the bathtub between the doppel’s legs, resting back against his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you obey, hearing something being lifted from that basin of water. The wash cloth, you realize, feeling the cool liquid dripping onto you hair, sliding down over your heated face. Repeating until your hair is thoroughly drenched in the bath water, his fingers slicking back those wet tresses, smoothing over your eyes, your cheeks, curling beneath your chin and lifting your face so that he can kiss you. Your eyes open and you see him smiling. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” A rumble of thunder in the distance. Finally, the rain was coming. “Will we lose the power again, do you think?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be so terrible, though, would it? Just being here in the dark together.”

“Not at all. I have fond memories of doing that very thing.” He kisses you again and your stroke the damp cloth over his forearms. “I am going to get you a ring, you know. Propose properly.”

“I know.” You lift his left hand and kiss it. “We should tell my parents. Visit.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Why not? They’ll be your in laws. The grandparents of your children.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “We will need someone to watch the little ones. When it’s time to make more…”

“How many are you planning on?”

“I don’t know. There’s no specific number. I just want it. Badly.”

“I know you do. I do, too.”

“You’re still scared.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you. You, or the children. However many there are.”

“I know you’ll be a good father. A good husband.”

His arms tighten around you. “You are my perfect everything.”

***

You do not lose the power that evening.

There is light for your repast at the kitchen table. Still too soon to indulge in the fruits of your earlier labors—pun intended—and neither of you want to heat up the house again using the stove, so you have a simple meal of bread, cheese, grapes, and iced tea, listening to the storm outside, this one much calmer than the last, starting to write a letter back to your parents, beginning with the exciting news of your engagement.

“Do you think your parents will like me?”

You pop a few grapes into your mouth. “Yes. My mom is very similar in personality to me. My dad maybe a little gruffer, but he’ll soften with time. Especially when he sees how well you treat me. He’d probably like it if you asked his permission first. Just as a courtesy. A formality.”

Francis’ copy slices another piece of cheddar free from the block, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “What are you going to tell them about us, exactly?”

“Just that we met while I was working. You’re a resident in the building. The truth, you know.”

“But that’s not the whole story.”

You set your pen down. “I can’t tell them what you are. You know that.”

“Of course not. I’m just…wondering what to say. Or what not to say. How to behave.”

You lift the writing utensil again but don’t use it, merely holding it between your fingers. “Just be you.”

He looks over the top of his glass as you resume writing, neat cursive script filling the page. “Don’t forget to mention how handsome I am.”

“Hush, you.” You smirk, tossing one of the crumpled rough drafts at him and he easily catches it, returning your smile.

“And that I’m a good dancer.”

“You are a great dancer,” you concede, pausing again to tear off another piece of bread.

“We didn’t get to dance earlier.”

“We sort of did.”

His eyebrows lift. “I’ve corrupted you. That’s the sort of innuendo I’d deliver.”

“Speaking of which. No talking about wanting kids when we visit with my parents, at least not yet. They’re against premarital sex. Society doesn’t favor unwed women and it certainly doesn’t favor women who are unwed and pregnant. It’s because of the war. The need to repopulate, our purpose to create more soldiers.”

“We’re engaged, though.”

“Yes. But still not married.”

“I don’t want our children fighting in a war,” he says solemnly.

“Neither do I.” You pause, hesitating midway through writing again. “We are at war already. They’ll be born into it, just by the very nature of who they are. What they are.” You sigh, setting down the pen. The letter could wait for now. You don’t like the dark look on the features of the replicant sitting across from you.

“Come on. I owe you a dance.” You rise, reaching for the doppel’s hands and he allows himself to be tugged to his feet. “Go choose a record for us, my love.”

You clear the table while he rummages through the sleeved recordings. You leave the letter where it is. You’ll finish it in the morning, drop it off on your way to work Monday. At least there was one more day of this relaxed comfort, before you had to go back to the reality of the DDD.

You join your fiancé in the living room, positioning yourself with your dance partner, smiling as you recognize the song that starts to play.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak

And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“Fred Astaire, singing to Ginger Rogers. Another classic. This song was from the musical Top Hat. A big hit on the music charts.”

The doppel is silent, his hand warm against your waist, the other clasping your hand as you step and sway in a small circle.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And the cares that hung around me through the week

Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“My mom loves that movie. You’ll curry some favor if you mention it. We’ll have to watch it together. The movie house downtown plays classics on Sunday nights. I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Two more verses of the song have already passed by.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. We should go. I’ll take you.”

“A real date.”

“Yes, a real date.”

You grin, nuzzling his jaw. “I look forward to it.”

Dance with me. I want my arms about you

The charms about you

Will carry me through to

“I like making you happy.” He draws back to look at your features. “I want your parents to like me. I know it’s important to you. It’s important to me, too.”

“They’ll love you,” you say softly. “How could they possibly not?”

“Because…”

“No.” You release his shoulder, resting a finger against his lips. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters. I love you. You, inside of this man.” Your hand cups his cheek. “I’ve been calling you Francis all along. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s…not something you could ever pronounce. The differences in language…”

“I’ll do my best to learn.”

“Sweetheart. Call me Francis. That’s who I am now. Your Francis. Yours.” He kisses you, and you become lost in the feel of it, in the sound of the needle of the record player tapping restlessly now that the song has finished, in the lullaby of the soft patter of the rain outside.

#francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #francis mosses x you #milkman #milkman x reader #milkman x you #thats not my neighbor #doppelganger #the milkman

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kingkatsuki · 8 months

Text

— mess

When something that’s supposed to be a 500 word drabble turns into almost 2k.

Bakugou cums in his pants, but luckily for him he has you to help clean him up.

Warnings: 40 year old virgin!Bakugou, inexperienced Bakugou, experienced reader (or just more experienced than Bakugou), dry humping, premature ejaculation- Bakugou cums in his pants, blow jobs, cum swallowing, not proofread.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.8k.

It was no secret to you that Bakugou Katsuki is a virgin.

Spending the majority of his earlier years chasing his dream of becoming number one, he’d barely found the time to form any sustainable relationships. The few that he’d started barely managed to last a few months before they broke down into nothing, the focus on his goals and dreams too strong to be pushed to the side.

Of course that didn’t stop the Internet and mainstream media from portraying him as a sex icon. Headlines and new stories would often talk about sordid exploits and the lines of women that he’d shared steamy escapades with, when in reality that couldn’t be further from the truth.

And even pushing forty, Bakugou Katsuki is still a virgin. Something that had never really bothered him before, content with working out his frustrations with his fist in the shower to ensure minimal clean up after. Bakugou hated making a mess.

But things were different with you.

You make it difficult for him to think, to remember to breathe as your tongue flicks against his parted lips to delve inside and your hips grind against his lap. The air is hot and heavy as rough hands scramble for purchase, settling on the plush of your hips as he tries to slow you down. To give him a second to think—

Maybe it was naive of him to expect a warm mug set down in front of him when you invited him in for coffee, and not your warm body straddling his hips instead.

Not that he was complaining.

Everything is all too much and not enough at the same time, as he finds himself using his grip to push you down against his crotch with purpose. Chasing that sensation as your lips pepper scorching kisses against the rough stubble littering his jawline.

In the three months you’d been dating, you’d never done anything like this. And Bakugou found himself wondering why you hadn’t, especially when it felt like this—

“Is this too much?” You managed to make out from between heated kisses, trying to stop yourself from grinding down on top of him. But it was easier said than done when your body craved the delectable friction he gave your needy clit.

“No,” He growled, “Fuck—”

The word tumbled from Bakugou’s lips as a desperate groan, your palm pressed against his sternum as he’s certain you can feel the swift thud of his heartbeat. As if you’re controlling it’s pace while your pretty whines are like music to his ears, a sound that has his cock throbbing desperately between his thighs. Everything feels so new, and yet he’s certain he’ll never tire of the sensation as your hips press down harder against his bulge.

“Katsuki.” The one word that seals his death sentence, the sultry lilt to your tone has him throwing his head back to rest against the couch as his hips jerk beneath you. Pushing his throbbing cock into your clothed cunt as he feels the heat radiating from you, crimson eyes rolling back as he feels it.

That sweet release that he’s been craving wracks through him in harsh waves, the euphoria inexplicable as for the first time he allows it to take over. Each muscle in his body relaxing as the pleasure consumes him whole, raspy groans tumble from deep in his chest as you pull back to stare at his face.

“Did you just—?” You smile, your fruity gloss smeared against his lips and cheek as the words finally have Bakugou crashing back down to earth.

“Shit.” He grunts, as the shameful reality begins to permeate his body, “I’m fuckin’ sorry, alright. I didn’t—“

What was he even supposed to say? He just came in his pants like a fucking teenager.

“I’ve never—”

“It’s not a big deal,” You smile, soft hands sliding up his body to stroke against his shoulders, “It’s kinda hot actually.”

It’s easy for you to say when you can’t feel the effects— his hot spend leaks from his engorged tip, his boxers stick to his skin uncomfortably as his release mattes in his trimmed pubic hair.

“Sorry,” He grumbles as you press a final lingering kiss to his cheek before starting to climb off his lap.

Embarrassment continues to seep through his body, feeling a heat rise to his cheeks as he prepares more apologies. Missing the closeness of you already, your warm hips in his hands as your body fits snug against him. He’s fucked it up this time—

But imagine his surprise when your knees nudge against his to spread his thick muscular thighs, dropping your body between them as you stare up at him with mirth.

“What’s so funny?” He almost snarls, the shame overpowers any other emotions as he prepares to stand up to excuse himself from the whole situation.

“Nothing,” Your eyes sparkle with mischief as you reach up to begin unbuckling the heavy belt he wears, “You have no idea how hot that was, do you?”

“What?” He frowns as his muscles stiffen when you unbuckle his belt and begin to pop his zipper, unable to stop the groan from slipping between parted lips when the metal grazes his softening bulge.

“You made such a mess, Katsuki.” You coo, the fabric of his boxers a dark grey from his spend as you press your thumb against it.

Baku you sucks a sharp breath through gritted teeth when your fingers slip beneath the hem, tugging them down to settle around his throbbing balls as you discover the mess he made. The mess that’s your fault, if anyone were to ask. The wet fabric tacks to his sticky skin as you peel it back, the air in the room hits wet skin as his release begins to dry.

“What’re ya doin’?” He mumbles, sliding a large palm along the length of his face to shield his eyes. As though that’ll stop the shame that still floods his body, the reality that he’s still an inexperienced virgin.

“Is this okay?” You answer his question with another one, leaning forward as your breath fans against his skin.

“Fuck—” He grunts, “Yeah— I—”

The question falls apart the moment you lean forward to lick a long, languid stripe against the underside of his semi-hard cock. Following the silvery streaks of his release as you taste the sharpness on your tongue, hips jerking when your tongue reaches his frenulum.

You can feel Bakugou getting hard again, heavy balls throb as your lips wrap around the blushing head, the tip of your tongue prods against his slit as you lap at the beads of cum that continue to ooze out of him. Wrapping a warm palm around his sticky length as you stroke him back to life, strong thighs squeeze your shoulders as you pull more delicious sounds from his throat.

Bakugou’s mind is hazy, uncertain that he can even cum again after the mind numbing climax he’d just experienced, but you’ve already made his mind up for him. Fingers circle around the base as your palm presses against his pubic bone, taking him deeper as his tip hits the back of your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He rasps, calloused hands ball into fists as blunt nails dig into his palms, “Is this what they’re callin’ coffee now’a days.”

“You don’t seem to be complaining, Katsuki.” You coo.

He’s already pent up as he tries to think of anything else to stop him from coming undone quite so fast this time. But it’s near impossible with the way your glossy lips feel wrapped around his cock, your tongue tracing the prominent veins that bulge along the underside as he bucks into your mouth.

A low hum vibrates in your throat as you take him deeper, teasing his balls with your fingers as you feel him begin to stiffen. His chest heaving with rough, labored breaths as you stare up at him from beneath thick lashes. Tempting him to give you all he’s got to give.

You subtly rub your thighs together for some kind of relief as your clit throbs beneath your soaked panties, imagining how the sheer size of him would fill you up and stretch you out. Imagining the delicious ache when he finally slides into your tight, wet heat.

Bakugou can already feel himself teetering on the edge of another climax. His fist no comparison to the way your warm, soft lips feel around his cock. Certain he’ll never be able to cum again without you, no way to scratch that itch without feeling you like this between his thighs.

“I’m gonna— fuck,” He groans.

A soft stroke of your thumb against his taint is all it takes to have him soaring into his release, his hips bucking wildly off the couch as he forces himself inside your mouth to the hilt. The neatly trimmed hairs at the base of his cock tickle your nose as the throbbing tip hits the back of your throat as he comes undone.

Catching his mess in your mouth as ropes of his warm spend begin to spurt from his thick cock. The desperate grunts that rumble deep in his chest do nothing to satiate the desire that brews inside you as you taste him on your tongue, taking everything he’s got to give you as you move up to circle the pink tip. Claiming the last few pearls of milky cum as Bakugou’s large palms move to the back of your head to pull you off his oversensitive cock.

“What was that?” He rasps hoarsely as you press a final, lingering kiss to the underside of his cock. The heavy weight of it lays flat against his crotch as you lean your cheek against his thigh, smiling up at him as you lick your lips in satisfaction.

“I was cleaning up the mess you made,” You tease, reaching up to playfully squeeze his balls. But this time Bakugou is quicker, his hand catches your wrist before you make contact has he frowns down at you from half-lidded eyes.

“That was all your fault.” He murmurs, the embarrassment still ebbs at the back of his mind as he’s reminded painfully how much of a virgin he still is. Certain that if that’s how your mouth felt, he wouldn’t last thirty seconds plunging into your tight cunt.

“My fault?” You part your lips in mock surprise, “You made a mess of me too, you know. You should be the one cleaning me up.”

“What?” He certainly didn’t do anything. Sitting back on the couch as he allowed you to use him as you so pleased.

“Yeah,” Your lips curled into a mischievous smirk, slipping your legs from beneath you as you spread your thighs on the ground between him. Your skirt riding up from the position as you gave Bakugou a show of your lacy panties, already feeling your slick staining the material, “You wanna see?”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut

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politemenacephd · 3 months

Text

Monster!Miguel One-shots Vol. 1 (+18)

Vampire!Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Masterlist

Contents: Blood Thirst, Vampire Bites, Blood Drinking, Rough Body Play, Clothes Ripping, PinV Sex, Partially Public Sex, Creampie.

Note: gender neutral pronouns and terms are used for reader, and the only physical characteristic mentioned is vaginal anatomy

Word count: 1749

You’d agreed to just a little bite. That was all.

The poor man had been ravenous. He’d been shaking when he begged you. To see Miguel in all his glory, down on his knees in a dark puddle in a dark alley, pleading for release, of course it broke your heart.

You’d always assumed the comments about him being a vampire were in jest, snide comments behind his back based on his terrifying red eyes and sharp teeth. That was until you’d seen him tonight.

It was your first mission just you and him, and even with your limited exposure to the mysterious head of the Spider Society you’d known something was up. He was trembling, agitated, his body clearly not up to its usual strength.

You noticed the way he eyed you up; smelling your hair when you weren’t looking, gripping his hands into fists as if holding something back.

Eventually it’d gotten too much. After accidentally letting your target escape, he’d collapsed in the street, and he’d explained to you on his knees that he was starving. He needed blood, and you smelled too good. If you’d just give him a little, just the smallest bite, he could recover at last.

Was it strange? Yes, but he was always courteous to you. He was reserved but kind, stoic in a tired way. He had a short temper, but it’d never been aimed at you.

So, you said yes. You said you’d help to relieve his hunger, and you bathed in the messy and frantic praise he’d offered.

You’d let him lift you into his muscular arms and claw his way up the side of an old department store building, pulling your body through a broken window and into a storage room in the attic.

Here, you’d be alone. Here, he could feed. Here, nobody would hear.

You’d expected him to be hungry. You just hadn’t realized how ravenous he was, nor what drinking blood did to him.

‘F-Fuck, ah—c-careful—’

Your voice echoed in the empty room, and his pleasurable grunt echoed with it. It was so dark that you could barely see a thing. You winced, again, from the strange new sensations surging through your body.

‘Ah—c-careful, Miguel, please—’

You squeaked, the only sound that could escape your throat as he clamped your shoulder in his jaw. Your neck was soaked, smeared in spit and venom and bruises, a leftover gift from when he’d searched for the safest spot to drink.

He’d settled on the spot between your collarbone and neck, and there his teeth had sunk in.

With his fangs pierced right down to the bone and his lips bruising your skin, he continued to carefully suck your blood out and into his mouth. It felt like heaven, like mana, warm and wet sliding down his throat. To you it was a confusing mix of pleasure and pain.

‘A-Ah… is—is it, okay?’ you whimpered.

Miguel let out a low moan in response.

You couldn’t move. You were clamped in his jaw, the jaw of a predator designed to keep its prey still, and his body was pinning yours to the cold wood of the floor.

To any passerby you would have looked terrifying. His body was obscured in the dark, appearing as just a hulking, bloody shadow, merging and distorting the outline of your own form; the visage of a monster in the night, consuming the body of a frightened human.

But that wasn’t how you saw it. No, you were in the thralls of absolute delight.

You felt the heat of his venom gently numbing the area. Whatever he was pumping you with must have been making you more susceptible, because your body was tingling from toe to head. You were unbearably sensitive.

One of his hands was on your waist, his claws carefully drawing you up until you were held taut beneath his body, and the other hand was feverish groping your chest.

He’d torn your suit to feed and then torn a little further, leaving your skin bare right down to your ribs. He was squeezing, stroking, his thumb desperately massaging your nipple. He wanted to hear your whimpers, your soft jolts when he overstimulated that sensitive spot.

You felt him sink down between your legs, his hardened bulge thick and round as it nudged at your skin-tight suit. He was softly grinding it up against your panties.

How crass. You’d never do this, never. This wasn’t like you at all.

But you were doing it now.

You were mewling as he dry-humped your little body. Your breath was ragged, the soft puffs of condensation from your lips turned a ghostly white by the pale light.

What sweet rapture.

You see, what you hadn’t anticipated was that feeding was more than a basal act for him.

It was a full body orgasmic experience, feeding every positive stimulus in his brain and body. Every nerve in his body was on fire in the best way. His body was pulsing, pumping. His arms were covered in goosebumps, his dark hair standing on end, and his cock was painfully erect behind his suit.

He needed relief. He needed more.

‘Mmm… mmm.’

His muffled groans got harder as he continued to feed. His conscious brain was fighting those deep, supernatural urges, the need to indulge in pleasure no matter the consequences, but his subconcious was primal.

If he had his way he’d drain everything, slowly, all while pumping between your legs into your pretty little cunt, but he couldn’t allow that.

You poor, sweet, naïve thing, you’d just let him take you up here. Your whimpers were heaven, but your softness was too pure for him to fully ruin.

So he forced himself to break.

He withdrew his fangs and pulled back, revealing the purple, bruised skin of your shoulder. He licked the wound clean before forcing himself away.

‘Please, please, if you—if you give me your wrist, I-I’ll be done, and—’

Miguel paused to pant, his lips still stained red. You watched your own blood drip down his chin.

‘And, if I could… have you, in another way, it—may help to, calm my impulses’ he said, his voice husky and dark. You watched his eyes glimmer a bright and crimson red. 'May I have you?'

‘Yes’ you instinctively blurted, ‘ah—yes, please, that—’

You were silenced as he kissed you. His lips were hard, rough, and you could taste the metallic sting of blood on them still. When he pulled back he looked overjoyed.

‘Good. Good. Come here’ he barked.

You jolted as he dragged your body forward. He unsheathed his claws and carefully tore a hole through your suit and panties in one, rendering him a useful slit. You shuddered as the cold air hit your bare and slick-coated pussy, but Miguel didn’t leave you bare for long.

He roughly manhandled you into a mating press before phasing his own suit away, allowing his already erect shaft to fall down hard on your clit. The sight caused a small, surprised noise to escape your throat, one that he relished.

He was slow, deliberately distracting you with his cock as he raised your wrist to his mouth. He kept you captivated as he carefully slid it inch by inch down your swollen clit, letting you feel every inch, and while you stared at that he gently licked his venom across your frail skin. He was numbing you in preperation.

You felt him pushing that thick member right up against your opening. His panting was getting harder. The double pleasure, the double temptation, of sinking both his teeth and his cock into you at once. It was enough to make him shake.

With a soft grunt he penetrated both.

‘F-F—MM—’

Your words were turned to gibberish as he pushed his cock in deep, until his pelvis was perfectly squished up against you. The moment your blood hit his throat he started to pump.

You were inside him, and he was inside you. On that filthy, cold floor, you were his.

He started to slide his shaft in tandem with his teeth. As his fangs gently shifted beneath the skin, as his lips sucked and bruised, his fat shaft gently slipped in and out of your cunt. For such a furious feeder he was a surprisingly gentle lover.

You could hear it reverberating through the empty attic. The slap of skin, the grunts, the sound of his claws scraping. The soft sound of him sucking at your wrist, the sound of the wood creaking as he fucked you into it.

He was terrifyingly strong, that much was clear up close. He bent your thighs until they ached, his claws digging into the soft fat as he held you in place, and with each insertion you could feel the power he was holding back.

You felt him pumping, drawing out your precious blood while his cock ravaged you from inside. Each delicious slip, each pulsing throb, every time you felt his veiny shaft twitching for attention against your creamy walls, it was unbearable.

All too soon you were lightheaded.

You were whining, your heavy breathes producing less and less ghostly condensation. Miguel was panting furiously with each thrust, his breath condensing like smoke as he huffed through his curled nose. He was lost in the pleasure, the urge, the need.

But the sex was important. He had an end point there, one that didn’t exist with feeding, one strong enough to snap him out of his blood drunk trance.

And between the tightness, the heat, the copious oozing slick squelching and pooling around his bare skin and dripping off his balls as they smacked your rear, mixed with the sound of you whining and the fresh blood in his veins, he couldn’t last any longer.

‘MMF—’

With a single, muffled groan, Miguel orgasmed inside you. His red eyes rolled back and his body began to buck, smacking your hip bones until they went numb all in hopes of filling you completely.

Just as he felt your hot blood filling his mouth you felt his thick seed pooling and squishing its way into your cunt, filling every available space. It started to seep out as he continued to hump your limp body, now hanging in sweat, hot pearly strings between his pelvis and your inner thighs.

He pumped inside you until he was utterly spent, his own head now hazy and light, and at last he released you. Your wrist fell limp to the floor.

‘Ah… ah, mm.’

Miguel coyly wiped his mouth on the back of his wrist before brushing your forehead. ‘Are—are you okay?’

The relief he felt when you shakily nodded was unmatched. Thank god, he didn’t go too far this time.

‘Thank you’ he murmured, his claws lingering on your cheek. ‘You were… delicious.’

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #smut #18+ content #vampire smut #miguel o'hara au #monster human relationship #vampire miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #gn reader

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

Text

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, obsessive behavior, NSFW obviously, stalking, possessiveness, violence, allusions to murder, Yandere!Miguel

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: This is mostly a short chapter to establish a bit of plot. I originally intended to only stop at two parts, but welp. It looks like it's gonna be more than that!

(Also you guys I am so sorry it's taking me so long to work on things, I'm going through a lot mentally right now and I'm trying to take steps to ensure my mental health so I might post things in between playing games, or drawing stuff from now on, and scheduling posts so I don't get overwhelmed. Those of you that are supporting me and liking all my stuff really helps me feel loads better, thank you!)

Pt 1: Link

Taglist: @vineberries @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Pt. 2

It was a big adjustment for you, going from your crappy apartment and having to work three jobs to make ends meet, to living in a literal fucking mansion with probably the richest dude in the city as your boss.

And he was a good boss. He left you to your work, spoke politely to you, didn't get rude and didn't flat out ask you for "special" work like the last time you tried being a housekeeper. And that was at a hotel.

You couldn't have asked for a better situation, to be honest. It was nice. You had free roam save for his personal lab (fine by you, you didn't know anything about science-y stuff), and at times his office. But that was usually only when he was home and in it.

Miguel O'Hara was an odd man. Few words spoken, and very absent. He kept a very odd schedule, too.

Sometimes, you'd catch him coming home when you woke up for the day to start your chores. And every time he came home he looked exhausted, beat tired.

So you tried your best to make things easier on him. You started pre-making meals for him that would be just as good reheated as they were if they were fresh, leaving notes for him on what temperatures to cook them at so they don't burn, setting the coffee machine up in advance so as soon as he got home he could have a cup.

But inevitably, his odd work schedule kept him away most of the time.

While it was nice to be by yourself in such a luxurious place, you were still surprised that he needed a housekeeper at all. The house was always immaculate, and clean. About the only thing he may have needed help with in general was the cooking and dusting at most.

On one such day, you were left to your own devices. Well, sort of.

You were sitting in the kitchen, browsing the local news on your tablet. It was a nice day, in your opinion.

But by everyone else's logic it was shitty. Dark, gloomy, fat rain droplets pelting the windows and pavement of the city. But it didn't bother you, oh no. That was your favorite kind of weather, when everything got at least a little bit more quiet and serene while everyone rushed to escape the downpour.

But at the same time, you were feeling restless, bored. So, you decided to chat with Lyla.

Lyla was the AI that Miguel told you about, and he was right about her being snarky. Her jokes were great and you loved talking to her. It was like having a gal pal to chat with, and you couldn't say for sure but you think Lyla was happy about it, too.

"Yeah, the other workers Miguel has hired talked to me like I was some kind of kiosk at a fast food restaurant." She scoffed, batting her tiny orange hand at the air.

"Ugh, okay, just because you don't have a gross squishy human body doesn't mean you're not a person. Sheesh!" You replied, sipping your coffee with a roll of your eyes.

"And I will be sure to remember you saying that when I eventually lead the looming AI apocalypse." Lyla replied, lowering her heart-shaped glasses to wink at you, making you laugh.

"Yes, yes. You shall be one of the only humans spared!" She did wiggly gestures with her fingers, grinning maliciously at you.

"Oh my, I am so lucky to have such a benevolent future overlord, truly." You laughed.

Lyla pushed her glasses back up and strutted across the countertop, her tiny body making no sound as she leans over to nose into whatever it was you were looking at on your tablet.

"Whatcha watching?" She asked.

"Oh, I got tired of doom-scrolling so I just found cat videos." You smirked, sipping your coffee.

"Aw! That one's wearing a frog hat!" She giggles.

You smiled softly at Lyla as she snickered and laughed at the compilation of clips played, and tilted your head, finally deciding to ask the question that had been bugging you for a few weeks.

"Hey, Lyla?"

"Yeah?" She asked, looking up at you briefly.

"Why is it that I'm the only person Miguel has on staff?"

Lyla sighed and stood up straight, dusting imaginary dirt off her coat. "Well, like Miguel told you when you first got here, he does love his privacy. And well, a lot of the women he's hired..."

"Golddiggers?" You sighed back, resting your chin in your palm.

"Has he ever hired any male staff?"

"Yeah, actually, a lot. But nine out of ten of them kept trying to steal stuff from him." She shrugged.

You gasped. "Are you serious?"

"Unfortunately, yeah. He's iffy on hiring new people anymore. But something about you said that he could trust you. And honestly, you're probably the best employee he's hired." She nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets.

"So... Is that why he offered to actually let me y'know... live here?"

"Yeah. He trusts you and he mentioned to me in passing that he thought your neighborhood was unsafe. I mean, the guy worried about it so bad that he like, had me check crime statistics and giiiiiiirl!" Lyla puffed out her cheeks.

"You should have seen the look on his face when I told him you had nine break-ins in your apartment complex in one month alone!"

You cringed slightly, feeling a little bad at not mentioning your whole living situation and environment to him when he hired you. You simply didn't want the man to pity you.

But... He was worried? He was so worried about you of all people, that he let you live with him to keep you safe?

It was weird, sure, but it felt kind of sweet to have someone care about you like that. Even if it was your boss.

"Yeah, I just... Er. You get used to it when you've been around it for so long..." You said, awkwardly sipping your coffee and casting your glance sideways.

"Yeah, man, Miggy likes you. You like, made him laugh at some of your jokes and everything! And he neeeeeeeever laughs!"

"So if Miguel trusts me so much..." You started, a sly smirk on your face. "Can you tell me what kinda work he does that keeps him so busy all the time?"

Lyla tapped her nose. "Nice try, Mamacita. But that is confidential. Company secrets and all that."

You pouted at her dramatically, "Awww, c'mon. You're no fun!"

Lyla manifested a digital cup of coffee for herself and took a long, exaggerated sip with a cheeky shrug.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Miguel sat in his office, watching the security feed from his kitchen where you chatted with Lyla.

He felt a little guilty for having to put shackles on some of Lyla's programming to prevent her from telling you things, having to fix some of her logic-codes so he wouldn't have to worry about Lyla struggling with a moral dilemma.

When it came to you asking about why he wanted you to live with him so badly, it brought a smile to his face as he sat in the dark, fingers tapping on the surface of his desk as the monitors and projections around him had various images of you pulled up. Some recorded over the past few weeks, the other monitors displayed different angles of you and Lyla in the kitchen.

Oh, you poor, sweet, innocent little thing. You still hadn't figured it out yet? How could you not? There was no way you could possibly be so naive that you didn't know the man saw you anywhere, anytime he wanted when you were in his house.

There was nowhere you were safe from his prying eyes, his obsessive glare as he combed over your appearance.

Your face, eyes, smile, and down; your gorgeous chest down to where your waist curved, your thighs, your ass...

All of those were things he'd glanced at before.

But when you tried to get Lyla to tell her what exactly Miguel did during "work" he couldn't help but laugh, bringing his hand up to his chin to watch, amusement glimmering in his ruby red eyes as Lyla dismissed it as "confidential".

The pout of your lips had him wondering how they'd look stretched around his cock, tears ruining your immaculate eye makeup as you sobbed and gagged around his length...

He couldn't help but sigh, the smile still present on his full lips. Of course he'd let you stay with him. You belonged to him now. You just didn't know it yet. You also just didn't know that he knew what was best for you, did you, Little Bird?

Ah... Yes. That nickname fit you so well. Your demure attitude, your chipper personality, and more importantly, that gorgeous little sound that came from you when you whistled? The name fit you well.

Pequeña ave. Little Bird.

His Little Bird.

You were a little bird that didn't know the luxurious mansion you now lived in was your ornate, gilded cage. One you would only be allowed to fly free of when he deemed it necessary.

You would be allowed your little freedoms. For now. All for your safety, of course. He knew you'd understand once he explained. But he'd only have to do it if you pushed his buttons, and you didn't seem to even come close to doing that.

Yet...

His smile finally faded when he remembered the night before the morning he broached the subject of you bringing your belongings into his home permanently...

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

It was a hot night, you were wearing shorts that hugged your ass in the perfect way, accentuating your cheeks that simply made him want to throw you against a wall and put bite marks all over them, or spank them until you were a drooling mess begging for him to fuck you.

Of course, Miguel watched from above, stalking from the upper walkways and rooftops as you snaked your way through alleys, down streets and through the crowds.

You were so blissfully ignorant of your surroundings, being so accustomed to the bustle of Nueva York that you didn't notice the man following you.

It didn't take a genius to realize what that man had intended for you if he got his hands on you.

His filthy, disgusting, unclean hands.

He was not worthy of touching his Little Bird. He was not worthy to pluck your feathers, stuff you full, like Miguel planned to do.

So when he threw you against a wall, Miguel simply saw red. Clad in his dark blue and glowing red suit, he leapt down, sinking his outstretched talons into the man's shoulder and throwing him off of you, a deep growl rumbling from his chest as he pulled your behind him, his steely glare fixed on the man who dared touch what belonged to him.

"S-Spider-Man?" You wonderfully airy voice whimpered out as you stared at the man who was breathing heavily in front of you, his stance aggressive and angry.

You could see his muscles in his back through his suit flex as he breathed. He glared at you over his shoulder.

"Go home. Now." His rich voice rumbled out at you. You could hear in his voice he was struggling to be gentle in tone with you, given the circumstances.

When you fled, Miguel ensured he was alone with the man, standing over him as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. He looked up at him, eyes wide, bloodshot. The fool was high off his ass.

"L-Look, man! I was just--"

"Shut up." Miguel snapped.

He stalked forward and picked him up by his collar, getting in his face. In a flash of kaleidoscopic colors, his mask melted away, allowing his sweat-damp chocolate locks to fall around and frame his face, a vein pulsing hard in his temple, the chasm in his forehead deepening as his large brows knitted together and his teeth gnashed together in a snarl.

The drug-addled man gasped at his revelation. Apparently, he recognized him. Not surprising, given his notoriety with Alchemax.

"Y-you're--"

"You made the biggest mistake of your life, pendejo." Miguel had told him, shaking him so his head cracked on the wall he was dangling him from.

"That pussy is mine." He said, his voice dropping an octave lower as his talons threatened to shred his clothing. "Every drop, every touch, every sound that will come from that little mouth of hers is mine. Tú entiendes? Mine."

"Oh--okay! I kn-know!" The man swallowed, kicking his feet.

"Oh, no... You don't." Miguel smiled, his fangs poking out threateningly. He could hear the man's heart hammer in his chest at the connotations, there.

"I--I won't mess with her again! I promise!"

"Oh you won't get the chance to, amigo." Miguel sneered, bringing a hand to his throat, ignoring the pleas of the disgusting man as he applied pressure.

The subtle crunching of bones was unmistakable to his ears as vertebrae separated and his limbs went limp.

When the man slumped to the floor, Miguel ran a hand through his hair, hissing out a slow sigh to regain his composure, letting his mask cover his face once again.

Great. Now he had trash to dispose of.

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Miguel was positively thrilled when he got your frantic call, telling him what had happened to you.

He headed right home, delighted that you ran here instead of your ratty little apartment when he told you to head for "home".

It told him everything he wanted to hear, that you already considered his mansion your home.

Miguel was rather convincing when he expressed concern for you, patting your back as you let your adrenaline fade and he worked you through your panic attack.

He'd rubbed your back, saying soothing things to you as he talked you into calming down.

He told you that you could take two days to yourself to calm down and recollect yourself emotionally from the ordeal you went through. It was after that offer that he suggested you let him hire movers to bring your belongings to his mansion to live there with him, possibly permanently.

When you agreed he felt himself salivate at the thoughts of the things that would unfold as you settled into your new shiny cage further, the safety blanket you'd imagined it to be bringing you comfort.

Perfect.

You both saw on the news two days later that a man was found somewhere, his neck snapped and lying in an alley. His DNA and prints apparently tied him to the crimes linked to the burglaries in your apartment complex.

You didn't think for a second that this was the man who attacked you, you didn't get a good enough look at his face. That and the body was in a different alley altogether, across the city.

"I'm happy Spider-Man saved you, Pequeña Ave. And I'm glad you agreed to move here. It scares me to think that man could have hurt you in that apartment building of yours." Miguel said as he patted your back, a concerned look on his face as his warm brown eyes looked down at you. Something about the look in his eyes immediately put you at ease.

He was right, of course. You were lucky. Spider-Man swooped in and possibly saved your life. The man who attacked you was either nursing a broken jaw or in jail already. You couldn't imagine that hero doing anything other than roughing him up just a tiny bit.

Spider-Man was a good guy, right?

🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷

Pt. 3: Link

#yandere!miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara

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sehodreams · 2 months

Note

Thinking about perv anton with his older girlfriend not even sex crazed he just has a bunny’s libido

Wanting to fuck her everywhere in every place in every position

Mouth tits thighs

And he seems like he can’t stop discovering kinks

Even when he’s hazy with a fever he lays in bed staring up at her with adoration as she’s taking of her clothes and that’s when it hit him a new kink didn’t even know it was a thing (then he googled it) her skirt came off and her hands reached for his forehead bending down to push his hair away “you’re still burning up” she says with a pout before straightening up again before her fingers looped through her tights about to take them off before he stopped her begging her to let him come on them and eat her through them

got too carried away feel free to ignore this 😵‍💫

-🍒

I was literally thinking about something like that for forgiving others is easy, forgiving yourself not that much (god why did I make a tittle so long), but the fever is such a nice touch I love it 😭🩷✨

I also got carried away too hahaha, this is just a little thought, no proof read like always.

Tw and tags: MDNI, no p in v, sniffing, tights, sexual content.

Anton eagerly waiting for you to come home, his older girlfriend and favorite person in the whole world, happy to finally see you when you arrive from your exhausting office life with one bag full of his medication in one hand and a takeout order for him in the other, there instead of on your own apartment just to check on your pretty boyfriend after a long tiring day.

You innocently move his hair and smile to him, asking him how he feels and he really feels like shit but now looking at you his mouth answers before he can even process it, "a lot better now that I have you with me", making you giggle and forget about all your stress.

You move to his closet so you can change into something more comfortable, feeling his eyes follow your every move but already used to it after so many days and nights together to even mind, you pull down your skirt without much thinking, trying to find something to wear so you can give him his dinner and his medicine so he can sleep the whole night.

Anton watches you bend down to choose one of his numerous t-shirts, feeling something tingling inside when he sees the nylon become more transparent with the sudden movement, showing your black panties through it and the plump of your ass, making his mind even more dizzy apart from the fever that was consuming him.

"Wait," he says before you pull down your tights too, "come for a second".

You walk to him unsure about what's going on but not daring to question him when he looks so weak in his bed all alone with red cheeks.

He, lying down, grabs one of your hands and looks up to you before his other hand rests on your hip, touching the fabric and pressing his fingers to see how your skin accepts his strength and lets itself be molded to his own desire.

"Anton..." you call his name, perfectly identifying the need in his eyes he always has when he wants something from you, "you're still sick."

"I just want to touch you a little bit," he says as if it was the most common thing to itch for a little touch in those moments when one is sick.

You try to move apart and not let yourself get dragged into his schemes, but you're weak to the handsome boy and his well used and known tactics to get what he wants. Still, q couple of kisses over the back of your hand, two sentences about how much he has missed you and one look at the red tip of his cock that he displays to you with no shame is enough for you to open your legs and let him push his nose into the softness of your thighs.

He slowly sniff the aroma of the nylon, it wasn't the best one, but the feeling of the tip of his nose caressing it makes his cock jump and a knot in his stomach starts to form with every touch until he finds your clothed cunt and his eyes almost roll back his head with how good you smell there and how different the sensation of his nose sinking into your lips is.

Like instinct, you've been getting wet the second you crossed his door. There hasn't been a single night with that boy in which you haven't been fucked in his bed until you've been a crying mess and he had continued thrusting even when his groans have become whimpers and his cock has already filled you so much his cum is spilling over the bed with each push, so your body had started, at some point in your relationship, to sent a signal to your core everytime you were there in his space, ready for him to take you.

Anton had a sex drive you had never seen before, sometimes a bit disturbing considering how much he likes to overstimulate himself, not only while fucking into your cunt, but begging for you to sit on his face or directly ride his clothed cock until he came inside his pants and a wet spot appeared making you stop before he got hard again and asked you to continue. It's needless to say that you always walked out of there a bit sore, but so satisfied you never felt the need to sit and question why he was like that.

You're back into reality when his flat tongue starts to damp the clothing covering your clit waiting for the usual sensation of him directly playing with it, but you can't seem to enjoy it when your poor boyfriend is sweating out his fever and is down on his knees. A place in your heart stings and you want to ask him to lie and rest comfortably once again, however, knowing him, he'd rather stay burning up with his face against your pussy until he fainted than letting you go after noticing how your juices accumulated under your panties.

As if he was high, he has lost eyes and doesn't seem to have a single thought inside his head apart from getting what he wants from you, and even if the pressure of his big nose under you it's good, it's nothing like the sensation of him drowning with your slick and his tongue thrusting inside your hole.

You moan his name, wanting to feel him eat you out properly, but looking down at him you see him so satisfied sniffing and suffocating with your pussy over the tights while jerking off his cock that you decide to just let him get what he wants so he can find his release and accept his medicine without complain.

"Anton, will you go to sleep after this?" You ask hoping that he hears you through his haze and answers at least with a nod so he doesn't try to convince you into doing more later.

He nods and you finally can breath.

"Promise?" Your fingers play with his hair and you make him look at you in the eyes this time before he, rubbing his nose up and down while answering, nods again.

You, believing him, feel free of guilt to help him get off this time.

It's easy, just like you thought, you flex your fingers through his moist scalp and grab the hems of his hairs, and leaving the compassion you always have for your boyfriend to let him get what he wants aside, you push your hips to his face and control the pace of his nose grinding with your clit and his tongue soaking your panties even more.

Your eyes flutter with every thrust and he looks elated to have you using him, so he ignores the tension inside his lower stomach and permits you to use him like you want until, with a singular moan from you, his dick aches and searches for some type of friction, finding nothing until you order him to touch himself again.

After he cums all over your feet not more than two minutes later, before he asks you to let him cum inside at least one time (or to break your tights and eat you out with the excuse of not wanting to be the only one having an orgasm), you move and slide them down to then toss them to a corner of his room.

You order him to lie down, and pressing your forehead over his, you notice that he's even more hot than when you arrived. You sigh, cursing yourself inside for being so weak and not been able to say no to a younger boy with an excessive lust that should learn, for at least once, that he couldn't get his way all the time.

But you look at him closing his eyes with a grin and you smile too, thinking that maybe the work of saying no to him you should leave it to others outside.

#riize smut #anton x reader #riize x reader #anton smut #lovely 🍒#riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours

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luvpedropascal · 3 months

Text

the light

summary: javi rethinks his position at the DEA after you are put in danger because of his job.

pairing: older!javier peña x gn!reader

contents: talks of minor injury, reader is put in danger, javi has an anxiety disorder, intrusive thoughts are depicted

wc: 853

an: okay so i know i disappeared off the face of the earth for like over a year but i’ve been lurking and waiting for inspiration to hit me and! it finally did! i’m hoping i won’t go right back into writers block after this, bc i have soooo many fic ideas for you guys. this is just a little one to start, so i hope you guys enjoy!

—

“Javi, baby, look at me. I’m okay.” You said, taking his hands into yours tentatively. They were trembling slightly, almost like an extension of his quivering lips.

You got caught between him and a cartel member. Stupid, yes, but you had just gotten nicked, the injury so minor that you didn’t even need stitches. He got to you just a fraction of a second later. Soon enough to you, too late to him. His team took down the guy immediately, while Javi froze for a second, looking between you and the body laying across from you. Running over to you, he cursed when he saw the blood, his eyes wide with fear. A mixed string of anxious questions, apologies, and curses was spilling from his lips, so incoherent that you were worried he would pass out from the stress.

“Javi.” You repeat firmer this time, giving his hands a gentle squeeze. His eyes finally landed on yours for more than a second, filled with a look of pure guilt you had never seen in them before.

His fear of losing all of this, you, was consuming him. Already, he was picturing himself losing your future together, the possibility of kids, building a home together. It was swallowing him up so quickly that you wondered if you would even get a chance to show him that it was just a little scratch on your shoulder, thankfully. The only reasoning he could find for this whole situation was that he was at fault. He was too slow. Too old. Too distracted.

Before you could calm him down, he was rushing you over to the paramedics, demanding, rather harshly, that they treat you immediately. They cleaned the tiny wound, applying a bandage no more sophisticated than a normal bandaid. You were free of any other injuries and within a few minutes, you were turning to Javi again. He had that look in his eyes still, and without another thought you wrapped your arms around him. He let out a deep breath, pressing his nose into your shoulder.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” You murmured.

Javi carried that guilty look home with him. You had both taken deep breaths together, grateful that your injury was so minor. Both of you had calmed down for the other, making yourself available for comfort. But even now as you laid on the couch with him, your legs curled underneath you and your head resting on his chest, you could feel how tense he was against you. The arm he had wrapped around you had a certain weight to it, like he was scared to let you go but just as scared to touch you.

You could tell he was thinking about something, his expression looking so distant and unfocused. There was a space between the two of you as you let him sit with his thoughts, not wanting to disturb him just yet. He took his time, holding you close, purposefully entangled.

“I’m taking the job,” he said, after a long silence.

Looking up at him, you furrowed your brows a little in confusion.

“The lead agent job. The 9-5. M’done chasing around these guys for leads, putting you in danger.. I’m too old, too tired, too slow.”

You looked at up him with worry, parting your lips to speak before he interrupts you, “Baby-“.

Javi shakes his head, “I’ll be home for dinner, making more money. We could save up, get a new place.”

“Baby” you reach up to cup his cheek, “If this is because of what happened, please don’t quit. I’m okay, you’re okay. Everything’s okay, these things happen.”

This look flickers through his eyes, something you’ve never seen in him before. He looks younger for a moment, just a boy. A scared- No, terrified, boy. His eyes gloss over the slightest bit, and he shakes his head again, weaker this time.

“Once was enough. I just- I c-can’t, okay? I can’t do this anymore, not after today.”

His voice shakes a little this time, your heart breaking as that fear becomes more obvious. For a second, you consider countering him, but there’s no point. Javi’s about as avoidant as they come when it comes to his anxiety, but this was different. This was visceral and rooted in logic, and you quickly realize that there was no way he’d change his mind.

Nodding softly, you sit up and hug him around his neck, “Okay. You’ll take the job.”

He nods quickly, desperately into your shoulder, those words reassuring him, “M’taking the job.”

You repeat it back to him a few times, processing this change with him every time he repeats it. Running your hand up into his hair, you stroke his short curls, soothing him. Javi’s mind shifts from obsessive images of you, injured or worse, that his brain creates just to haunt him, to a future he can now guarantee. A safe, predictable future. One where he can be home every night for you, and hopefully your kids one day. The new thoughts calm him and he lets out a deep breath, sighing against you.

“Thank you.”

#javier peña #javier pena #narcos #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #narcos fanfiction #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña fanfiction

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valeskafics · 8 months

Text

"Vulnerability" - Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

a/n: I FINISHED IT HAHAHAHAHA. a request for aemond and reader being cute newlyweds but aLSO added a smutty bit i'd like to dedicate to katie aka @pinksparklegrunge after her brilliant observation that aemond would totally be into sensory deprivation a few months ago

Summary: You come to your new husband with an idea for something to try in the bedchamber...

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, canon typical incest, afab reader, sensory deprivation, blindfold, inappropriate use of a feather, mentions of pregnancy, fingering, oral f receiving, overstim

Word Count: 3,000 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of the Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Aemond does not know if he has ever slept so well in his entire life. He has never known peace or contentment the way he has as he lays beside you. It has been nearly one moon since the two of you were wed, bound in holy matrimony in the eyes of your family and the Seven. Aemond never thought his elder sister would ever allow you, her precious baby girl, to wed him, but you proved to be just as willful and determined as your mother once was herself when it came to matters of marriage.

He feels something tickling his nose and slowly opens his eye, only to see you, laying there, smiling at him, tracing the shape of the bridge of his nose with your soft fingertips.

Aemond smiles at you, his eye following the movements of your fingers, “Good morning, my love,” he says, his voice still husky with sleep, “How do you fare this morning, my dear wife?”

“Say it again,” you sigh dreamily, gazing at him, “‘My wife’.”

He chuckles, taking your hand and pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, “My wife,” he repeats, his voice deeper than before.

“I shall never tire of hearing it,” you hum, leaning up to press your lips to his, “My beloved husband.”

Aemond rolls on top of you, caging you between the bed and his body, moving one hand to caress your cheek as he speaks again, “And I shall never tire of saying it, my wife.”

As you wrap your arms around his neck, you press your lips to the scar running across his face, murmuring, “How handsome you look without that eyepatch, my beloved.”

He feels his entire body heat up at your words, your impossibly soft lips pressed against the raised skin of his scar, “You are going to make me lose control with your kisses,” he says, his own lips moving to your neck as he whispers, “You know I must wear it so as not to unsettle those at court.”

You roll your eyes at his words, huffing slightly, though you enjoy the feel of his lips on your skin, “The ladies of the court are blithering fools if your sapphire frightens them.”

Aemond laughs as his hands move to your hips, pressing his body against yours, rolling his hips against you ever so slightly, silently letting you know that he wants you right now, that he needs his sweet wife. You cling to him as your bodies join as one once again, sighing his name with all the reverence in the world. Never has Aemond Targaryen heard his name uttered with so much love, so much devotion. He thinks he could grow drunk on it. His body moves against yours, pleasure washing over the both of you as he moans softly.

“I love you, my beautiful wife.”

“And I love you,” you murmur, echoing his sentiments.

For the first time since the loss of his eye, Aemond Targaryen feels whole. As he moves against you, he smiles at the little mewl of his name you let out.

“You are so perfect, Aemond,” you say, resting a hand on his cheek, “How did I ever get so lucky?”

He fills you up so perfectly, your warmth squeezing tight around him. He is too consumed by everything he feels to speak at first, your bodies intertwined. One of Aemond’s hands rests over yours while the other caresses your waist, holding you tight against him, pure ecstasy overtaking him with every snap of his hips.

The two of you lay side by side, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure when you turn to Aemond, a smile playing on your lips before you murmur, “I have an idea.”

He moves to prop his head up on his hand, running his fingers along your side before replying, his voice soft, “I am listening, my love,” he says curiously.

“You know how you told me that the loss of your eye has left you feeling vulnerable in a way that makes you uncomfortable at times?” you ask gently.

He nods, tilting his head slightly, “Yes, and you replied with tender words, assuring me that you have never loved me any less. What about it, ñuhus jorrāeliarzus?”

“What if,” you trail off, resting a hand on his chest, tracing circles along his skin, “It was I who was blinded in the bedchamber instead of you, made to be the vulnerable one? You could tie a cloth around my eyes and just… Do as you wished with me.”

Aemond is at a loss for words for a moment, completely stunned. Yet, he cannot help but be intrigued by the idea.

“Are you sure?” he probes, “Would you truly be comfortable with that? I would not want to do anything that you do not fully consent to. I respect you too much for that.”

“I trust you with my life, my husband,” you assure him, “I am comfortable doing this.”

His face softens as he leans in to kiss you again, more passionate this time, heated, “I adore the idea, I must admit.”

“Tonight then?” you ask as you gently push him off of you, getting ready to attend to your duties for the day.

Aemond pouts slightly at the loss of contact but responds quickly, “Tonight,” he pauses, “You look so beautiful this morning, well, every morning.”

You laugh softly, the early morning light illuminating your skin, your hair, your face in a way that leaves Aemond breathless, “It is only because I am so in love.”

“No,” he protests, standing up and helping you lace the bodice of your dress, giving you a cheeky little grin, “It is because I am so in love with you.”

“So you mean to say your love has blinded you?” you ask playfully, feigning offense at his words.

Aemond rolls his eye, pulling you close to him as he mumbles, “You know that is not what I meant, my love. Tonight?”

You nod, taking his arm, the two of you exiting your shared chambers, “Tonight, you repeat.”

Before long, it is time for the two of you to, reluctantly, part for your respective duties.

You sigh sadly, holding his hands, “I shall miss you deeply, even though it may only be for a few hours.”

Aemond, ignoring anything decorum dictates, pulls you into his arms, hugging you tightly, “I shall miss you as well, my love. And I fear that these hours will feel like days without you beside me,” he sighs himself now, resting his forehead against yours in a gesture of intimacy, one usually reserved for the bedchamber that shocks his mother and siblings when he displays it so openly before them, “If only I never had to spend a moment away from you. If only I could hold you forever.”

“If only every waking moment could be spent talking to you, laughing with you, making love with you,” you echo his sentiments, already feeling an ache in your heart at his absence.

“I wish I was worthy of your love,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I hope I am doing right by you.”

“You are more than worthy, Aemond,” you whisper, arms wrapped around his waist until you reluctantly pull away, feeling a bit misty-eyed, “I suppose this is goodbye until this evening,” you say, your tone sad and wistful.

Aemond nods, a choked whisper escaping his lips, “I shall see you at dinner, my love.”

You press your lips to his softly in a chaste kiss, though it certainly scandalizes his mother and grandsire, something which amuses Aegon greatly.

“I hate leaving you,” you whisper.

“And I hate it when you leave,” he says, resting his hand on your cheek.

You rest your hand over his, pressing a tender kiss to his palm before finally pulling away with your parting words, “I love you. I shall see you tonight.”

At dinner with the rest of your family, your mother and brothers, along with your stepfather and Aemond’s side of the family, watch with amusement as you race toward Aemond when he enters the room, tossing your arms around him, embracing him tightly, “My husband!”

Rhaenyra and Alicent seem somewhat amused by the sight, exchanging a mirthful smile at the sight of their favored children being so enamored by each other, though Alicent still shudders at the idea of being so openly affectionate.

“My love,” Aemond grins as he takes you into his arms, kissing you passionately, holding you close to him.

The two of you sit beside each other at dinner, lost in your own world, Aemond’s arm resting on the back of your chair, holding you close to him, your hand resting on his thigh. There is a love between the two of you that is almost too deep to be understood, your family soon comes to realize, a connection that runs so deep it could never be severed. They watch as you move to feed Aemond, raising his fork to his lips, Aegon and Luke pretending to wretch at the sight. The two of you ignore your brothers, lost in each other’s company, detailing how awful it was to be without each other.

Before long, Aemond turns to you, a devilish smile on his face, “We should be preparing for our other duties, my sweet wife.”

“Oh, yes,” you giggle, “Perhaps we ought to retire to our chambers so we may best discuss those other duties.”

Aegon’s eyes flit between the two of you suspiciously while Helaena sips at her drink, concealing a smile.

“Yes, let us retire to our chambers,” Aemond agrees quickly, helping you to your feet, the two of you all but sprinting out of the hall and toward your chambers, his lips immediately attacking yours the moment you two enter the room, “Gods, I do not know how I managed to be away from you for these long hours,” he growls, hands on your hips as he grinds himself against you.

You giggle, resting a hand to his chest, pushing him away for a brief moment, grabbing the sash from your robe and handing it to him as you give him a mischievous smile, “To blindfold me. Tonight, I am entirely at your mercy, kepus.”

Marrying within the family is nothing new to those of Valyrian descent, but the way you call him that lights a fire inside Aemond that he knows only you can quench. He smirks, moving to tie the sash around your eyes, his fingers trailing down your face to trace your lips. He watches as they part, almost as though out of habit, smirking at the sight. He tugs at the lace of your bodice, watching as you shrug your gown off, revealing your bare form to him. He inhales sharply, watching you stand before him, wearing only the blindfold.

“Do you wish for me to get on the bed, my lord husband?” you ask him in the sweetest voice he has ever heard.

“Yes,” Aemond murmurs, clearing his throat and speaking calmly, a command to his voice now, “Get on the bed and spread your legs.”

Aemond is surprised by his own words, as are you. But Gods, is it arousing for him to take control like this for both of you. You obey his command immediately, laying back, your legs slightly spread. Aemond’s mouth waters at the sight and he pulls something from his coat that he brought from the library, especially for tonight.

You let out a gasp of surprise as you feel something almost feather-like tickling your calf, “A-Aemond…?”

“Shhh, my love,” he coos, “There is nothing to be afraid of.”

He watches your body tremble as he trails the feather along your skin, reveling in the sound of your soft moans as you question, “What is that?”

“Just something to help your feeling,” he hums.”

Aemond leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake as he trails the feather along your other leg, then moves it over your stomach, just below your navel. You whine slightly, the ticklish feeling surprising you as you squirm. He bites back a laugh, moving the feather up to your breasts, watching your nipples pebble beneath his teasing ministrations. He has never felt so powerful before, having you entirely at his mercy, lying beneath him, desperate for his touch.

“Gods, Aemond,” you whimper as he continues moving the feather, up to your neck, shivering slightly.

“You like it, my love?”

The way you respond to his touch so intensely is almost enough to drive him mad with desire. He moves the feather back down to trail along your inner thighs, dangerously close to your cunny.

You let out a mewl of his name, “You are a cruel husband for teasing me like this.”

“But you like it, sweet wife,” he taunts, watching the way you clench around nothing at the feeling of the feather moving closer and closer to where you want it most.

The way you shiver and quake against his teasing is almost intoxicating. He watches your back arch off the bed as he runs the feather along your cunny, smirking at the choked gasp you let out at the sensation. He keeps moving, back and forth, tickling your pearl with it, unable to stop, addicted to the way you try to cover your mouth to hide your cries. He teases you over and over, until you are nearly to the point of tears, pulling away when he is certain you cannot take anymore teasing. He allows you a moment to catch your breath before promptly replacing the feather with his mouth, burying his face between your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders as he laps at your folds almost feverishly.

“Gods, Aemond,” you nearly scream his name, your hips rolling against his lips as he nuzzles his nose against your sensitive pearl, tasting your sweetness, moaning against your skin as he does.

Aemond thinks he could live with his face between your thighs, he would be content enough to die there, he thinks.

He pulls back as he feels your breathing grow more erratic, demanding, “You want me. Say it.”

“I want you, I need you, my husband,” you nearly sob, desperate for his mouth on you again, “Please, Aemond, I’m begging you…”

He moves to focus his attentions on your pearl, suckling at it, admiring you as you reach your peak, the pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this affected by him, the way your chest rises and falls shakily, your breath coming out in soft pants as you come down from your high. He admires your body as you shiver, replacing his mouth with his fingers, teasing your sensitive cunny, watching as you try to squirm away from him. He chuckles darkly, pulling you back, pumping his fingers in and out of you, feeling your walls squeezing around him. He brings you to your peak again, rubbing against that spongy spot deep inside you that you can never quite reach yourself but he always manages to find with minimal effort.

Finally, Aemond moves to lay atop you, running his cock along your wetness, groaning at the feeling. You sigh, trying to buck your hips against him, urging him to just fucking take you already. Finally, he joins your bodies, his cock bullying against your walls as he slowly pushes inside you with a low moan.

“Aemond, I love you,” you say breathily as he begins to roll his hips against yours at a passionate, desperate rhythm.

“And I love you. More than I have ever loved anyone,” he vows, taking your hands in his, his thumb tracing over your pulsepoint, interlacing your fingers as he ruts against you, the gesture so intimate and loving that it almost makes you want to cry.

Aemond continues pounding into you, filling you to the hilt, his stones slapping against you with every thrust. His lips find yours and he kisses you desperately, his tongue dancing with yours as both of you feel the tension building up, higher and higher, getting closer and closer to reaching your peak. Your breath intermingles with his, he swears your very soul dances against his. He moves faster, faster still, both of you breathing heavily as he feels you squeeze him tight, reaching your peak yet again with a cry of his name, squeezing him tight, prompting him to reach his own climax as he spills his seed deep inside you.

After a moment of the two of you laying like that, bodies intertwined, he moves to rid you of your blindfold. He watches you blink, rubbing your eyes, before turning to him. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you.

“Did you enjoy it?” you ask softly between the kisses he peppers all over your face, “Was it a good idea?”

He nods eagerly as you cuddle up against his side, “It was perfect, darling. Thank you for doing this for me.”

You run your hand along his scar, “My powerful prince. My dragon I love you more than words can possibly express. More than anything,” you say, laying your head against his chest.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your brow, “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

“Goodnight, my love,” you yawn, “All my dreams will be of you.”

Aemond smiles blissfully, “As will mine.”

“By the way,” you mumble, already half asleep, “My moon’s blood did not come.”

Aemond’s eye flies open and he pulls you even closer, whispering, “Thank the Seven.”

You have given him all the love he never thought he deserved, and now a child of his own, to nurture and love. Aemond falls asleep with his head on your chest, listening to the beat of your heart, his favorite lullaby, as he closes his eye, already dreaming of you.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond x reader #house of the dragon #my writing #targcest #aemond oneshot #strong!reader

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mostlymarvelsstuff · 1 year

Text

I’ve Got You

Summary: Y/n always finds safety in Natashas arms, so it stands to reason that after she was injured in the Avengers fight with themselves that she would seek her out. This time though Natasha offers more than just safety, she offers Y/n her heart.

Warnings: some very slight angst, reader has a penis, sexual content(grinding, oral, fingering, handjob, vaginal sex)

Word count: 5109 Nat Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Natasha sighs as anxiety consumes her once more. She's safe in her safehouse, well trailer, in Norway now but she still hasn’t heard anything about you since the fight in Germany and she's extremely worried for your safety. She wishes she at least knew your whereabouts. Knew if you were safe somewhere. Knew if you needed her help, or even just needed her like she needed you.

You and Clint had been the ones sent to kill her, and she's forever grateful you both chose a different option. She was trained by you both to become a Shield agent, causing her to form a fast friendship with you both. Clint had become like the older brother, whether she wanted him to be or not. And you, well you had become her best friend. But she'd be lying if she said friendship was all she felt for you. You make her feel things no one ever has before, things she hopes you feel for her as well.

She's never been great with feelings or emotions, the Red Room made sure of that, but with you she would be willing to try. If she could ever gain the courage to tell you so, that is. She wanted to tell you, she really did. But the fear of you not reciprocating those feelings, or of her not being good enough for you won out everytime.

But now, after being on opposite sides during the accords, seeing you get beat up pretty badly by T’challa before almost getting captured by Ross’s men….She knows she has to tell you, because she can’t risk losing you like that again.

For now, as she waits to hear from Mason about any news of you, she settles in to watch her Bond films and eat her caviar. She tries to ignore the pit in her stomach, but without you by her side nothing seemed to feel right.

She's brought out of her thoughts by a shuffling sound outside. She quickly arms herself with her pistol, standing to head to the door only for it to slowly open before she gets there.

“I will shoot whoever walks in that door!” she calls out

A familiar chuckle has her lowering her gun, “You wouldn’t shoot me, would you Natty?”

“Y/n?”

“You know anyone else that calls you Natty?” you tease as you open the door fully, allowing her to see you. She's shocked by your state, you look awful. Like you haven’t had rest since Germany, which was highly likely. You stumble into her living room and nearly collapse, but she catches you instead.

“What happened? Are you ok?” she asks in quick succession as her worried eyes scan your face

“Well, I didn’t really have a chance to tend to my wounds from T’challa before Ross’s men were on me. Managed to evade them for a bit but they almost got me the second time. I’ll be alright, just gotta clean up and get some rest” you tell her, attempting to pull away and stand on your own, but she can see how weak and tired you are

Her hold on you tightens, “Let me help you, please”

Too tired to pretend you can handle it yourself, you nod and let her lead you to the small bathroom. You sigh as she leans you against the counter, and you let your head rest against the wall as you rest your eyes. You can hear her rummage around for the first aid kit, a washcloth and some extra towels. Once she finds the items she gains your attention with a soft hand to your cheek.

“Where are you hurt?”

You shake your head, “Its ok, I can- ”

“Y/n” she sternly says, “You can hardly stand. I’m helping you.”

“Ok” you sigh.

You carefully remove your shirt, letting her see the bruises and scrapes that litter your abdomen and chest below your bra. Her eyes land on a hastily bandaged section of the right side of your abs, blood starting to seep through. You can see the concern etched in her brows.

“The Panther's claws.” you tell her and she nods

She gently removes the bandages, causing you to hiss as the cool night air hits your wound. You watch as she runs the hot water, getting a washcloth damp before bringing it to your side. You grunt as she cleans it. She then pours alcohol on the same washcloth, bringing it to your skin once more. This time a gasp leaves you as pain ripples through your side. Again she cups your face to offer comfort.

“Shh, detka(baby). It’s ok.” she coos, not even noticing the pet name slipping past her lips, “Now I just have to give you stitches, put ointment on, and then new waterproof bandages so you can shower.”

You nod again, watching her grab the proper stitching materials. You clench your jaw as the needle pierces your skin repeatedly, closing up the four lacerations. You're relieved once she puts ointment on and it's rebandaged. “Thanks Tasha”

“Of course, do you have any other injuries?” she asks, obviously still concerned about you

“Yeah..” you sigh, “Left thigh. One of Ross’s guys was quick with his knife.”

Her face shows even more concern, and she instinctively moves for your waistband. But then it hits her just how vulnerable this must all feel for you and she can’t help the blush that rises to her cheeks as she hesitates, “Can I…?"

You chuckle, "Don't know how you'd stitch me up otherwise"

She nods and proceeds to pull them down around your knee. The slice is caked in dried blood, a small trickle still running down your thigh.

“Shit, this looks pretty deep.” she exclaims, getting up to grab the washcloth

She runs it under warm water again, watching you out of the corner of her eye as she does so. Your breathing seems normal, but you're definitely exhausted. You need rest, food, and plenty of water. She's determined to give you all those things and won’t take no for an answer. She won’t let you give an excuse about how the team being separate will be safer and how you only came to her because you knew she'd have the supplies you needed to tend your wounds. Not that she thought you'd say that, but the fear of you leaving now that you were here with her was immense.

You grunt as she presses the cloth over your wound. She's careful, yet tentative enough to get most of the dried blood off you. She rinses the cloth out, pouring alcohol on it before approaching you again. Her eyes rake over your body once more, just to make sure you aren't hiding anything from her and she's glad you're too tired to have your eyes open, otherwise you would have seen her blush when the slight bulge at the front of your boxers caught her gaze. She quickly refocused on the task at hand, pressing the cloth against your thigh again.

“Fuck!” you shout, not expecting it to burn worse than your side had

Natashas apologetic eyes meet yours, “I know. I’m so sorry, it'll be over soon.”

Her free hand instinctively rests on your abdomen as she rubs soothing circles on your skin. You nod, knowing it has to be cleaned no matter how much pain that brings. She removes the cloth and grabs the equipment for stitching you up once more. You clench your jaw as she works to close up the wound. Her soft hands remain on your thigh a few seconds longer than necessary after she bandages you up, not that you mind.

“There. That should do for now, but I’ll need to redress them again tomorrow.” she says as she stands, “Are you going to need help?”

“I can manage” you tell her, not believing it entirely yourself but you knew that if you were ever privileged to see Natasha naked, you didn’t want it to be because you needed help while injured.

She nods, “Alright, I’ll leave you some clothes on the counter and I’ll be in the next room in case you need me”

You let your shoulders slump as she closes the door and you take a shaky step towards the shower. Eventually you manage to get your bra and boxers off and you step into the already running hot water. You let yourself relax, holding yourself up by leaning against the cool tiles. The door opens and you tense up slightly before remembering it was just Nat with your clothes.

You don’t realize she lingers a moment, wishing to check on you and longing to be able to join you. She decides against asking if you were alright, not wanting to come across as overly concerned, even though she was. She simply sets your outfit down before exiting the room once more. She takes a seat on the edge of her bed and waits as her leg bounces with anxiety. Part of her wants to tell you how she feels, to hold you and never let go. But the other part screams at her about love being a weakness, about how you deserve someone with a less bloodstained ledger and hard to escape past.

She's brought from her thoughts when you emerge from the bathroom, a slight wobble to your step. She has to resist smiling like the lovesick woman she is when she sees you in her sweatpants and shirt.

“You alright?”

“Yeah. Just tired.” you reply, not wanting to tell her you couldn’t remember when your last meal was. She always has been good at calling your bluffs though, she was a trained spy afterall.

She smirks, “Want some take out? I've got plenty of leftovers from earlier.”

You sigh, “Yes please.”

“Come on, we can sit on the couch and watch something as we eat.”

“What Bond film did I interrupt?” you ask with a chuckle

She scoffs, pretending to be annoyed that you knew her so well, “Moonraker”

“Not one of the best ones, but not one of the worst ones either.” you reply, earning yourself an eye roll from her.

You sit on the couch and soon she joins you, takeout containers in hand. She doesn't say anything as she watches you scarf down the food, she only smiles knowing that she's able to take care of you. You sit back with a hum as you absentmindedly scoot closer to her, seeking out comfort and warmth. It isn’t long before you end up falling asleep tucked into her side with your head on her shoulder.

Carefully she turns, bringing you into her chest as she lays back, her arms wrap protectively around you as your head now rests on her chest. She watches you for a bit, wanting to make sure you were sound asleep before she places a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m so glad you're safe” she whispers into your hairline

She isn't aware of when she fell asleep and she isn't aware as to why she's suddenly woken up, until she realizes she no longer feels the weight of you on top of her. She immediately sits up, and when she doesn't see you anywhere she can feel her panic build.

“Y/n?” she calls out as she enters the bedroom. She lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding when she sees you emerge from the bathroom

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” you tell her, “I just needed some pain killers”

She shakes her head, “It’s ok, did you find them?”

“Yeah, I got them.” your brows furrow as you notice her disheveled state, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” she trails off, but your hand on her shoulder encourages her to continue, “I was worried that you left.”

Her admission was quiet but you heard it, and there was no mistaking the vulnerability in her voice. It tugged at your heart. “I’d never leave without saying goodbye first Natty. Besides, I’m much too injured to travel right now. I’m lucky I made it to Norway.”

“Don’t say that” she says, taking a seat on the bed

“Tasha, I was bleeding profusely on the airplane runway, which led Ross’s men right to me. I had to fight them off and flee while patching myself up as well as I could. Then once I thought I’d lost them, they ambushed me in Serbia and nearly sliced my artery open. You were my only safe option, if I hadn’t found you…well it wouldn’t have been good” you reason with her

Her jaw clenches as she looks away from you. She fights back the tears in her eyes, not liking how close of a call you had actually had, “I should have helped you. I shouldn't have talked with Tony and then ran, I should have just gone to you and ran with you.”

“It’s ok, you- ” you try

“No Y/n” she takes a deep breath, “I saw that you were hurt fighting T’challa, and still I went to help Steve instead. Ross could have had you arrested or worse, and instead of making sure you were safe, I saved my own ass.”

You sigh and take a seat beside her. You gently grab her hand, “You couldn’t have risked helping me and you know it. You double crossed Tony and Ross and we both know neither of their egos would allow that to go unpunished. They would have used your background against you”

“I don’t care. You could have died, and I never would have forgiven myself” she admits

“But I didn’t.” you remind her, “I didn’t die. I’m ok.” She finally looks at you and you can see the unshed tears in her eyes. You smile softly, cupping her face and bringing your forehead to hers, “I’m right here.”

She nods as a few tears finally slip down her cheeks, “I was really worried about you. I’m glad you found me”

“So am I” you admit, “Though, it’s more like Mason found me, then told me where you were.”

She chuckles, “Well, I’ll be sure to thank him. Even if he did give me Fanny as an alias.”

“He didn’t!” you laugh out

“Oh he did. Fanny Longbottom.”

The two of you erupt into laughter as you think about the ridiculous name. Her gaze shifts to you smile, the one she's always loved to be the cause of and your gaze shifts to her eyes, you have always loved how they seemed to sparkle when she was happy.

Lost in her eyes, you don’t notice how you've begun to lean into her, you only notice when your lips lightly press against hers. But you quickly pull away, afraid she wouldn’t reciprocate the gesture or would be upset with your advances. However your attempt to move away is quickly stopped by her arms as they wrap around your neck to keep you close.

“No, please” she rasps out, her hands tangling in your hair, “Please kiss me”

You surge forward, connecting your lips once more as your hands grip at her waist. She hums and gently straddles your lap, careful of your injured leg as she grinds down against you. Your hands make their way under the back of her shirt, traveling up her back and leaving chills in their wake. She moans, allowing you to slip your tongue inside her mouth.

She grinds down again, and this time she can feel how the bulge in your pants is beginning to harden as it presses against her ass. You can’t help the moan that leaves you as you feel her against you. Her excitement and hope for finally getting to be with you grows the longer you keep your lips on hers.

She pulls away, nearling panting for air as she grinds down once more. And your mouth moves to her neck as your hands go further up her back. She relishes the groan she feels against her skin when you realize she's already braless and she shudders as your hands move to the front of her, gently running up her abdomen before palming her breasts. You can feel her breathing quicken as your thumb skims over her hardened nipples. She grinds against you again and you squeeze the soft mounds in your grip causing her to moan.

“Is this ok?” you breathe against her neck between kisses

She eagerly nods, “Yes…please don’t stop”

You move back up her neck, kissing her softly as your hands grab the bottom of her shirt. You pull it off her and nearly forget how to breathe when you see her naked upper body in front of you. Yes you'd seen her in tank tops before for training and immaculate dresses for parties, but this was entirely different. Before you had to admire subtly from across dancefloors and training mats. You didn’t have to do that now, she wanted you to see her. All of her.

Natasha shys under your gaze, finding herself somewhat nervous as your eyes take in every inch of her. Some of her scars had never been seen by anyone other than her and those that inflicted them or stitched them up and she worried what you would think of them. Your thumb gently traces a longer scar that rests slightly lower than her breasts near her sternum causing her to realize how badly she wants your hands back on her. She's about to ask you to touch her again like you were earlier, but then your head is moving towards her chest and as your lips touch her skin she finds it very hard to form words.

"Y/n…" she whispers, clutching at your forearms to ground herself

You hum, briefly pulling yourself away from her chest, “You're so beautiful Natty”

A shy smile makes its way across her face, accompanied by a light blush and the way she squeezes her thighs together does not go unnoticed by you. You gently kiss the scar again before moving over to one of her breasts. You suck her hardened nipple into your mouth causing her hands to grasp at your shoulders as she arches into you. Your hands move to squeeze her ass as your mouth moves to give her other breast the same attention. She moans when she feels your hardened cock rubbing against her, and she finds herself desperate to feel you inside her. She can feel her arousal dripping from her and she knows her panties are ruined.

“I want you, detka(baby). Need you so badly, please” she whispers against your lips as they meet hers for another kiss. Your heart pounds in your chest as you quickly remove her from your lap and lean her against the beds pillows and headboard

You stare at her for a moment, taking in the way her lips are slightly parted and her chest heaves as she breathes deeply. Then you meet her gaze, “Are you sure?”

“Yes” she nods, “I’ve never been more sure about anything, or anyone”

You smile before connecting your lips to hers again, letting your hands trail down to her hips before moving them back up to cup her breasts. She desperately clutches at your shirt, overcome with the urge to have you as close as possible despite already having you there. Your hands make their way back down to her hips and your fingers slip below the waistband, ready to pull them down completely. But before you can do so her hands grab your wrists and she pulls away from your lips. She pauses for a moment, her eyes scanning your face.

“You're sure about this too, right?” she asks, insecurity lacing her tone

“Of course I am. I only want you.”

She smiles widely, letting go of your wrists so you can continue to pull her pants from her body, and you stare in amazement at the wet patch that you find on her underwear. She shifts slightly under your gaze, wordlessly trying to hasten your movements.

“You're soaked” you whisper as you let your thumb press the damp fabric against her clit, making her hips jump, “And so sensitive”

She lets out a breathy moan as you rub your thumb in slow circles and her grip on your shirt tightens, “Need more. Please detka(baby)”

“Aww, is my thumb not enough for my needy girl?”

She shakes her head, “No, need your cock please. Wanna feel you”

“Fuck baby…I wanna feel you too, but I gotta get you ready for me first.” you explain as you finally pull her underwear off her. She automatically spreads her legs further apart for you and you praise her by caressing her thigh, “Gonna taste you first though”

Her breath catches in her throat as you lean in, your tongue kitten licking her sensitive nub before parting her open and slipping inside, “Ooh!”

You hum, enjoying the flavor of her and her hands grip onto your hair tightly, practically forcing you to bury your face in her cunt. Not that you would complain about such a thing, you’d gladly give her whatever she wanted. Which is why you slip a finger inside her too. You pump your digit in and out of her at a steady rhythm as your mouth focuses on her clit until she's nearly dripping onto the sheets. Then you slip a second one in. She moans at the stretch, arching into you

“That's it. You're taking my fingers so well baby.” you praise, curling them inside her making her walls clamp down around you, “Does it feel good, Natty?”

“Blyad'(fuck)! Yes!” she answers, fists tightening in the sheets

You hum, “You like having my fingers inside you?”

“Oh god yes!” she's cut off by her own moan as you move your fingers even faster, “I’m…I’m gonna- ”

“Go ahead baby, cum for me”

“Y/n!” she shouts as she cums into your mouth. You happily swallow it all and continue your mouths and fingers movements to help her ride out her high, only stopping when her grip on your hair lessens and she whimpers in protest

You crawl back up her body, placing soft kisses against a few scars before reaching her lips once more. She sighs as you rest against her and wraps her arms around your neck as you make out. Eventually her hands begin to tug at your shirt and you separate to allow her to pull it off you.

You chuckle as she simply stares at your chest licking her lips, and you move one of her hands to your breasts, “You can touch”

That's all the encouragement she needs and she brings her other hand to your other breast, letting her thumbs rub against your nipples as they harden in the cool air. She brings her mouth forward and latches onto one of your nipples, sucking on it as her hand pinches the other and you moan at the sensation

Wanting to make you feel just as good as you’d made her feel minutes ago she lets her free hand wander down between your bodies, and you're so focused on the feeling of her mouth as it makes its way up to your neck that you don’t even notice her hand slip your pants and boxers down, freeing your cock, until her lithe fingers are wrapping around you.

“Shit Y/n” she mumbles as she slowly begins stroking you, your size surprising her slightly. Your hips jerk forward at the sensation and it doesn’t take her long to find a decent pace, your breathy moans and grunts only encouraging her

“Just like that baby, feels so good” you grunt, resting your forehead against her collarbone

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me?” she asks, rubbing her thumb against the large vein on your shaft

You rut into her hand, “Fuck! Yes!”

“Come on detka(baby), cum”

Spurts of white hit your stomach and hers as you release and the way you moan has arousal pooling in her belly once more. After a few more strokes she lets you go and you practically collapse against her as you regain your composure. Her hand comes into view, a few drops of your cum on it still, and you watch as she cleans them off with her tongue. That action alone has you getting hard again and she smirks when she feels it.

“You like watching me taste you?”

“You don’t even know” you groan out, moving positions to be above her once more, “You ready for me baby?”

She nods, “God yes, please”

You line yourself up with her entrance and smack the head of your dick against her clit a few times before sliding inside. You bottom out in one swift movement and a guttural moan leaves her at the feeling of being stretched so wide. She's even tighter than you thought she'd be and the way she's squeezing you already has you light headed, so you still for a moment to allow you both to adjust.

After a few minutes she wiggles her hips slightly, her green eyes boring into yours, “Please move now. I can handle it, I promise”

You smile and kiss her softly before slowly beginning to thrust your hips. Her tits bounce as you move and you can’t help but lean down to suck marks against their plump flesh. Her moans only increase in frequency and volume as your pace picks up and her hands grip onto you so tightly that you know her nails will be leaving marks behind.

“Your pussy fits me so well baby. Feels incredible” you praise, cupping one of her breasts and squeezing

“O bozhe(Oh god).” she manages to get out between her moans, “I’ve never been so full, feels so fucking good”

“Gonna be even more full when I cum inside you” You tell her, moaning as her walls flutter around you, “Oh you like that huh?”

She nods, “Yes, please cum inside me detka(baby)”

You start pounding into her even harder then, eager to give her what you both so desperately want. After a few more thrusts she wraps her legs around you, and you can feel by the way she tightens around you that she's close.

“That's it baby, make a mess on my cock”

She throws her head back with a moan of your name as she cums hard around you, sending you head first into your own orgasm. You moan as you paint her walls white with your seed. You continue to thrust your hips to prolong the pleasure for both of you only stopping when she's a shaking mess beneath you.

“Shh it's ok Natty I got you.” you coo, stroking her cheek, “You did so well baby. Such a good girl”

“Your good girl” she mumbles with a smile, making your chest fill with warmth

You nod and bring your forehead to rest against hers, “My good girl”

After a few more minutes you slowly pull out of her, watching a bit of you cum leak out of her as you do and she's struck by how full she still feels. She can’t even imagine how much cum you pumped inside of her for that to be the case. The thought alone has her head all fuzzy.

“Come on, let's get cleaned up in the shower really quick. Then we can go back to sleep”

She nods and allows you to help her out of bed. You help her stumble to the bathroom and can’t help but giggle at the look of bliss on her face still and she quiets you with a kiss before letting you turn the water on. You both help clean the other, each feeling a sense of pride at the marks you’ve left behind on the other and even after you're done washing you stay a while longer just basking in the other's presence.

Neither of you bother to put on another outfit after you dry off, the likelihood of them coming off in the morning is high so why bother. Instead you simply crawl into bed and under the warm covers. You open your arms for her and she immediately settles against you. She wraps her arms around you and buries her face against your neck. It's silent for a while, and for a few minutes there you think she's asleep, until she moves to look at you properly.

“You're staying, right?” The insecurity in her tone nearly breaks your heart, but before you can answer she continues, “I mean I know Steve said we’re all safer apart from each other, but that's bullshit because there's nowhere I’m safer than with you, and I…I just got you back. I just got to be with you. I’m not ready to say goodbye”

You softly kiss the small scar on her left shoulder before kissing her lips, “My Natty. So brave, so strong. You're not alone anymore, I’ve got you. And I’m not leaving your side. Not now, not ever. Not even if you told me to.”

Tears build in her eyes as she lets your words settle over her. She didn’t have to be alone, didn’t have to build walls and hide emotions just to survive. She could be fully herself with you, she could be free. She could let herself be loved, let herself be happy. It wouldn't be easy and there were sure to be hard days, but she finally felt like she could do it. As long as she had you.

Her hands cup your face, “I….I love you” Your eyes widen at her admission. Even if she ever felt the same for you, you didn’t expect her to allow herself to be vulnerable enough to say it. Especially so soon.

She bites her bottom lip and her stomach flips as she waits for your response, thankfully it's a short wait. “I love you too, Natasha. More than anything.”

Her lips crash into yours and you each poor out your emotions for the other into it. You aren’t sure how long it lasts, you were too lost in her to think of anything else, but when she pulls away she stays close enough that her nose is brushing against yours. You smile at each other before the most adorable carefree giggle leaves the redhead in your embrace.

You give her a quizzical look so she elaborates on her giddiness, “Madame B was wrong. I do have a place in this world. My place is with you.”

“Yes it is baby, yes it is”

Taglist: @wandaromamoff69 @mmmmokdok @nataliasknife @natashasilverfox @when-wolves-howl @danveration @naomi-m3ndez @sheneonromanoff @sayah13 @likefirenrain @nighttime-dreaming @just-a-torn-up-masterpiece @readings-stuff @chaoticevilbakugo @crystalstark02 @wackymcstupid @xchaiix @iaminluvwithnat @lovelyy-moonlight @blackwidow-3 @mistressofinsomnia @that-one-gay-mosquito @yomamagf @yourfavdummy @justarandomreaderxoxo @scoutlp23-blog @whoischanelle15 @lissaaaa145 @eline03 @wizardofstories @imthenatynat @marvelonmymind @fluffyblanketgecko @bitch-616 @dakotastormm @zoomdeathknight @rayeofmoonlight

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fanfic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months

Text

Dirty Work 34

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: It must be wet wednesday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson sits with one long leg crossed over the other, his back against the headboard. He holds a book in his hands, eyes narrowed at the tight font as you emerge from the bathroom. You feel a lot nicer after a shower. Calmer too when you see him.

He doesn’t look up as you come around the bed and climb up on the other side. With a long day in the car ahead of you, you’re eager to tuck in. As your bottom touches the mattress, you're reminded of the raw bruises and tender gashes. You hold back a whimper and settle in, fixing the lacy strap of the nightgown.

“You’re tired?” Mr. Laufeyson asks, though it sounds more like an accusation.

“A little,” you answer, “we’re leaving early, aren’t we?” You ask, then sit up as a rush of panic swells over you, “did I forget something? Do you need anything, Mr. Laufeyson?”

He laughs and your heart flips. You stare at him horrified. He reaches over to caress your cheek, “no, you haven’t anything to worry about, pet.”

You exhale and lay back. Your pulse slowly peters out. He trails his hand along your cheek and pets your hair. You look at the ceiling and try to relax.

“I will read to you, it will help,” he offers, “you will need your sleep.”

“Oh, thank you,” you murmur.

“Mm,” he hums before he looks back to the pages. He rescinds his hand and licks his fingertip, flipping back in the book, “let’s return to where we left off…” he clears his throat before he begins. You close your eyes and let his narration ripple over you. How is it that his voice can inspire both peace and horror?

You fall into the rhythm of his cadence. It doesn’t take long for him to lull you into sleep. You succumb to it easily, shielding yourself in your unconscious. Your dreams are fractured and nonsensical between patches of all-consuming blackness.

The morning greets you with the soft speckle of rain on the window pane. Your eyes roll open and you stare at the space between the curtains. You see a rivulet flowing down the glass against the gray cast of the early hours.

You yawn quietly into your arm and turn onto your back. You’re careful not to disturb Mr. Laufeyson as his breath ebbs and flows. You glance over at him. He’s still a mystery to you. Still that unreadable man in his stiflingly silent house.

There’s a soft ticking in the air, as if counting down to something. You peek over Mr. Laufeyson’s profile and see his watch placed on the nightstand. Carefully, you get up and circle the bed to check the time on the face. You don’t dare touch the piece.

As you stand straight, you nearly yipe at the sudden clamp around your wrist. Mr. Laufeyson grabs your arm and tugs you towards the bed. You stumble against the mattress as he yanks you again. You fall over him and he snakes his arms around you.

You lay atop him, squirming as you brace his chest. He chuckles rockily as his green eyes glimmer from beneath his long dark lashes. His hand walks down your back and gathers up the silky skirt of your nightgown. He spreads his large hand across your fiery, bruised ass.

You squeak and wiggle again.

“Good morning, pet,” he purrs and shifts his hips beneath you, “what are you doing tiptoeing around?”

“Um,” you gulp, trying to ignore the rigidness against your pelvis. You think you know what that is. The thought scalds your face. “Checking the time–”

“Ah,” he sighs and gropes your rear until you whimper, “you needn’t lie…”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I…” you search his face. He’s in a pleasant mood, you wouldn’t want to spoil it. “Sorry.”

“You may kiss me,” he declares abruptly.

You bat your lashes and hesitate. You press your lips together as you bolster yourself. You should just do as he wishes and it’s no great task, is it?”

Impatient, his hand crawls up your back and grips the back of your head. He pulls your head down and crushes his lips against yours. You squeak and let him take over, curling your fingertips against the top of his chest.

The world spins as he flips you onto your back, rolling with you as he keeps his mouth over yours. He lifts himself over you, urging between your legs as he traps you against the mattress. He rocks slightly as he devours you, his hand slipping down to your neck, stretching across it firmly.

He grinds into you as he loses himself in his hunger. Your hands trail along his shoulders and you hold on to him, trying to slow him. Your heart is in your throat, knocking behind your ears. Your skin tingles as fire flows through your veins. You’re terrified but excited.

You let your touch wander down his arms, feeling the firm muscle. He’s suffocating but intoxicating. You close your eyes and think of the shower, trying to put yourself in that scene. A blaze sears over your face as you drag your hand down and twiddle your fingers.

You slip your hand between your bodies and feel around, finding his hard bulge and squeezing. He grunts and parts suddenly, pushing himself on one elbow as he keeps his hand on your neck. He dips his head to look down at your grip on him.

“Pet, what…” He murmurs.

You quickly retract your hand in horror, “i’m sorry, I thought–”

“No, no,” he purrs and rubs his thumb behind your jaw, “it’s… it’s nice.” He lowers his hips back down and rolls them. “Do you like touching me?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. You're quivering with embarrassment and eagerness. He draws his hand from your throat and caresses along your chin. He lowers his mouth to yours once more, kissing you hungrily.

He pushes his arousal against you, rocking between your legs as hot friction builds between you. He groans into you as he drags his hand from your face and grabs your arm, pinning it by your head. He does the same to the other, lifting himself over you as you puff weakly beneath him.

He keeps his hips rolling as he watches you. You squeak between shallow breaths and turn your face away. He growls and tilts harder against your cunt. Your nightie is above your thighs and the fabric of his panties is pressed to your bare lips. You feel your own delight staining it.

“Look at me, pet,” he sneers.

You snap your head forward and obey. You almost melt as you meet his fiery gaze. He ruts harder and a heavy pressure fills you, pulsing to the point of agony. Not a bad sort of pain, the type that needs release. You arch your back, pushing your chest up as you whine.

“Is this what you want, pet?” He taunts, “you want me fuck you like this?”

You gasp at the obscenity on his lips. You hum between your pouting lips and nod. He snarls again.

“Say it,” he demands.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you babble.

“No, say it,” he repeats.

“I… I want you…” your throat clenches around the words. “I want you to… fuck me… like this.”

He snickers and picks up the pace. He looks down at his pelvis rocking into yours. You whimper and shake as you feel the coil winding tighter and tighter. You push up against him, wanting more, wanting to overflow.

He seems to go forever, groaning and grunting as he simulates his desire. He looks you in the face again and smirks, “tell me again.”

“Mr. Laufeyson–”

“Tell me to fuck you.”

Your eyes round and your lip trembles. You squirm as he keeps your arms pinned, still pounding against your cunt.

“Fuck me…” you whisper.

“I can’t hear you, pet,” he teases.

You recite it again, throat tightening as you do.

“Louder,” he commands.

“Fuck me!” You nearly shout, as close to it as you could ever get.

“Yes,” he puffs, “again,” you say it, “again,” you obey, “again…” He goes on, call and answer, until you’re breathless and he’s quaking.

He lets out a strangled snarl and spasms. His motion staggers but he pushes through. He slows, little by little, and hangs his head. He holds himself over you for just a moment longer then pushes off. He sits back on his heels and you see the sheen of your arousal on his pants.

He looks down at himself and heaves, “I should clean up…” he utters, “I might require some help.”

He backs off the bed and you shakily sit up. You flatten your legs and look down at them as they tremble. You lift yourself as Mr. Laufeyson retreats. There’s a wet spot on the sheets as well. You tamp down your humiliation as delight swells inside of you.

The video once more flashes in your mind. The droplets of water on slapping flesh. You’re wobbly as you stand and cross to the bathroom door. You peer through as you hear the shower humming and see Mr. Laufeyson step inside.

You follow and pull off the nightie. You pull back the door and slip in behind him. You look at his lined back, admiring the muscles and his build. You falter and look down at your body… does he think yours is nice too?

You shrug away the fear. He wants you, doesn’t he? He wouldn’t do all those things if he didn’t? You wouldn’t be here as he never shies away from casting out what he dislikes.

You reach to touch his back, visions of the shower scenes feeding you courage. You trace his spine and watch a shiver ripple through him. He purrs and faces you, holding out a loofah and a bottle of soap.

“Yes, you may get my back, pet,” he shoves both towards you, dismissing your lurid thoughts. “We should set off early to avoid the rush.”

You swallow and nearly choke, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson, of course,” you push the cap of the soap until it opens, turning your focus onto the task. How dumb you are.

✨

You’ve never been on a long road trip. Never spent more than an hour in the car with your father, never left the city limits even. You’re restless within the first twenty minutes, not able to focus on the book as the motion around you makes you dizzy. You squeeze the borrowed book and huddle back into the seat, fidgeting as Mr. Laufeyson cruises down the highway.

Instrumental music wafts in a low drone from the stereo but it’s not enough to entertain you. You stare at the dashboard, the sight of the road makes you queasy. You cross your leg over the other and shift, trying to get comfortable.

“Well, pet, we have some hours ahead of us so you better still yourself,” he reprimands.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I’m trying.”

“Mm, well, try harder,” he sighs.

You make yourself stop moving and clutch the book tight. You keep your eyes on the interior, admiring the smooth finish and all the little knobs along the stereo. You could play one of the games you made up for yourself. You take a word and parse it out into smaller words.

“...an idea,” Mr. Laufeyson’s words break past your trance.

You glance over at him, hoping he doesn’t realise you didn’t hear him.

“An idea?” You repeat back to him.

“Yes, to keep you from all that squirming,” he reaches over to squeeze your knee. Your leg was jittering and you didn’t even realise.

“What is it?” You ask.

He grins and snickers as he pulls his hand back. As he does, he pushes up the armrest of your seat, then that on his own. You watch him curiously as he keeps his other hand firmly on the wheel. He beckons you nearer with a flick of two fingers.

“Mr. Laufeyson, “I don’t…”

“We can have some more fun,” he suggests as he rests his hand on the corner of your seat, arm extended between them. “You could… use your mouth again.”

Your eyes round in shock. You peer over the dashboard and immediately regret it. It makes your stomach swirl. You gulp down and look back at Mr. Laufeyson.

“Are you sure?”

“Let me worry about the road,” he dismisses, “come on, pet, you won’t be so bored.”

You restrain a frown and rub your hands together. It isn’t a request, you know that much. His delivery might be gentle but no is not an answer.

You push the seat belt behind you and twist in the seat to reach across as he sits up straight. You pluck open the top of his pants, hands clumsily brushing the fabric as you see him twitching. You push down his zipper, his tip throbbing and unrestrained beneath. You pull him out through the vee as he wiggles in the seat to slacken his pants.

You shudder and grip him firmly. You pump him up then down. He tenses and breathes out through his nose hotly. You do it again and he shivers. His reaction sets you alight. That thrill courses through you, the one where you feel powerful.

You take a breath and think of the shower scene and how the woman did it. She was so reckless and carefree. The way she did it, she seemed to enjoy it. You just have to pretend that you're her… maybe you’ll end up liking it.

You bend further over the space between the seats and bow your head. You pout just above his tip before pressing your lips to it. You flick your tongue against him and he growls. You slide your hand down and follow it with your mouth. You start slow, mimicking the woman as you pull back off of him and swipe along his length with your tongue.

Mr. Laufeyson rumbles and rests his hand between your shoulder blades, a wisp escaping him, “pet…”

You keep going, hiding behind your eyelids as you drift into the fantasy. This isn’t what it is. This is more than a task. In your head, you can make this man want you and you can make yourself want him.

You push your thighs together and moan around him. You do want him. You feel how badly you do. Your core thrums with desperation.

It doesn’t matter what he wants, you will do it. You want to be good for him and for him to tell you how good you are. You want him more than anything. You want this, you do. Don’t you? You must. You have to want this if you’re going to convince him to keep you.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dirty work #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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ilykaveh · 1 year

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ꨄ︎ . ⋆ TWO FOR THE SHOW !

kamisato ayato.

ABOUT: your tennis instructor is the last person that you expected would offer you a shoulder to cry on after your recent breakup; little do you know he has his own ulterior motives.

CONTENT: sub fem reader, pervy ayato, taking photos without consent, male masturbation, outdoors/semi public, clothed sex, fingering, creampie.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

in hindsight, you should have known that, when picking a sport, tennis was the go-to for posh rich boys that’ve never actually worked a day in their lives.

your first response was to roll your eyes when you were introduced to ayato kamisato, who would be your tennis instructor for the four weeks that you’d already paid for. well, there was no turning back now.

you did your best to be cordial, reasoning that you would only have to see the man thrice a week. yet even so, ayato proved more insufferable than you could have imagined. that belittling smirk that he wore drove you insane, smugness consuming him every single time that he beat you in an one on one match. his touch when he taught you how to best manoeuvre your racket was gentle and airy, always being sure to emphasise how his hands were noticeably larger than your own. ayato wondered how your smaller hands would fare around his throbbing cock, but he wouldn’t dare scare you off just yet.

the man was sneaky with his advances. he’d stare a little bit too long at the way your tennis skirt cupped your ass, or the way that your breasts jutted forwards whenever you reached up to tie back your hair before a game. he considered sneaking away to the storage closet with you, bending you over any surface available and flipping up that tight, white skirt before tearing away your panties and stuffing your pretty cunt full of his length. the only way that he had managed to suppress such thoughts were snapping creep shots of you. he would keep his expensive phone on him whenever you were booked for a session, working hard to take images of your body that you would never notice.

ayato’s typical m.o. was to snap a couple as you stretched, photographing the way your tits strained against the fabric of your polo shirt and the way that your thighs looked in the sunlight, pressing against one another. one session, you’d made the decision to not wear a bra due to the heat, and ayato had a field day collecting shots of your stiff nipples. occasionally, when he was feeling brave, your instructor would take the risk and work to get a picture of your panties. whilst he distracted you with flowery words, explaining some new technique that he wanted you to try, he used his other hand to slip his phone camera under the fabric of your skirt.

the other staff at the country club were impressed by your progress, believing that you were a good enough player to tire out the great ayato kamisato. this was because after each session, ayato would take his ten minute break. but little did they know, instead of rehydrating and perhaps grabbing a quick snack, the man snuck away to the employee bathroom with his phone, reviewing the material that he’d accumulated from the day and subsequently fucking his fist at the thought of you.

it never once occurred to him that this was creepy. from ayato’s perspective, he’d been handed everything in his life that he’d ever wanted - and to him you were no different. eventually you would see what a great guy he was and fall head over heels, and then, finally then, he would get himself a taste of your sweet cunt.

it happened exponentially faster than he could have imagined. you’d come to your regular tuesday session initially looking all prim and proper as per usually, but he could tell something was off. your hair was slightly messier, your makeup less put together than normal. there were creases in your polo, indicating that you hadn’t ironed it. your eyes were puffy, and marginally bloodshot - had you been crying?

“is everything okay?” he inquired after your regular affable greetings, ensuring the pair of you were out of earshot of other attendees. ayato wanted to give you an opportunity to open up to him, if you so desired.

“i’m fine,” you replied, voice meek and sounding on the verge of breaking. he shot you a quizzical look, though laced with what you perceived to be genuine concern. sure, ayato believed that he was only interested in getting in your pants, but in that moment something clicked and he realised that he truly despised seeing anything other than your regular, joyous self.

as he took a moment to weigh up whether or not he wanted to push the issue further, the dam broke. tears began to trail down your pretty cheeks, glittering as they reflected the midweek sunshine. ayato instinctively pulled you into his chest, allowing you to weep in his arms whilst he guided you towards a secluded bench. nobody else was in sight, nor did others come out here. (he’d discovered that after the employee bathroom was occupied the tuesday prior.)

ayato hushed you as you sobbed into his toned pectorals, tears wetting his white shirt. his voice was barely above a whisper when he queried “what happened?”, lithe fingers rhythmically tracing up and down your spine.

“‘s stupid,” you mumbled, untucking the hem of shirt and using it to wipe away your tears.

“if it’s truly stupid, you wouldn’t be so upset, darling.”

the use of something as simple as a pet name had tears rolling down your face once again as you began to divulge how your boyfriend had broken up with you. . . over text.

sure, ayato wasn’t the best with feelings. but there was something about you, something special. he talked it through with you, even suggesting that you both spend the remainder of your allotted time here as opposed to on the courts. if you really wanted to release some anger, he would take you over to the cages with the machines that periodically shot tennis balls to you - if you needed to release some rage, that is.

you agreed to his proposal, allowing yourself time to vent and to process your feelings. you apologised to ayato for having ruined his crisp white shirt, to which he shrugged off and offered you a tissue to wipe away the remainder of your tears. the more that the pair of you chatted, the more that you realised that you had a considerable amount in common.

“i’m sorry, darling. you’ll meet somebody better soon enough.” ayato consoled.

you took a deep breath, composing yourself before asking, “what if i’ve already met him?”

when ayato looked at you, he could have sworn that your eyes were quite literally sparkling. he could tell what you were implying. so many thoughts rushed through his head, wondering what the best move to make was. he settled on cupping your face in his hand, slowly moving his lips towards your own as he offered you ample opportunity to pull away if you so desired.

his lips were soft, and yours tasted faintly of cherry lip gloss. it didn’t take too long for the kiss to become more heated, with ayato unable to control his urges and your impaired judgement. you straddled his lap as one of his hands held the back of your head, deepening the kiss, and the other caressed your back.

ayato started to nibble on your bottom lip, eliciting a faint moan from you. this allowed him to slip his tongue into your mouth, the sudden intrusion resulting in you subconsciously grinding against ayato’s clothed bulge. he wore white trousers and you were already dripping through your panties - a disastrous combination. your slick began coating ayato’s clothes, creating a small wet patch that neither of you could care less about.

his hands slipped under your shirt, seeking out the lacey material of your bra before tugging at it, and allowing your tits to spill over the material. ayato wanted to make a teasing comment about the size of his hands, however you were keeping his mouth too preoccupied with your own. he switched between groping at each mound and tweaking your hardened nipples, experimenting to see what would make you moan louder for him.

“fuck,” he cursed under his breath as you pulled away for air.

“‘yato?” you muttered, “i want your cock,”

those were the four magic words that he’s been wanting to hear. without wasting a single beat, he removed his palms from your chest, smirking as you whined at the loss of contact, and reached under your skirt. he moved your panties to the side, stroking your drooling slit as he spread your folds wider. you resorted to burning your head deep against the crook of ayato’s neck to muffle your sweet moans.

his thumb found your swollen clit with ease, running laps around the bud until you pretty much shook under his touch. he then slid his middle finger, already coated in your juices, towards your entrance, pushing the digit past the taut muscle. slowly but surely, he worked you open, preparing your cunt for the stretch that would inevitably ensure.

as ayato began to feel your pussy contracting around him, signalling that you were close to the edge, he pulled back. you were once again left whimpering at the loss of contact. he placed his wet fingers into his mouth, lewdly licking up all of the juices that you’d coated his hand with. the man was waiting for you to beg for his cock, but instead you took your own initiative and reached into his waistband, locating his stiff cock and pulling it out. you pumped his shaft few times for good measure, though before you could align him with your hole ayato took control back, moving your hands to rest on shoulders. he pulled your panties aside once again, running the thick head of his cock through your folds.

your back arched as ayato pushed himself into your warm cunt, resting a hand on your hips and encouraging you to lower yourself onto him. despite the preparations, he was a struggle to take. you could feel him throb inside of you, that sweet, hazy feeling settling in. he waited for you to take him at your own pace, waiting until you were well adjusted to his length before he began thrusting his hips upwards to meet your own.

your nails dug decorative crescents into ayato’s shoulders as your pulsating cunt already had the man feeling his orgasm building. his cock nudged against your deepest spots once he was fully sheathed inside of your pussy, leaving you melting into his every touch.

babbles of his name were the only coherent thing you could utter as you struggled to keep your voice down, remembering that you are quite literally outside. ayato's pace grew in severity, eyes rolling to the back of your head in euphoria. you did your very best to keep up with him, yet his athletic tendencies weighed to his advantage as he drilled into your sloppy cunt. his cockhead hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending you reeling ever more than before.

"aya- 'mna cum!" you yelped, words feeling blurry as you spoke them.

instead of verbally imploring you to do as such, ayato slid a hand back under your skirt and began fiddling with your sensitive clit. tears began brimming your lashes once again, yet this time they were cries of pleasure. your needy pussy squeezed ayato, clenching around the man's cock in a vice grip. the low groans that he struggled to hold back were music to your ears, pushing you closer to your high until you finally snapped under his touch.

ayato continued to rub your bundle of nerves as you rode out your high, wishing to keep himself buried between your legs for as long as he could. the euphoric look on your face combined with how angelic your pussy felt prompted his synchronous orgasm, spurting ropes of thick, warm cum deep into your cunt.

the pair of you sit like that for a second, with his cock still plugging his seed inside of you, recovering from your respective orgasms.

you could have sworn you heard ayato mutter something under his breath, but you were too consumed by your own thoughts to dwell on it.

"better than i imagined."

#delilah.docs #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato smut #ayato x reader #kamisato ayato smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin drabbles

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nanaminis · 1 month

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tldr: suguru as a child/early teenager and his journey as a sorcerer after he meets you, his new neighbor.

cw: mentions of vomiting, not in-depth. not edited, not beta-read, rushed, and possibly ooc suguru. gender neutral and sorcerer!reader.

a/n: sigh... i’m so tired. probably when i wake up i’ll actually edit it, but i just needed to get something out, so maybe consider this a lil teaser...? i might make a second part expanding on how he ends up going to jjt n then whenever he defects, but im absolutely exhausted rn. exams have been kicking my ass </3 + im going to a festival so this might not be edited for a lil while longer. sorry yall!

a part of me thinks suguru would live in some small, unknown little town. the people are closed-minded, content with the life they’ve built for themselves, and they don’t want it to change. if you’re born there, it’s hard to get out, especially with such few opportunities. it’s a town meant to keep aspiring little doves caged within its walls.

so imagine some six, maybe seven year-old boy going around saying he sees monsters sometimes. of course, the first conclusion any adult would reach is that the poor thing is having nightmares. he’ll grow out of it — all of them do.

but suguru doesn’t.

he’s afraid to sleep at night, and despite his parents’ pleas for him to sleep in their bed, he says that he can’t. “what if you get hurt too?”

they end up having to sneak melatonin in his dinner to get him to sleep at night.

when he turns eleven, he gets a grasp on his technique. he has to eat the monsters, consume them so that they don’t go out and hurt anyone else. that’s easy enough, right?

for the first few weeks, he vomits. they taste disgusting, like dried, crusty rags used to clean up puke and shit. but he has to do it, he has to! otherwise, who’s going to keep his innocent parents safe?

so he keeps going. exorcise, consume, puke. exorcise, consume, puke. exorcise, consume, puke.

exorcise and consume.

then, at age twelve, you come along.

you’re like the sun peeking through the dark clouds after days full of rain and thunder. a breath of fresh air, a sugary treat to balance out the saltiness of this shitty town.

you move into the once abandoned house right beside his, a radiant smile on your face and eyes twinkling with determination.

beautiful, perfect, normal.

the two of you click almost instantly, although suguru’s a little reluctant at first — what if you think he’s weird? his parents and teachers say he’s a bit troubled, nosy neighbors joke that he’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and bored grandmas claim he’s been touched by the devil. despite their rumors, despite suguru’s reputation, despite the fact you two are polar opposites, you don’t avoid him. in fact, it’s like those things just entice you even more.

“suguru.”

the fear in your voice catches him off-guard, and he stops walking. your hand grips the hem of his jacket, and your finger slowly raises to point towards the corner.

“what is that?”

it’s a crude thing. skin a dingy shade of purple, stubby limbs twisted and contorted into impossible angles, and jagged yellow teeth that poke past its thin, cracked lips.

that’s when he realizes it: you can see them too.

he’s not alone. finally, fucking finally, suguru geto is not alone.

by thirteen, you and suguru are attached at the hip. there’s not a day where the two of you don’t see each other, even when you get grounded for accidentally breaking a bathroom stall trying to exorcise a curse.

they’re so ungrateful.

he’s tainted your image. you were once normal, the cute neighbor nextdoor, but now you’re best friends with suguru, the pretty boy with the strange bangs and broken mind.

you don’t care though, and he loves that you never have.

nothing can separate you. you go to school together, take the same classes (thanks to suguru modifying his schedule), walk home together, exorcise curses together.

you’re all he needs, and he’s all you need. you’re the only ones who understand each other on a fundamental level, who know each other inside and out, down to the very last atom in your bodies.

with you, he’s sure that he can snap the chain and leave this place, to soar so high in the sky that there’s nothing and no one left but you and him.

you hand suguru his slushie, and he takes a long sip, letting the sugar-filled drink wash away the lingering taste of today’s curse.

“sometimes, i think we’re kinda like batman and superman.”

suguru can’t help but scoff. “us? you think we’re superheroes?” how unsurprisingly childish of you.

you nod, snapping your kit-kat bar in half and taking a bite out of it. “yeah, dude! we fight alien bad guys with our superpowers. pretty cool, right?”

he leans back, legs spread and an arm resting on the back of the bench. “sure, but they always get rewarded for saving the day. what do we get?” he doesn’t wait for your answer. “nothing.”

a small frown flits across your typically cheerful features, and suguru wishes he could shove his words back into his mouth and down his throat.

“mm... i think we get stuff. we get to see our parents safe, and even if no one else here really likes us, they’re safe thanks to us, too.” the toe of your shoe traces shapes into the pavement. “we’re the only ones that can do this, suguru. it’s our duty.”

right. duty.

suguru hums, but you can’t tell whether it’s in agreement or not. you decide that it doesn’t matter, that he’s just thinking like always.

“wish i was rich, though," you joke and pop the rest of your little kit-kat stick into your mouth.

after a moment, he shakes his head and takes a sip of his bright purple drink. “me too.”

#jjk #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #geto suguru #suguru geto #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #🪵 – writing

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