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daisyful-gvf · 1 year

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roommates // by daisyful

18+

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pairings: jake x reader

word count: 5k

tags: sex toys, roommates!au, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, pwp basically, pet names because i can’t help myself, dirty talking

notes: i never thought i’d write this many fics with a vibrator involved, but here we are lmao. This happened bc of this post . minimally edited.

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“You’re fucking kidding me”

Of course, today of all days, the batteries would die. You huff out a few more curses and remove the lifeless vibrator from between your legs, throwing it on the bed beside you.

For a moment you lay there and frown, wondering if this is a sign you should just go to bed. Today had tested you far too frequently, and you couldn’t deal with much more. The thought of trying to get off any other way after you’d been so close with the toy seemed not worth the hassle.

Then, your brain throws you a hail mary: there’s batteries in the kitchen drawer. Perfect.

You tug on a pair of cotton underwear and smooth out your oversized t-shirt. It settles at the tops of your thighs, and you figure that’s decent enough for a run to the kitchen at 2:00 in the morning.

Your body carries you to the kitchen through the darkness, only broken by the light of the TV your roommate must have left on.

It causes you to roll your eyes—an old western is playing. You never had the pallet for them, even in an ironic sense. But Jake—your roommate of about a year now—loved them, for some reasons he had droned on about before when you expressed your disinterest.

You go straight for the drawer by the fridge, full of scissors and charging cords and pennies and mail, fishing around for the AA batteries.

“Whatcha need?”

“Fuck!” Your chest pounds as you clutch dramatically at your shirt, whirling around to see the source of the voice.

Jake blinks at you, eyebrows raised in amusement. He lays on the couch, in his plaid pajama pants and t shirt, feet covered by a throw blanket.

“You up to something sneaky? Why so jumpy?” He grins.

“Fuck off,” you roll your eyes, “It’s dark, I didn’t see you,” you grumble.

“Jesus,” he laughs, “Bad day?”

You just nod, rummaging again through the drawer for the batteries.

“You need help?” He asks, his voice getting closer as he walks into the kitchen.

“Where are our batteries?” You murmur, closing that drawer and trying the next.

He ‘hmm’s for a second, and then answers, “Why the hell do you need batteries at 2am? You building something?”

“Yes, a robot,” you deadpan, “Mind your business. Do you know where they are?”

“Damn, what’s wrong?” you can hear the smile in his voice and you finally look up at him, growing impatient.

“Do you know where they are or not?”

He looks you over, seemingly trying to understand the situation, and then, you realize that you’re in only your shirt and underwear. You can see him swallow and avert his eyes to the cabinet as he seems to realize the same.

“I think so,” he says softly, “Hang on.”

He fetches a shoe box from the hallway closet and brings it back to the kitchen, plopping it on the counter. There’s various tools and nails and command hooks, and then, alas, he pulls out a small container of AA batteries. Gently, he puts them in your hand.

“There,” he says softly, “You good?”

You nod and mutter a soft thank you before making a quick escape, looking forward to no longer being in front of him in your underwear.

You know it’s no big deal, and that you two have gotten comfortable. But there’s this tension, sometimes. Mostly like this, at night, sometimes intoxicated. Where the stares between you two linger a bit too long, and your mind begins to wonder. You always push it down, because it’s not a good idea, and you know that. And when the light of day comes around, you’re always relieved that things feel normal again.

So that’s what you do; push it aside. Back to the matter at hand: you latch your bedroom door behind you and head straight for the vibrator, popping it’s plastic plate off and fishing out the old batteries. And then you realize. They’re the wrong size.

You take a shaking breath, irritated and tired. Without thinking, you throw it back on the bed and walk back out into the living room, where Jake has cozied up on the couch.

“Do we have triple A?” You ask flatly.

“Hmm?” He looks up at you. His eyes land on your bare thighs again, then flick back up quickly to your gaze.

“Triple A? Batteries?”

“Honey, what is this for?” He mumbles, getting off the couch again to help.

“It’s nothing,” you huff out, beginning to go through the shoebox again.

“Gotta tell me if you want help,” he smirks. You look up and he’s got a cocky hand on his hip, standing a couple of feet away. His hair is messy in the dim blue light, and he looks amused with himself.

No longer in possession of any patience to make up a story or fight off his questioning, you answer.

“My vibrator.”

His lips part in gentle shock, and the cocky expression leaves his face at once.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “You just had to know, huh?”

You laugh, because he looks so shy and unlike himself all the sudden. Possibly delirious from the late hour, he laughs too.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. You can see him blushing even in the low light.

“It’s fine,” you rush out, “I’ve just had a bad day, I’m just—” you give up looking through the box, rubbing a hand over your face, “I’m just frustrated. And I just needed—nevermind,” you shake your head, “It’s dead, I just need the batteries.”

He nods and pulls the shoebox closer to him on the counter, picking through the nails and thumbtacks and tape.

“Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Honey,” he says quietly, “But I don’t think we have any.”

“It’s fine,” you sigh, “I’m gonna go to bed,” you pad a few steps away from him, “Goodnight. This didn’t happen,” you point a finger at him.

He salutes you and grins, headed back to the couch. Shoving your embarrassment down, you head to your room again and prepare for sleep. You can’t be bothered to mess with it again.

You’re just picking up the vibrator and putting the back piece back on when there’s a soft knock at the door.

Tucking the toy behind your back, you crack it open to reveal none other than Jake.

“Um,” he holds up the TV remote, “This has triple A batteries,” he says softly.

You look between the remote and him, a furious blush making its way across your face that he would care so much as to come tell you.

“Oh,” you say, eloquence evading you.

He passes it towards you and you open the door further, taking it from him in your open hand. You other stays tucked behind your back, hiding the toy in a way that feels very scandalous.

“Don’t you need this?” You ask, “You’re watching TV.”

He shrugs, “Not as bad as you do, apparently,” he grins and you can’t help but chuckle. “No, but, seriously, I’m probably gonna go to bed.”

You nod slowly, “Okay. Um,” you swallow. You should feel more nervous than you do. More embarrassed. There’s a bit of it, sure, but not much. It feels oddly comfortable. “Thank you.” You murmur.

He nods, and then licks his lip. You stare, because it seems to be almost in slow motion, and his bottom lip is left glossy. Here it is again: the tension. So easy to form in the late hours of the night.

“Mmhm,” he acknowledges your gratitude and he takes a breath, like he’s about to speak, but then his lips shut. He does it again, like he’s working up to saying it.

“Do you wanna make sure they work?” He asks, “Cause I can—if not, I can check my room, or something, um,” his hand grips the doorway and his fingers fidget with the wood. He’s doing a terrible job of acting casual about it, but you find it endearing.

“Sure,” you murmur, “Um,” you fumble with the toy behind your back, “Here, hang on.”

You turn around, just enough that he might not be able to plainly see it in your hand as you mess with it. But you can’t pop open the remote and the toy with both things in your hand, you realize quickly.

“Here,” he says gently, pushing your door open and touching you on the shoulder. He comes around to your side and takes the remote from your hand.

You watch him as he does, and while he looks a little bashful, you appreciate him not acknowledging what’s in your other hand.

With daft fingers, he removes the batteries from the remote as you take them out of the vibrator. You toss the old ones on your bed, and let him place the new ones in your palm. When you click them into place, the toy immediately buzzes to life.

“Oh—shit—“ you breathe, fumbling quickly to turn off the toy. You look at him in a panic, and mutter a soft, “Sorry. Thank you.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything. He’s got an odd expression, and you think twice before asking, but then you can’t help it.

“What?” you ask.

“Uh,” he chuckles, “I don’t—um,” he runs his hand through his hair and looks back and forth between you and the vibrator, “Nothing.”

He doesn’t move, though. Doesn’t walk to the door, even a little bit.

“Jake,” you sigh, “What is it?”

“I just—“ he starts, and then he nibbles on his bottom lip again, “I probably…shouldn’t…”

You raise your brows at him, wondering what the hell he’s talking about.

“I just—“ he clears his throat, “If—if you had a hard day and you need…I mean, if you need to get off and—and if you just need, y’know, if you don’t wanna have to do a lot of work, I mean, if you’ve had a hard day—“

“Jake,” you giggle at his nonsense, “What?”

He collects himself with a breath, “I can help,” he says finally, “If you’d want that.”

“Help?” Your mouth goes dry at the thought that he’s saying what you think he is.

He nods, “Help. Just this once. Forget about it tomorrow, act like it never happened, all that good stuff, y’know.”

You know you’re standing there with a ridiculous expression on your face, but you can’t help it. You’re stunned.

“Oh,” you finally manage.

He just looks at you, perhaps scared to say anything else.

“You can say no,” he gives you the out, “Or you can say yes. It’s up to you.”

You note how quickly your thighs clench together at the thought, and how your cheeks heat. It’s undeniable that the offer sounds nice. Your day did suck, it would be nice to not have to think about it, just have someone else do the work. Especially someone as attractive as him, who you feel safe with, who you know would take care of you.

“Hm, Honey?” He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “I don’t even have to touch you, I can just use the toy, but maybe—“

“Sure,” you surprise yourself with the answer.

“Yeah?” He trails the back of his knuckles over your jaw, “Sound nice?”

A shaky breath leaves you as his fingers graze softly.

“Okay,” he murmurs, “And really,” he licks his lips, “We’ll forget all about it tomorrow. S’just a favor.”

“Okay,” you agree.

“Wanna lay down?” His voice is lower, gentle still, but almost gravelly.

You nod and sit near the top of your bed, watching him intently as he pushes the remote aside and touches your ankle softly. There’s nothing but the soft whir of the fan for a moment as he looks up at you. Suddenly, he looks so much like himself. So familiar. It puts you at ease, and he must see it.

He traces his palm up from your ankle to the inside of your thigh, where he touches softly.

“That okay?” He murmurs. When you nod, he settles more, laying on his stomach between your ankles.

His palms are large and warm over your thighs, where they work to help you relax through broad sweeps over your skin. The only light is from the salt lamp on your dresser, so he glows soft orange.

You can feel the tension unwind as he sweeps his palm again and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee.

“Can I have that?” he smiles as he nods toward your hand, still clutched around the vibrator.

Quietly, you pass the slender silicone wand to him. He takes it in his large hand and flips it, the side with the button in his palm. He skims it down the inside of your thigh, warming you up to the touch. It steals your breath.

“Relax,” he soothes, kissing your thigh again, “Just me.”

You nod, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

“Help slide these off for me?” He nudges the hem of your shirt up on your hip and tugs at one side of your underwear.

Doing as he asks, you slip fingers under the other side and with him, you drag them down and off your ankles.

He tosses them to the floor and comes back to you, skirting the toy up your thigh again, closer and closer. He’s looking up at you for a moment, and you hold the eye contact and your breath, but then finally he spares a glance to your center.

His breath shudders from him and his eyes close momentarily. When they open, for the first time you see him turned on. You can’t pinpoint what it is in his demeanor, but it’s undeniable. It lights a fire in your belly so quickly you wonder why you didn’t do this ages ago.

“Honey…” he sighs, then a groan sounds from the back of his throat, “I don’t wanna keep you waiting, is that okay? Or you wanna go slow?”

“No,” you answer quickly, “Don’t have to go slow.”

He nods and hits the button on the toy, sending it buzzing to life. You can just barely hear the sharp intake of breath from him.

A bit too slow, even, for your liking, he drags the toy up your thigh again, before finally letting the it rest over your clit. You try not to cry out, instead biting down on your lip hard, and pushing your hips up into the touch.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says calmly, “You don’t need to be quiet. Helps me know better what to do if you’re not quiet.”

“Oka—” it’s cut off with a groan as he nestles it more firmly against you.

“Feel good?” He asks, voice still low. You nod frantically, “You can—“ you sigh, a bit scared to say it. Too turned on to think much more, you just do, “You can touch me, if you want.”

He looks up at you quickly, and oh, his eyelids are heavy with lust.

“Yeah?” he says, as if he’s not sure he’s heard you right.

“Mmhm,” you nod, “Please.”

“Fuck,” it rushes out of him, “Yeah, Honey.”

He moves the vibrator aside for a moment, letting it rest just to the side of you. He removes the hand that was holding your thigh and licks the pad of his thumb before he brings it to you, greeting your clit with slow circles. The touch burns a trail through your body, immediately heating your face and chest.

“Jake,” the way you say his name is nearing pathetic.

“Yeah?” He sounds almost in pain, his voice is tight.

“More,” you shudder.

“How—Jesus Christ“ he clears his throat, “Do you wanna tell me how you like it, or you just want me to—“

“Just—,” you feel frantic, like your skin is too hot, and you don’t know what you need. You reach for him, and your hand lands in the crown of his hair, “Please, something—I—”

“Okay,” he soothes, “Okay.”

Slowly still, he moves the toy down and eases against the slick of your entrance, and when you push your hips into it, he takes it as permission to ease it into you.

“Fuck,” you bite out.

“Good?” he checks in, kissing your leg.

“Yeah,” you gasp.

“Good,” he murmurs, and then he’s settling down, pressing kisses further and further along your inner thigh, until finally, he meets your clit in a gentle kiss.

“Jake,” you groan, loud, “Ohmygod.”

He hums against you, and then before you can even catch your breath, he licks a full stripe, stealing whatever sanity you could have possibly had left.

“Don’t stop,” you know you’re whining but you can’t help it, not even a bit. He licks and sucks slowly, letting the buzz from the toy and the warmth from his mouth carry you to your end. Your hand stays buried in his hair at the roots, where you try not to squeeze it too hard.

It’s almost humorous, that earlier you were trying so desperately to get off, and now that it's a hair’s width away, you wish you weren’t so close. You don’t want the sweet warmth of his tongue to leave. Sadly, you don’t have a choice.

“Gonna cum,” you warn him, so he can back off if he wants, but he just groans into you, and keeps his motions steady.

You can’t breathe when it hits you, nor can you help the way your thighs tense around him. You’re pretty sure you almost pass out for a moment, as your vision goes all white when your eyes roll back. After it passes, and you can take a deep gasp of air again, he’s coming up for air.

“Fuck me,” he groans, “Fuck.”

You blink a few times so you can finally see him in the dim light again. He slides the vibrator from you and clicks it off, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Almost like he can’t help it, he gets up on his knees and grips the length of himself through the pajamas, his eyes rolling back and his lips falling open.

His eyes snap open to meet yours, and his hand falls away.

“Sorry,” he sighs quickly, “Sorry, I—“ he shakes his head, at a loss.

“It’s okay,” your chest heaves as you recover still from the orgasm.

You try to read him, to know where to go with this. Do you thank him? Do you offer to return the favor? That wasn’t part of this, though, maybe—

“Can I do it again?”

Your eyes meet his in some fiery standoff.

“What?”

He licks his lips, “Can I make you cum again?”

When you’re still silent for a moment, he adds, “Please?”

The groan that comes from you is much too loud and enthusiastic, and before you know it you’re reaching for him.

“Come here,” you plead, and he obliges, slotting with you and hovering over you, meeting you in a warm kiss.

“Fuck,” he says against your mouth, “I promise we can still forget about this tomorrow, if you want—“

“Shut up,” you smile, kissing him harder. He groans back and snakes a hand between your legs, where suddenly he’s nudging two fingers against you.

“Is—“

“Yes,” You answer before he can ask.

You gasp when they sink in, warm and full, so much better than the stupid vibrator.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says against your cheek, as he’s nipping and licking a trail down your face, “I would—“ he swallows, you can hear it close to your ear, “I would fucking love to be inside you.”

“Oh my god,” it rushes out of you without thought, “Please.”

He groans, but pulls back.

“Are you sure—“

“Yes, Jake,”

“No, Honey, listen to me,” he holds your jaw in his hand, “We can still just pretend this didn’t happen tomorrow if you want, but please think about it for a second. I’m alright with it. Are you?”

You take a deep breath, and yeah, even when you think about it, even when it’s him, you want it. And you know he’d never hold it against you.

“Yeah,” you nod, “Yes.”

His lips curl into a wide grin, and then he’s back against your mouth, matching your fervor with his warm tongue. His fingers work still inside you, curling perfectly over and over.

You want him so badly all at once you can barely stand it, and without a second thought, it comes out of you:

“Can I ride you?”

His fingers halt and he groans so loud you almost wonder if he’s hurt, his head falls to your shoulder. Quickly, he collects himself, pulling his head up to look at you. He’s disheveled, and it’s hot. His hair is everywhere, his lips are swollen.

“As hot as that is, no, babe, this is still about you. Don’t want you to have to do any of the work.”

You’re trying to respond, but the way he said babe rings around in your head deafeningly loud.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he kisses your cheek, “I promise.”

Numb from the pleasure, you nod as he withdraws his fingers. He smiles as he slips off the bed and tugs his shirt over his head. You follow his form, tugging your shirt over yours. His eyes slow for a moment over your chest, and you both take each other in.

You’ve seen him shirtless, as he cooks breakfast, or when he comes home from a jog. You know he has soft sides, a defined chest, and wonderfully strong shoulders. It still makes you speechless.

Even more, when he tugs the string of his pajama pants loose and eases them gently down his hips, letting them fall to the floor, you can’t find words. The curve from his hips to his waist makes your mouth open in an intrigued shock. And god, the thick length of himself that he takes quickly into his hand is enough to stun you forever. You’re shocked you can find words to answer him when he asks,

“You want this?”

It’s low and sultry as he palms himself. His head is cocked just to the side, making dazed eye contact with you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I—can I touch you?”

He bites on his bottom lip and nods, stepping closer to the side of the bed so that he’s within reach. Timidly, you reach up to take him into your hand. His hand moves, allowing it, and as your fingers wrap around him, your thighs clench. He releases a slow, shaky breath when you stroke him.

He’s warm, and thicker than at first glance. You can’t resist a peek up at his face as you move your hand slowly over him. His eyes are locked onto your hand, his lips parted in a sigh.

“Feels nice,” he thrusts experimentally into your grip, and his eyes roll back, “Your hand is so soft.”

You can’t help but giggle at that, and his eyes flit to your face. He chuckles too, pushing into your hand again.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “You ready?”

Nodding quickly, you greet him on the bed by sliding your legs back open, letting him kneel between them.

“Slide down a bit, babe,” he says quietly, touching your hip with delicate fingers.

You lay flat on the bed, letting him lean over you and prop himself up with his forearm by your head.

“Hi,” he grins.

“Hey there,” you giggle.

“Gonna kiss you again,” he murmurs as he leans in, his plush lips meeting yours in a lovely embrace. As you’re busy licking at his tongue, he rolls his hips against you, and you’re gasping at the warmth of him sliding against your clit.

“Shit,” he gasps into your mouth, “You’re gonna soak me, Honey. You always this wet, or am I doing that good a job?”

“I refuse to inflate your ego even more this evening,” you smile into the kiss.

“Understandable,” he’s smiling too, “I hope you can tell by how fucking hard I am that you’re doing something to me, too,” he grinds fully into you again and you’re whimpering as he licks at your lower lip.

“Jake,” you whine.

“Tell me, Honey, what is it?”

“Just fuck me, please.”

“Mmm,” he hums as his lips press to your cheek, “Gonna fuck you until you can’t remember the bad day you had, or anything else.”

If you say anything coherent, you can’t recall. It’s mostly a desperate groan, begging without words.

He reaches down and eases himself in, and you force your eyes open to watch his expression as he does. His mouth gapes, his eyes roll back. You wish you could watch it a million times.

And god, he’s warm as he stretches you, as his hips roll flush to you. He’s just big enough that it approaches a mild sting, but it’s welcomed. He props his other forearm on the other side of your head, and his hair falls around you, blanketing you in his body heat.

Just when you’re sure his hips are flush to you, he rolls them hard, sending your eyes back into your head.

“You like that, hm?” He shudders, “You feel so damn good.”

You just nod, struggling to keep your eyes open to look at him.

“Baby,” he says, sugar sweet, “Just take it, Honey, you don’t have to do anything else.”

He pulls his hips back and then rolls back into you, and suddenly that sneaking warmth is building in you again.

With his nose, he nuzzles your head to the side. As he begins to work at a slow, deep pace, he sucks gently on your pulse point. Your head is all blurry stars, your eyes rolling back far too often to see anything, and all you can smell is his shampoo and sweat.

You’re not sure if you’re making noise; you don’t think so, it feels like you can barely breathe. But then, Jake says,

“I know, babe, I know, let go.”

And you’re guessing you’ve said something to clue him into the fact that you’re on the precipice of a second orgasm.

With a sturdy roll of his hips, you’re scratching at the soft skin of his sides and drawing a whimper from as you clench around him like a vice, slamming into a somehow even more visceral orgasm than the first.

As it washes over you, you can hear yourself saying his name like a mantra.

“So good,” he’s still fucking slowly into you.

“Don’t fucking stop,” you whine, “Please, Jake, don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop,” he kisses your cheek, “Gonna give it to you til you’re a cock-drunk mess, Honey, don’t worry.”

You shudder off a string of curses at his vulgar response, and you draw him even closer, one hand on his side, and the other wrapping into his hair. He resumes sucking on the side of your neck, something that makes your stomach flutter. He bottoms out over and over at a wonderous pace, somehow each thrust just as good as the last.

“You like this? Slow and deep?” He murmurs the question against your skin and punctuates the question with a lick.

“Yes,” you whimper.

“You wanna cum around me again?”

“Yeah,” you gasp, “Yeah, fucking—please,”

“Take your time, Honey,” he breathes, “I’m not going anywhere. Just gonna fuck and fuck you.”

“Kiss me,” you plead. He answers you quickly, his warm mouth on yours in an instant, warm and fervent. It’s embarrassingly quick, how soon you feel like you can cum again. But you can’t find the shame; he’s working himself perfectly against you.

“Close,” you confess against his lips.

“Good,” his voice is distant, “Let me have it.”

It hits you slow and unhurried, creeping hot vines up your torso and neck, gripping at your cheeks and burning a bolt of pleasure through you. You’re a floating, dizzy version of yourself when you come down.

“Fucking beautiful,” he’s sighing, “Gonna cum, Honey, you feel too good.”

He pulls out and balances on one of his arms as he shoves a hand down around himself. He looks the most beautiful that he ever has, in your opinion, as he cums.

His cheeks are flushed and his brow furrows, and his bitten lips curse softly when he loses it. For a moment he glances down between you, watching as he makes a mess.

You could watch it on repeat forever, and almost lament the moment before it passes.

Finally, he looks up at you. It’s quiet for a second before he grins.

“Hi, Honey,” he smiled wide.

“Hi,” you giggle. He unsticks a piece of his hair from your face as he catches his breath.

“Gonna kiss you again if that’s alright,” he sighs. You nod quickly, and he’s kissing you soft and slow. It’s so tender, you know you probably shouldn’t want it as bad as you do.

He must be on the same page, though, because he just kisses and kisses, licking slowly at your tongue and your teeth.

Some long while later, he comes up for air.

“Let me get my shirt for you,” he says, easing himself off the bed.

He fetches his discarded tee and cleans you with it gently, then wipes himself quickly before he climbs back beside you.

“So,” he breathes, reaching out to skim a finger over your chest, “Why was your day so bad, hm?”

“Jake,” you laugh. You can’t fathom why he’s asking you this right now, and you can’t recall a single thing that happened before the moment he was in your bed.

“What?”

“Tell me about your day. What was it, hm? That got you so frustrated you had to make yourself cum so bad,” he smirks.

“Jake, Jesus Christ,” you blush, “I have no idea anymore, it was just—“

“So it worked?”

You blink at him.

“I fucked you ‘til you forgot?”

If he was trying to make you laugh, it works, as the giggle that escapes you is borderline maniacal. He joins though, laughing lightheartedly beside you.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “Dumb joke.”

As the giggling winds down, the room is quiet. The thought pops into your head with conviction, and it feels only right to say it aloud:

“You know… I wouldn’t be mad if we didn’t forget this tomorrow,” you offer quietly.

He sighs and smiles at you, his eyes sparkly. He looks like himself; like the Jake you know, but closer, and warmer than before.

“I was kinda hoping you would say that.”

fin.

*tag list in progress of being updated*

#gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf fics #greta van smut #gvf smut #jake kiszka fic #jake kiszka x reader

1K notes · View notes

avenging-fandoms · 11 months

Text

imagine if you lost your wedding ring? husband!pedro would be ON IT and he’d give you a new one in the cutest way

**fem pronouns

You were just rinsing off the plates before the dishwasher, doesn’t everyone do that? All the moving of plates, pans, utensils, everything. Washing your hands you realized you weren’t hitting your ring.

Your stomach drops, checking every surrounding area, the sink and even the dishwasher with soaking wet soapy hands, cursing to yourself and falling onto the floor.

“Princesa, what’s going on?” Pedro grabbed a towel and wiped your hands, and he knew. “Oh no.. did you lose it?”

“Pedrito I’m sorry, I forgot to take it off. That was our wedding bands from Chilé, Pedro! What if they’re shut down?!” You sobbed and he shushed you, holding your head to his chest.

“Honey it’s okay, we can try and find it, okay?” You sniffle and nod, wiping your nose. Pedro pulls out his phone and calls the only person he knows how to fix this.

Oscar came over with his box of tools and it made you giggle. “I owe you 10 bucks Pedrito.”

“For what?” Oscar lightly punched your arm and kissed your head.

“If you looked like a dad when you walked in.” Pedro laughed and Oscar rolled his eyes. “So my lovely wife over there was rinsing the dishes and her ring fell in the drain, so she claims.”

“So I’m going to take apart your pipe not knowing if it’s in there?” Oscar asks and opens the cabinets.

“It’s our house. If you can’t find it then we’ll figure something out.” Pedro nudged you and you pout, trying not to cry again.

After two hours of taking apart the sink and getting excited for nothing a few times, you came to realize your ring was gone. Oscar apologized and hugged you while rubbing your arm, Pedro on his phone while leaning over the island.

“I think he’s mad at me.” You whisper and Pedro looks up at you through the top of his glasses. Oscar nods, saying his goodbyes quickly and leaving your house.

Pedro stood up and locked his phone on the counter, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You look at him with a pout and walk over to him, hugging around his arms. “I’m really really sorry Pedro. I feel sick, I feel awful. I can wear one of those silicone rings-”

Pedro backed away from you and your eyes scan his face for an emotion. His eyes were soft, his puppy dog look. Your eyebrows pushed together slowly and he dropped to one knee.

“I kept this a secret from you for almost 5 years. When I ordered our rings, I ordered 2 of each, just in case something like this happened.” Pedro pulled out the box he used to propose and you cover your smile as you look at him. “Yn Pascal, would you do me the absolute honor of marrying me? ..Again?”

You laugh and drop to your knees, kissing him over and over again. “Yes, yes. Pedro I love you so much.” You cry and he smiles, sliding the ring on your finger. “I will super glue this to my finger now.” You joke and Pedro laughs, standing up with you as he kissed you.

“I love you, honey.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal blurbs #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #rpf #real person fiction

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

Text

My brain is in full on “renovate the house” gremlin mode this morning.

I still love my cotton candy pink kitchen walls. But now I’m thinking “you know, it wouldn’t be That hard to paint the cabinets midnight blue, take down the awful wall cabinets, paint the walls a neutral color, put up some open shelving with copper/brass trim and hanging hooks for all your stuff and redo the entire pantry with corner shelving instead of the inaccessible deep shelves you have now and maybe redo the floor while you’re at it” and I know that’s the ADHD impulse gremlin talking. I know it is.

But ya girl can’t dye her hair without risking anaphylaxis or even wear bright lipsticks anymore so it’s this or feeling the heat death of the universe expand inside my chest so I’m not saying I’m picking out paint colors. I’m just saying @mothman-etd should probably hide the power tools.

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am-i-interrupting · 11 months

Note

Omgsh could I ask for

Rocket x Fem!Reader

With this prompt: "You're so cute when you're nervous." Said by Rocket pls 🙏 ❤️ and thank you!

Distracting

Tags: 583 words, fennec fox!reader, fidgeting, fluff

Rocket didn’t understand people. He didn't understand how they saw things but he understood that he didn’t see all the colors they did. He couldn’t see every shade and maybe that’s why he couldn’t get the appeal of so many things others did.

He’d never understood attraction until he met you. It took time. It wasn’t instantaneous. When he met you though, he knew you’d be different. He’d never met anyone so. . . cute.

He hated to use the word. He knew how it felt to be seen as nothing more than a cute animal or a disgusting one depending on the person. It was all he could think of to describe you though. It didn’t matter the situation, he found you adorable.

It took getting to know you for that fondness of your cuteness to turn into being attracted to your personality. He wouldn’t admit it, though. He couldn’t allow himself.

He didn’t know why. He just couldn’t but he also couldn’t do nothing. Teasing you became a favorite thing of his.

You were fidgeting with something he’d made for you some months ago. He said he did it so he wouldn’t have to find fur everywhere. You had a habit of over grooming when you were anxious. He really did it because he was worried about the growing bald spots in your coat as a result.

He should make you another one. You’d used it so much that the gears were beginning to wear and it wasn’t working like it should. He was going to make you another one. He just needed to finish this first.

What exactly was he doing? Right. Repairs. He just needed another screw.

He looked around his set up for a moment. Hands patted the ground and picked up his tools and he found one. It was the wrong size. He placed it back in it’s case. Then he stood.

The rest of the screws were in a box over your shoulder where you leaned against one of the cabinets. He looked at you for a moment. Your gaze was off as your hands moved feverishly. Your ears twitched at every sound that even he couldn’t hear. Something was on your mind. He didn’t have a clue as to what.

He stood with a sigh and dusted off his paws. He could distract you though. Maybe not as much as you often distracted him but he could try to distract you just for a moment with truths he wouldn’t admit were true.

He walked over to you, intentionally invaded your space so you’d be forced to look at him. He smiled at you.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I need something behind you, sweetheart,” he said, placing a hand on the other side of your body so you couldn’t move.

“Rocket, I—“

He reached with his other hand for the box. He looked at you with your ears folded back, paws drawn to your chest as you clutched the fidget, eyes wide, mouth slightly opened. Adorable. Fucking adorable.

He grabbed the box and leaned forward. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” he said into your ear.

He took a chance. He meant to only tease you by bonking his head against yours. He was surprised (and you seemed to be as well) when you leaned against him for a moment. He froze and as did you. Then he nuzzled against your face and moved away, back to his work. Flustered and doing a horrible job at hiding it.

#rocket raccoon x reader #Rocket raccoon x you #rocket x reader #Rocket x you

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wannaeatramyeon · 6 months

Text

Young!Samuel Seo with Young!Reader: Doctors and Patients

G/N. Your family owning a convenience store AU: Leave Him Be | Dinner Guest

Samuel's eyes hardened when you said you wanted to play Doctor and Patient.

One hand subconsciously covering the fresh bruise on his cheek, courtesy of not tiptoeing quietly enough around his mother that morning, and instinctively ready to shield himself and snap at you-

But then you offered to be the patient first.

Wrapping your cheap plastic stethoscope around his neck and handing over the rest of your doctor's activity set, you sit yourself down on a plastic chair and point to the scab on your knee.

"You need to hit that with the hammer."

Samuel raises his eyebrows, mouth forming a small 'o' at the sudden change of events.

"Hammer, Sammy" you say, with a put-upon sigh you have learnt from your mother.

You signal to the small reflex hammer, nestled amongst the other tools in the toy medical case and instruct Samuel to tap it against your knee.

"Why?" He eyes the instrument suspiciously.

"I dunno." A shrug. "You just always see it on TV."

Samuel's ears burn red and no, he hasn't seen it on TV. He isn't allowed to watch TV at home and is too busy playing and talking with you when he's here.

"Ok," he mumbles. He taps your knee with it, featherlight, and you kick out your foot. "What was that for?"

"To check I have knees," you try and Samuel doesn't look convinced, but lets it go anyway. "Do I need any medicine?"

Now it's Samuel turn to shrug and you roll your eyes at him, a gesture this time learnt from your father.

"You're terrible at this!" Samuel bristles at your complaint, "It's my turn!" You snatch back the stethoscope, the bag and the hammer, and shove him on the seat.

At least you attempt to. Except Samuel, for all his small stature, does not even budge. He stays standing, frowning at you.

"Sammy, come on," you whine and he sits down with a huff. Back ramrod straight, looking like he has half a mind to bolt. Uneasiness radiating off him in waves. "I'll be gentle," you promise and then put on your best imitation of an authoritative doctor. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you here?"

"Because Y/N made me."

You narrow your eyes at this wet blanket before deciding no. You're not letting him ruin this game and you tell him he's here for a check up.

You press the end of his stethoscope on his chest and he flinches, slightly, before straightening up again.

"Good," you comment after a beat.

You're not entirely sure what happens next with a check up but you go ahead with touching his forehead with the back of your hand. Pretend to flash a light into his eyes, inspecting his left then the right as they grow wider in alarm at your proximity. Ask him to open his mouth and say 'ahh' and giggle when you proceed to peer in. Lastly you use the reflex hammer, and lightly tap him on both knees.

Samuel doesn't do anything. His legs don't twitch at all.

"You have no knees," is your diagnosis.

Samuel immediately smirks and tells you "You're a terrible doctor."

"No, I'm not!"

"Yeah you are," he snorts, "You're awful."

"Am not!"

"Ok, you're a good doctor," he says and you know that his tone means his words are a complete lie.

"I'll show you," you storm off towards the medicine cabinet in the backroom and return a few minutes later with a bottle of ointment and a small clean face cloth.

You tip the bottle upside down, lightly soaking a corner and move close to Samuel's face.

"What are you doing?" He recoils, hand shooting out to stop you. Long, thin fingers curling around your wrist.

"Being your doctor," You try to shake him off, "I said I'll be gentle, didn't I?"

Samuel supposes you did and... maybe. Maybe this will be fine, whatever you're doing. You won't hurt him and you will be gentle.

He gives you a nod, would have been imperceptible if you weren't watching him so closely, and lets go.

When your parents tend to your clumsy bruises, your parents like to apply pressure; telling you that it’s to break up the blood beneath the skin even as you yelp but you don't want to do that to Samuel. You know it hurts, and you don't want to hurt him.

With careful hands, you dab at the bruise on his cheek. Trying to be gentle and light but Samuel lets out a small wince and you stop.

“Sorry!”

"No, it's ok," He says in a small voice.

"Are you ok?"

Samuel blinks. When was the last time someone even asked if he was ok?

No, he wants to say, nothing with him is ok. He doesn't say anything. Bites his tongue instead. Gives you a small nod, avoiding your eyes and you continue, a bit more hesitantly this time. None of your false doctor bravado and even more gentle than before.

"You're not a bad doctor," Samuel tells you when you're done and pulling a face at the scent of ointment in his nostrils.

Your face transforms and you give him a toothy grin.

No, he is not ok. But when he's with you in these aisles under the bright fluorescent light - it's the most ok, the happiest he has even been.

#lookism #lookism webtoon #lookism manhwa #lookism x reader #lookism fic #samuel seo x reader #samuel seo #seo seongeun x reader #seo seongeun #wannaeatramyeon

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say-al0e · 1 year

Text

For You

Rating: M | This is smut! No one under 18, Minors, DNI!

Summary: Sometimes Jake gets a little in his head and needs a hand coming back to earth. You’re more than happy to give him what he needs. | Ft. Anon Requests: “How many times have you jerked off to me?” + “Touch yourself. Show me how you do it.” + “Use my thigh. You’ve been staring at it all night, anyway.”

Warnings: A little angsty Hangman (feeling a little lost, a little out of it), male masturbation, thigh riding. Anything else, ask and I’ll tag.

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x fem!Reader (wife!Reader)

Word Count: 4.1k

Top Gun Taglist | Top Gun Masterlist

Jake has never been much of a control freak.

Given the nature of his work, he’s learned to willingly follow orders and do what he’s told - sometimes without question, even when he knows he should ask. He prides himself on being good at what he does, the beset of the best, and he’s learned to bite his tongue when need be.

However, there are moments he seeks to regain some of the control he loses in his daily life.

In the bedroom, Jake enjoys taking control. He’s always liked calling the shots, asking you to jump and grinning when you ask him how high, which works well as you like relinquishing some of the control you cling almost too tightly to in your own work.

Jake is never mean - unless you ask him to be - and will always listen to your concerns, your opinions, your desires. There is never a moment where his control feels absolute, like he won’t take your feelings into consideration, but it helps ease some of the weight on his chest when you allow him to press you into the mattress and take what he needs.

Tonight, however, it is evident that control is not what Jake needs.

Though his week has been full of people telling him what to do, where to go, who to be, his lack of control isn’t what weighs so heavily on his chest. A frustration comes with hearing so many orders barked at him, repeated time and again for those who refused to listen the first time, and you’ve seen firsthand how overwhelming it can be.

When the noise of the week fades, when there is no structure, Jake sometimes gets a little lost. It’s a side of him that only you see but it’s still heartbreak to watch as he wanders, searching the house for something to do - something to make himself feel useful, needed - while you search for ways to help him return to himself.

It’s not often that he feels this way. He’s learned to handle it, to work through the sort of depersonalization that comes with living a life controlled by so many others, but the signs are always there.

This time, the first sign comes in the form of him tackling the to-do list you’ve both been putting off.

The new house came with its fair share of work to be done - a few little repairs, nothing a little paint and elbow grease can’t fix - and Jake spends his rare Friday off working through them one by one. And by the time you arrive home from work, the house smells of paint and you find your husband sitting on the bathroom floor, swapping out the knobs on the cabinet.

A second, much more obvious sign, comes in the form of silence.

Jake likes music - country, usually - to fill the quiet, especially on the odd occasion he’s home alone. This time, the only sound you hear is that of tools touching wood, hitting the floor when he sets them down, and the rattle of screws as he pulls the second knob from the package.

The third, and the most telling sign, comes in the form of his obliviousness.

On the odd occasion Jake has a day off that you don’t, or finds himself home before you arrive, he seems to be aware of your presence the moment you step through the door. It’s rare that he allows you to make it more than a few feet into your home before he’s greeting you. So, the fact that you make it through the house, to the bathroom, and settle in the doorway, all without him batting an eye, tells you more than you need to know.

“Y’know, a girl can get used to this.”

Jake flinches, clearly surprised by your presence, but manages to cover it with a grin as he glances up at you. His eyes, a touch more exhausted than usual, brighten considerably as they meet yours. “I’m just here to fulfill all your domestic fantasies, sweetheart,” he teases, gesturing to the smear of paint staining his hand. “Knocked out most of the list today.” He stands, dropping the wrench onto the countertop with a clatter, and makes his way to you, just a fraction slower than usual. “Figured we can go look for furniture for the deck tomorrow, maybe stop at that little cafe you like for lunch.”

As his hands fall to your waist, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your top almost immediately, you smile. “I just got home and you’re already talking dirty.” When your hands lift to his hair, fingers combing through the soft strands, Jake tilts his head to lean into your touch. His laughter is quiet, accompanied by a more subdued grin - not quite as bright, not quite as rakish as his usual - and you struggle to hide your frown as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “How can I ever repay you?"

“If you wanted to blow me, I absolutely won’t deny you the pleasure.”

Jake grins at the roll of your eyes, this one truly lighting his eyes, and squeezes your hips as he leans in to press a firmer kiss to your mouth. It’s still chaste, not quite enough to convince you that he’s truly alright, but enough to give you hope that he just needs a moment of thoughtlessness.

“Maybe after dinner, handsome,” you offer, not bothering to clue him in to the plan already beginning to formulate in the back of your mind. “Takeout okay?”

The answering frown you receive is further confirmation that he’s not totally gone - not so far out of it that he’s completely lost sense of himself. “It’s date night,” he reminds you, almost appalled that you seem to have forgotten. “Thought we were trying out that Korean place?”

“I was hoping we could stay in. Order takeout, maybe watch a movie? It’s been a long week.”

For a split second, you worry that he’ll refuse - he takes date night seriously, loves seeing you all dressed up and showing you off - but his features soften the moment you bat your lashes at him. “Kills me when you do that,” he grumbles, though there is no real heat behind his statement. “But you know I’ll never say no to having you all to myself, sweetheart.”

Despite all the bravado, all the snark and witty quips, you know the real Jake. A man who wants to love and be loved in return, a man who will give you the world if you ask - your husband is wrapped around your finger, just as you are wrapped around his, and makes it all too easy for you to set about helping him back to himself.

Most of the night passes rather quickly after that. A shower for each of you - separately, as you know exactly where a joint shower will lead you - before you consume too much takeout and watch the same movie you’ve both seen a thousand times.

Every gesture is small - ordering his favorite food and grinning when he opens it, groaning at the scent; choosing his favorite movie, without even bothering to ask because you know he’ll attempt to sway you into your favorite; grabbing him a beer before he can question if he needs another, placing it onto the coffee table with a wink - but each one seems to ease his mind just a little more.

And as the night wears on, your Jake begins to return, piece by piece.

The final gesture, one that you know will bring him back to you wholly, comes when you send him to the bedroom with a request for him to wait for you.

Control is not something he fears losing, not something he finds difficult to relinquish, in his daily life. The bedroom has always proved a little more difficult. Jake listens, asks you what you want and gives it to you easily, but the orders he takes are always in the pursuit of your pleasure. Taking orders in the pursuit of his own, he still struggles.

Over the years, you’ve learned how to take control in a way that feels selfish. You give him the illusion of control by giving him your full attention. Giving orders in a way that feels like a request, a selfish plea for something you know he wants but has a hard time freely giving, works best with Jake.

He loves your attention, placed solely on him, and loves your praise even more. Every boost to his ego, every reminder of just how perfect you think he is, just how much you love the man he sometimes forgets he can be, helps bring him back. So, you decide to take a gamble.

When you step into the bedroom, you find Jake settled at the head of the bed with his back pressed to the headboard. The weight of his gaze is heavy, burns into your skin as he watches you settle at the foot of the bed. Those warm green eyes meet yours and you can read the amusement in them, hidden amidst thinly veiled confusion, as he waits for you to provide him with an answer as to what you want.

This certainly isn’t what he had in mind for date night, clearly isn’t where he pictured the night ending, but he makes no move to protest as you offer him what you hope to be a reassuring smile as you fold your hands over your lap.

“How many times have you jerked off to me?”

The question is quiet, almost timid as you nearly second-guess yourself, but it earns a puff of surprised laughter from Jake. His brows lift as he blinks. No matter where he imagined the night heading, this isn’t it, but he only dwells on his surprise for a brief moment before tilting his head to get a good look at you.

“Lost count after that first deployment.”

His answer is teasing, accompanied by the brightest grin you’ve received all day, and you can feel your cheeks burn as he eyes the exposed skin of your thighs. When you chose your nightly attire, you played dirty - opting for a t-shirt, stolen from his drawer, and a pair of soft but presentable panties you knew he’d like once he caught sight of them - and you can tell just how much he appreciates it as his gaze falls to the soft blue fabric.

That deployment was particularly hard for you both as it saw you going from sleeping together nearly every night to little contact for three months, but Jake clearly remembers one difficulty above the rest. “I looked at those Polaroids more than you’ll believe,” he admits with a smirk, “but no matter how many times I got off, my hand was never enough. You created a monster, sweetheart.”

Jake’s honesty can be his detriment at times - blunt, wielded like a weapon to protect his heart from hurt - but it can also be his greatest strength. There is no room for sugarcoating, not with you, and you believe him wholeheartedly as he lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“Will you show me?”

The request earns a brilliant smile, the clearest indicator that your plan seems to be working, as Jake searches your face for any sign of deceit. The only thing he finds is honesty, a clear longing - a desire to see him, to selfishly watch as he seeks his own high.

“Show you what?” He wants you to say it - has encouraged you to speak up, to be vulgar, to be specific. This is expected, something you can see coming from a mile away, but it gives him the illusion of control as you bat your lashes and feign bashfulness.

“Touch yourself.” Another quiet plea - order, hidden behind doe eyes and pouted lips - that sees Jake inhaling sharply. “Show me how you do it,” you request, fingers finding the hem of your top, “please, Jake.”

Jake tries to hide just how affected he is, just how eager he is to give you what you’re asking for, but you can see right through him as he shakes his head. “Can’t believe my girl’s a voyeur,” he teases with a grin, even as he allows his hand to fall to the soft cotton waistband of his sweatpants. “You wanna watch, pretty girl?”

A soft nod from you has him licking his lips, tongue darting out to drag across the plush lower lip, while his hand drifts lower to palm his hardening cock. Despite the weight you know he’s felt pressing on his shoulders all week, Jake seems far more at ease than he has been with your heated gaze following his every movement.

It’s clear that he thrives on your attention, on your quiet pleas to witness his pleasure, and you give him exactly what he seems to want.

The sight before you is, on any given day, almost overwhelming. It seems that no matter how many times you look at him, no matter how many times you’re given the opportunity to witness him in this state, it never gets old.

Jake has a habit of wandering the house shirtless, sun kissed skin on full display, and you’re shameless as you trace the expanse of his exposed skin. The width of his shoulders, his chest; the planes of his stomach, the light trail of hair disappearing beneath the band of his sweatpants - every inch of him is beautiful and you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes as you commit every inch of his torso to memory.

“You could take a picture,” Jake teases, drawing your attention back to his face. The green of his eyes is darkening, slowly giving way to a lustful black, but that smirk remains as his hand squeezes his bulge. “Might last longer.”

“I have some,” you remind him, grinning at the thought of the photos hidden in your phone. “Just wanna see you tonight.”

“Well, how am I supposed to say no to that?” Jake shifts then, slips his hands beneath the fabric of his sweatpants and tugs. As he shoves the fabric down his legs, kicks it off to the side, his cock springs free and slaps against his stomach.

Another sight that you have yet to grow used to, despite the number of times you’ve seen him. Your eyes fall to his cock, flushed red, as another sigh falls from your lips. The sight of him, thighs parted slightly and heavy cock resting against his stomach, captures your attention.

“You’re so pretty, Jake.”

A light dusting of pink coats his cheeks, spreads down the column of his throat to the top of his chest, even as he laughs. “Why don’t you give me something pretty to look at? I’m feelin’ a little exposed, here.” It’s teasing - Jake has no qualms about nudity, would likely wander around the house naked, if you allowed him - but you know what he’s asking for and give it to him with no hesitation.

Eager green eyes follow your every movement as you shuck your - his - shirt and the panties you chose, special for him. “Is this what you think about, when you touch yourself?”

Jake extends his hand, once again asking without words, and smiles when you lean forward to give him what he wants. You’re guiding, not controlling, and he seems to understand as his hand lazily falls to his cock. While he considers your question, his lips part in a sharp exhale at the first pass of his spit slick palm.

“You, naked? Absolutely.” His voice is a hint tighter than usual, though nowhere near as brittle as you know it can be in the throes of passion. “You’re usually under me,” he continues, grinning when you shift to get a better look at him as his hand slowly strokes the length of his cock. “Always ends the same, though.”

“How’s that?”

His chest rises and falls just a touch faster than normal, breath comes in sharper pants as his lips part, but those eyes remain fixed on you. Even as your gaze wanders, drifts between his face to his hand to his thighs - tensing with each brush of his thumb over the head of his cock as it begins to leak pre-cum - before falling shut for a brief moment, his never falters. He watches, attention rapt, as you fist the sheets and await his answer.

“That pretty little cunt, dripping with my come.”

The intention was not to touch yourself, not to allow your fingers to slip between your spread thighs even as slick gathered, but Jake makes it difficult. He knows what he’s doing, knows exactly what you want to hear, and you struggle to keep up the facade as you bite back a whimper.

“Is it always this slow?”

The question is forced between clenched teeth, nearly spat at him as you cling desperately to your train of thought, and it makes Jake laugh, even as his stomach tightens with a particularly rough stroke of his palm.

“No. Just figured I’d give you time to look.” He raises an eyebrow then, expression so smug it nearly makes you want to roll your eyes - would have, were it not exactly what you were hoping to see, the kind of cocksure Jake attitude you were fishing for - as he pauses with his hand wrapped around the base. “Gonna take advantage of the show or are you testing your willpower?”

“Wanted to focus on you. Always so hard to focus on how pretty you are when you’re making me see stars.”

There are moments you refuse to stroke his ego, refuse to confirm what he already knows to be true, but the light that brightens his eyes with every word makes it all worth it. He needs this, needs to be reminded of who he is - how loved he is - so you’ll take any amount of preening, just so long as your husband returns to you fully.

Jake’s eyes narrow playfully. “Is it my birthday?” His tone is exaggeratedly suspicious, teasing, and manages to make you laugh, even as you watch him resume his slow strokes. “You’re bein’ a little too nice to me, sugar.”

“I’m always nice to you.” Jake laughs at the defensive bite, the pout of your lips. He knows that to be true - knows you’re nice to him, knows just how much you love him - but he can’t help the playful raising of his brows.

“Mm, I know.” The acknowledgement is accompanied by a soft sigh as his thumb brushes the head of his cock, smears the slick beginning to drip, and a grin as you repeat the sound. “Should repay the favor. Help you get off, too,” he encourages, splaying his thighs just a touch wider as he beckons you forward with his free hand. “C’mere, darlin’. Use my thigh. You’ve been starin’ at it all night, anyway.”

When you hesitate, not wanting to intrude on the moment - regardless of the slick pooling between your thighs and the ache of your neglected clit - Jake laughs. “Don’t make me beg.”

“What if I want you to?” Even as the question spills past your lips, you clamber up the bed to settle over him. Your knee slots between his spread thighs as you finally lift your gaze to meet his. “Would you?”

“You know I’ll give you whatever you want.” Jake is honest, almost to a fault, and you know just how sincerely he means it. He’ll do whatever he can to make you happy, even if it’s something he once struggled with, but your bid for control - your attempt to guide him back to himself - has gotten you both where you need to be.

Instead of pushing, instead of asking him to beg, you lower yourself on his thigh and sigh at the pressure. “I’ll prove how nice I can be,” you quip, voice nowhere near as strong as you hope for it to be. “No begging this time.”

“An absolute angel.” Jake tenses his thigh then, gaze fixated on your face as his free hand falls to your hip. “Look like one, anyway.”

The feeling of his thigh between your own, the pressure against your clit as you lower yourself completely, pulls a soft moan from your lips. Even as you attempt to return your focus to him, to watch the way his hand wraps around his cock a little tighter - the way he drags his fist just a little faster - Jake captures your attention by leaning in to press his lips to yours.

“Jake.”

He swallows your whine, the disappointed huff, with a smile that you can feel as the hand on your hip guides you to move faster. His tongue traces your bottom lip, nips at the supple flesh when you refuse to open your mouth, and huffs in playful annoyance.

“This isn’t very nice, sweetheart.”

“And you’re not giving me what I want, honey.” That draws a laugh from him, a bright grin that reaches his eyes, even as he relents and returns his head to the headboard.

“Fine. Watch. Want a kiss - a real one - when I come,” he demands, though he knows you’ll never deny him such a request.

Jake falls quiet after his demand, returns his focus to your face - to the way your lips part, the way your brows scrunch as you attempt to find a rhythm that feels best - and the way your hips move as you straddle his thigh. Your attention falls to his hand, watching intently as he focuses his attention on the head of his cock.

As Jake’s thumb gathers slick, uses it to ease the drag of his palm, you grind harder and attempt to chase a high you doubt will come. There is no worry, you know that he’ll make up for it, so you lift your hands to his hair and tug at the soft strands.

“Come for me, Jake,” you encourage, batting your lashes at him as you watch his eyes begin to blink just a touch faster. “Please? Wanna see it. Look so pretty when you come.”

To see him fall over the edge is a sight you’ll never tire of.

Though Jake is always beautiful, always a sight to behold, watching him on the verge of an orgasm is otherworldly. His focus begins to fade, begins to turn entirely to the impending warmth of his orgasm, and you pause the rocking of your hips to soak it all in.

Jake’s eyes flutter shut as his head falls back, column of his throat exposed as his chest begins to heave. A few soft sounds escape, a quiet moan, a soft grunt, join the slick sound of his hand wrapping around his cock. It takes only a few short moments - in which time a flush covers his face, his neck, his chest - before he tumbles over the edge.

Ropes of come splash onto his stomach, his hand, as he falls over the edge with a low, punched out sound that has your thighs clenching - goes straight to your aching clit, nearly sends you pressing your fingers between your thighs in search of a better friction.

While he rides it out, you lean in and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “So pretty,” you whisper, voice muffled by his skin. “So good. Always so good for me, honey. Love to see you come for me.”

A breathless laugh escapes, quiet but easily discernible even as he attempts to turn his head. “Can say the same for you, darlin’,” he returns, tone almost reverent as he seeks your mouth. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll get you off.”

Jake is a man of his word, never one to leave you hanging, so you leave it. Allow the comment to linger as you shift your head and press your mouth to his. The kiss is soft, chaste, but it’s exactly what he wants as the hand he’d left on your hip lifts to cradle your jaw.

This Jake is the one you love best - pleasure softened, unbothered by the weight of the world - and you know that he’s well on his way back to the husband you know and love. It takes a little time, a little effort, but you can see the light return to his eyes as he presses his forehead to yours.

Worry always lingers, settles in the pit of your stomach, but you know that you’ll always be home. A place he can feel safe, free from the demands of work, and a place to regain a little of the control he lacks - a little of the self he loses outside the confines of your home.

And as he presses one final kiss to your mouth, fingers pressing into your skin, you know that you’ll do whatever you can just for him.

____________________________________________

Author’s Note: I don’t remember the last time I wrote a fic in present tense but it was a fun challenge. Would’ve waited to post tomorrow but I’m going out with a friend so figured I’d get this up tonight. :)

Taglist: @lulu-noodles, @holachicos, @getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth, @withakindheartx, @ssprayberrythings, @verin93, @totalwitch2, @malindacath, @alexparkxr, @hangmandruigandmav, @alexxavicry, @calicokel, @jaymum, @dracosluvbot, @little-wiseone, @specialk6802, @mandylove1000, @xlynnx07, @julesclues, @archetypesoflife, @oliviah-25, @benhardysdrumstick, @caatheeriinee07, @prettymucheveryothernamewastaken, @yvespoems, @chloereidwayne, @flower-name, @ccristata, @feltonswifesworld87, @mxdi0, @angellwingggs, @s00buwu, @mjsvinyl, @woodlandmouth, @hngmnslver, @wifey-halstead, @pr3ttyr0s3xs, @winchester126, @peoniarose, @hangmanscoming, @maybankive, @cas1fer, @saesire

#hangman x reader #hangman smut #top gun smut #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin imagine #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x you #top gun one shot #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick smut #top gun maverick x reader #hangman imagine #v's fics

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dreaming-of-mossballs · 24 days

Text

First Date..? - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: Gepard, after becoming ill to the point of passing out, asked you to go on a tour of the Belobog History and Culture Museum with him. Today is that day!

▸ Genre(s): fluff, a sprinkling of angst

▸ Word Count: 5.5k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions, mentions of domestic abuse

A/N: MY LAST POST SHOWED IN THE TAGS!!!! It brought a ton of new people in <3 hello gepard fans, this is a part of my series! You can find more in the masterlist. (Or don’t. I try to make it so you can start wherever.)

the dividers are being stupid but i decided to keep them

MASTERLIST

Gepard, the heir to the Landau name and a sworn Silvermane Guard, wasn’t sure if he had ever felt this nervous in his life.

From his first interview as a cadet to the ceremony promoting him to the position of “Captain,” his heart had never beat as loudly as it did that day. It sent tremors through his chest that traveled all the way to his throat.

He stood resting an arm on the counter of the Neverwinter Workshop reception desk, paying no mind to his sister as she milled about, rummaging through drawers of tools and combing through filing cabinets.

A heavy sigh escaped the captain’s lips as he tapped his fingers apprehensively. All he could focus on was the antique clock on the wall taunting him as it tick, tick, ticked away. Closer and closer to the time he’d be meeting you.

Serval’s voice drew him out of the thoughts weighing his mind down.

“Earthwork should be good to go,” she said, hoisting the shield device slash guitar case onto the counter with a thump.

The bronze safety goggles resting precariously on the top of her head tumbled to the floor. Those would definitely cost a pretty penny.

“Let me know if the shield deployment acts up again, alright?”

Gepard took the procedural report from her and nodded. “You have my gratitude once again, sister. The guards should send you an invoice soon,”

Suddenly, the bell in the central plaza rang. Its sound sent shivers down his spine, which he tried to shake off by glancing absentmindedly out the window. This did not go unnoticed by his sister.

“You seem a little antsy today, Geppie. What’s messing with your rhythm?”

“Ah?” Gepard responded while tucking the yellow slip of paper into his pocket. “I merely have a few affairs that need attending to. The concern is appreciated, though,”

He straightened his collar, averting his eyes. She stared at him incredulously at this pathetically conspicuous act.

“You know?” she snorted. “You are possibly one of the worst liars on Jarilo-VI,”

She dropped her wrench on the desk carelessly, and he stiffened immediately.

“You never act this distant when it comes to affairs. In fact, most of the time you’re pretty quick to pass them off to me!” Serval shook a finger at him. “I’ve had my fair share of headaches, so you better fess up right now, little brother,” she hissed.

She stomped around the counter over the unfortunate pair of goggles and leaned in a good five or so inches away from his face. Gepard mustered all the will in his body to keep his lips straight and his facade up. “Ah— um,”

“Does this, in any way, shape or form, have to do with (Y/N)?” she barked.

“N-no, I…” His eyes flickered for a second at a pot of indigo flowers behind her. Serval, like her namesake, used this as an excuse to pounce.

“It does, doesn’t it? You broke eye contact!” She accused.

“Anyone would, in that situation!” He defended himself, clenching his jaw tightly. “You need to find better methods of interrogating people than that, sister,”

“Excuse you,” Serval snapped. “I’m just curious! We DO share a lot of friends, but (Y/N) is the only one I don’t work with.” She folded her arms.

Gepard ran a hand from his chin all the way to his hair with a groan. The last time they had squabbled like this, he hadn’t yet graduated from cadet school.

He cleared his throat. “That wasn’t what I was thinking about. As for (Y/N), I happen to be seeing them at the museum today. Are you satisfied with this information?”

His sister rolled her eyes at the biting remark and wiped a hand across her brow, smearing motor oil on her forehead. “Yeah. Fine. Don’t bother telling all the juicy details of how that came to be. They’d just be wasted on me!”

Gepard’s shoulders dropped in exasperation as he stared at her. “Why are you so invested in this, sister? You hardly give a single snowflake about my personal life. What changed?”

If looks could kill, Gepard would be six feet under.

“Hey. I’m trying to help you and your hopeless love life!” His sister nearly exploded with frustration. He quickly took a step back.

“Every time you two are in the same room, your face goes pink and you’re completely paralyzed,” she said, exasperated. “At this rate, you’ll grow old before your feelings reach them!”

She stuck a finger in her mouth with a gagging noise. Gepard blushed even harder.

“My feelings have nothing to do with you, sister,” he sputtered while simultaneously going over every single time you’ve happened to be in a room together in his head.

Serval stopped for a moment, her hackles seeming to fall. Her voice dropped an octave. “They do, actually,”

Serval sucked in a breath through her teeth.

“Y’know, Gepard… I’ve seen you go your entire life laying down everything you’ve ever had for Belobog. Isn’t it about time you pursue something— someone, that makes you happy?”

She paused, letting the words linger in his mind. Then she spoke again.

“Y’know, that you love,”

The air between them became thick with silence.

Serval sighed, leaning her back against the counter. Her little brother seemed to lack the words to respond.

“I’ve seen how you light up when you see them. And it hurts me seeing you stamp your feelings down each and every time,”

She searched in his eyes for any sign that her message was reaching him. But she did not find one.

“I’ve told you this before. Love isn’t something you can half-ass. You have to put your all into it—,” she twirled a pen around in her hand to blow off some steam. “—I don’t even care if you don’t want my help. I just want you to feel like you can confide in me, okay?”

She looked back at her brother, who was now staring at the floor, and smiled wistfully.

Well, Belobog wasn’t built in a day, after all.

Serval shrugged. “Anyways. You don’t have to listen to your big sis. I just think you should spend as much time with them before you’re sent away on another campaign.” Her tone became humorous. “Make sure you’re aaa-ll they think about when you’re gone,”

Gepard’s head shot up, his mouth going agape, and he quickly shut it.

“Why would I want to do that??”

“So you two can send each other looong letters about how much you love and miss each other, of course!” Serval chuckled teasingly, sticking her tongue out at her furiously blushing younger brother.

“They— they don’t feel that way about me,” he choked out.

She folded her arms at his defeated tone. “Maybe they don’t, but you two have chemistry!”

She slapped him on the shoulder heartily, which caused him to choke on the breath he was taking. “I can tell they care for you. And since when have Landaus been ones to give up?”

Gepard let out an exhale through his nose at the saying his sister would always repeat when they were kids.

“…never,”

“That’s right, little brother! Now, how long before your little date?”

He sighed again. “I’m going after I put my shield in the barracks,”

This time, it was Serval’s turn to freeze. “Right now?!” Her eyes burned holes into him.

“Yes, right now,”

She launched herself at him and dug her long nails into his shoulders. He stumbled backwards, trying to keep his balance. “NO. NO YOU CAN’T. NOT LIKE THAT,”

“Why is that?” Gepard blinked in surprise.

“You’re off duty today and you’re still in uniform? We’ve gotta get you tidied up,” she gasped.

“I sincerely doubt that they care—,” he started, remembering the time you showed up to a cafe with your gardening gloves on and dirt smudged on your face.

Serval bristled at him. He swallowed nervously.

He knew better than to keep talking.

His sister grabbed him harshly by the shoulder and yanked him out the door towards the estate.

Oh Aeons. This wasn’t going to be good.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

And finally, there you were. Gepard spotted you people watching as you waited outside of the Belobog History and Culture Museum, back rested on the handrail languidly, like a tourist.

You turned towards him with one hand gripping a pamphlet, the other shielding your eyes from the sun and—

Oh wow.

Why did he look like that?

He was taking long strides towards you, in an outfit that could only be described as way over-the-top. His hair was slicked back so you could see his forehead and (very strong) jawline, and he wore a brilliant white suit with silver accents that was most definitely meant for something more formal than a trip to the museum.

Additionally, he had on a long white cape that stopped at his ankles. With the bright sunlight shining down, it was blinding.

He looked like a foreign prince, from one of those novels Vaska liked to read. One woman’s jaw dropped as he passed by.

Oh, Aeons. Serval had definitely played a part in this one.

You, on the other hand, wore the same thing you always did. The green florist’s uniform coupled with a beret (which was rather charming, in your opinion). You shook yourself off and walked up to meet him.

“Hiya Captain!” You said as he approached.

Gepard felt something stab through his chest at the formal title, but he brushed it off.

“Glad to see you’re back in shape— and whoa, you look nice today.”

You looked him up and down keenly, and Gepard thought he felt his heart stop.

“Y-yes. I happened to have made a full recovery, thank you. Shall we go in?” He cringed inwardly at his inability to speak.

As much as he hated it, Serval was right. His heart was beating sixteenth notes as he looked at you. And no matter what he did, he couldn’t slow it down.

You nodded. But your eyes darted to the side for a second, showing a hint of uncertainty.

“Yeah! Um… Maybe lose the cape though?”

You gasped as you saw him quickly cover his face with his hand.

“N-not like it doesn’t look good on you! I was just thinking it might catch on the displays, y’know,”

“No, no. I get it.” Gepard let out a small groan, much like an arctic bear cub. “Serval insisted on dressing me up before I left. I should have told her not to.”

He grimaced, knowing all too well that it wouldn’t have made a difference either way. He then unclasped the cape and rolled it up into a tight ball, tucking it under his arm.

Whew. That was most definitely better. He looked less like a prince and more like your average rich noble. Although, if you were being honest, that wasn’t great either.

And so, he showed you into the museum with the hospitality of an attendee (he had worked there, after all). You felt like royalty. And Aeons, the lobby was absolutely perfect. It had an air of welcoming in it, and it smelled like history! Or dust. One of the two, you figured.

In true Underworld fashion, you waltzed up to the reception desk and immediately began making small talk. The blonde woman seemed startled but made nothing of it.

“How much for tickets?” You leaned your elbows on the counter. Her eyes landed on Gepard, who unbeknownst to you, was approaching from behind.

“Oh? Are you two here together?” She gasped. You whipped around, startled. “Volunteers are allowed to bring one guest for free. We appreciate your visit, Captain Gepard,”

She bowed her head respectfully and he nodded. He lightly placed a hand on your shoulder, which in turn, caused you to jump nearly half a foot in the air.

Great. Just great.

“Would you like to accompany me to the automaton section first?” He inquired. You weren’t certain, but you thought you heard a hint of shyness in his tone.

Like I’d run off without my tour guide in a building this big, you thought, glancing up at the huge arching ceilings in the main area.

“Sure! You’d better give me a tour worth a five-star review, Captain,” you chuckled.

That seemed to flip a switch. “I’ll do my utmost,” he declared.

He glanced down at you as you laughed lightly at his fiercely determined demeanor, feeling his cheeks warm at the sound of your voice. And with that, you began your tour through the museum.

First you stopped at the side parlor, which housed numerous automatons borrowed from the Robot Settlement. The models were polished and the descriptions were lengthy, which made you beam with pride. They sure knew how to treat the robots right.

Next you made your way to the main hall. It had an abundance of artifacts in sturdy glass cabinets, and beautifully intricate paintings that stole your breath away.

Gepard made sure to narrate every piece you seemed even moderately interested in. He loved how your eyes seemed to sparkle when he’d quote something he’d read in a history book, giving you a taste of the delves of information he kept stored in his brain as a Belobogian noble.

If it were up to him, you’d have access to every archive on the face of Jarilo-VI.

And you, you loved how he’d get so absorbed in explaining things that the words seemed to pour out of his mouth as he pointed at the displays. Even with the hum of the Geomarrow heaters and the constant chatter of visitors, his voice was the only one you seemed to hear.

Such simple joy it brought you. Here, staring at the photograph of the Eversummer Florists together, and chatting as if you weren’t two whole worlds apart. Gepard’s eyes took in every detail, every flower and every ray of sunlight trickling in through the windows.

You tore your gaze away from his profile to stare at your leather shoes just for a moment. Something vague flapped at the corners of your mind, but now really wasn’t the time to try and sort it out, you told yourself.

“Why don’t we tour the projector room next?” Gepard said, leaning down to look you in the eyes intently. You felt your heart leap at his voice.

Boy, were you in deep.

You mustered a smile as best you could, hoping it wasn’t too stiff.

“Sure! Lead the way,”

You had never seen such a wonderful piece of technology before. You both sat down on the velvet benches, entranced by the images flickering across the canvas.

This time, it was Gepard’s turn to stare. He’d seen it all before in his days as a volunteer. But seeing you gazing in awe at the projection as the light reflected in your eyes. That was something new.

Sitting there, shoulder to shoulder. Like equals. Watching the same screen, seeing the same things. It made his heart flutter like nothing ever had.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

“Wow. I am wiped!” you exclaimed after departing from the museum. “That was a great tour. Do you accept tips, Mister Volunteer Guide?” You grinned at him and Gepard let out an amused huff.

“I simply repeated what they taught me in primary school,”

“Yeah?” You inquired. “It was super immersive, though. I think you’d make a great history teacher,”

He went almost entirely pink at the compliment.

You chuckled to yourself. It wasn’t hard to make him blush, you thought.

“And also, what’s a primary school?” You piped up.

“Oh?” He paused. “It’s the first school kids attend on the surface. They learn to read, write, and all the other various things required of them,”

“Really? I remember Natasha teaching us how to read and write, but then it was straight to the mines for us,” you pondered, reminiscing back on your childhood in the Great Mine.

Suddenly, Gepard’s shoulder crashed into yours, sending you reeling into the Geomarrow heater to your left with a loud bang. You hurriedly grabbed it before it crashed to the ground.

Interestingly enough, the cause of this confusion was a small but speedy child, who had rammed into Gepard’s right leg by accident.

The child with short umber hair didn’t look back once after knocking into you, shouting “sorry,” and continuing to sprint, as a gang of ten or more children trampled after him. Their footsteps echoed along the walls of the lower floor of the Administrative district, which amplified them until it really did sound like a herd of animals.

All of the kids were carrying flags and pinwheels, staple items for the upcoming Solwarm festival, but they were wearing clothes belonging to both the Overworld and the Underworld.

This sent a jolt of surprise to your core. They played together so easily, it was like the past few decades hadn’t even happened.

“Little rascals,” you snickered, pulling away from the bench and brushing yourself off. You both stood and watched the children barrel down the road, knocking unsuspecting grown-ups into the next week. At one point, they stopped in a wide-open area and began to kick around a beanbag, their laughter ringing like bells.

Gepard’s brows furrowed, a pensive look appearing on his face.

“What’s on your mind?” You tilted your head at him with a smile on your lips.

His thoughtful expression had to have been one of your favorites.

He returned your gaze from where he was staring at the children chattering, running, and playing without a care in the world. Gepard felt the pang of a familiar memory in his chest.

“I was just considering… how nice it is to see relationships between the Overworld and the Underworld lessening in tension.”

He sighed. “I know it may sound silly, but some used to discourage interactions between the two,”

The look in Gepard’s eyes became a little more distant. “My father, for instance,”

You looked at him questioningly as he drew in a deep breath.

“I remember he once threw a vase at me in a fit of anger, after discovering I’d been visiting a group of kids from the mines,”

He glanced at the ground, looking quite like a lost puppy. “I had never heard the stories that they were telling before, so I just… kept going back to listen,”

You felt your mouth fall slightly ajar. He kept speaking.

“Thankfully, I didn’t get hurt that day, but the only reason is because my sister stepped in order to protect me,”

Your eyes widened in shock. “How— how old were you?”

“I believe I was five at the time,” Gepard stated. Almost like it was nothing.

“I think that’s where I gained some of my resolve,” he continued. “My own sister stepped forward to protect me without a thought for her own safety. So I grew up wanting to be strong, like her,”

Gepard curled his hand into a fist, letting memories of his childhood wash over him in his usual manner of acceptance. But when he looked back at you, only a glimpse of your face could be seen. You stared at the ground silently, and he could very well tell that your fists and jaw were clenched tight.

Waves of frustration at the realization crashed over you and your breath went hot. You stared back up at him, tears brimming in your eyes.

“He threw… a vase at you?” You said.

Hurt leaked into your voice against your will and you felt your heart had snapped in two. It seemed like both he and Serval harbored animosity toward their father.

And now you knew why. There was no way this was a one-time thing.

“That’s— wow, I don’t know what to say, Gepard,”

The captain showed little to no reaction. He looked back at the plaza with a soft exhale. One that exuded both sadness and gradual adjustment.

“He’s… always been that way. The Landaus, well, they all have their own sort of stubbornness in their values. His just tended to come out more,” he said.

“Stubborn, maybe.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “But he had no right to throw something at you. That could’ve really hurt a small child,”

You remembered being trapped in a landslide as a kid, and another child had kicked you in the face trying to escape. You were sent tumbling down the canyon where you fractured your shoulder and leg.

But to live with someone who, at any moment, could snap and hurt you? That was something else entirely.

Communities in the Underworld were based on a mutual network of trust. You couldn’t imagine having no one to turn to when you were scared. You stifled a sob.

“If I’m being honest with myself,” Gepard said softly, resting a hand on his chin. “It’s stuck with me well into my adult years. I haven’t quite dispelled all the preconceptions I’ve been raised with,”

“It doesn’t seem like he would have give you much room to, anyways,” you commented. “I think you two have both grown up to be wonderful people, even though you’ve faced so many hardships,”

He nodded solemnly, taking each and every word to heart. “But now, seeing these children at play, it gives me hope for the future… That Belobog truly can heal,”

It was at this moment you remembered, the captain was a kid too at one point. Behind the stoic exterior and steadfast resolve, there was a child that laughed and cried. One that had his own internal struggles, besides leading an army and reporting directly to the Supreme Guardian.

His childhood must have really had an impact on him. How would he have been different, if he had grown up in a happier home, you wondered. Despite the pain, you smiled.

Out of the blue, an idea popped into your brain.

“You know what I think, Gepard?” You chirped. “I think you just might be right!”

In a fit driven by inspiration, you leaped onto the nearest cafe table, offering your hand to your startled companion. He took it and carefully stepped onto the steel chair to join you.

“Overworld. Underworld. Why should it matter?” You shrugged confidently. “We’re here already, aren’t we? Look at us!”

You beamed at him and spun around with your arms outstretched on the wooden surface.

Turning to face him, you took both of his hands in yours. They felt warm. A soft kind of happiness filled Gepard’s eyes as he slotted his fingers in between your own.

“That’s right, we are.” He smiled gently.

You stood there for a moment, ignoring all the passerby and also the confused waitress calling for the shop owner.

If only you could take this sliver of time and put it in your pocket. You both held your breath, hoping that if you didn’t move, you could stay there until the world stood still.

Your eyes trailed to Gepard’s cheeks, which still had a slight blush to them, (maybe from the cold), down to the silver clasps that held his jacket together.

Glancing back up at his kind eyes, you felt something inside you chipping its way out.

—love you.

Your eyes went as round as the shield coins they exchanged at the Eversummer Florist’s.

What?

Oh no— oh no. Hold on. I knew something was, um, off, but is my brain playing tricks on me?

Was I just caught up in the moment? Why did I even think that?

Gepard stared at you quizzically, unaware of the mental battlefield you had just gotten your left arm blown off in.

Your heart began to race faster than one of those antique cars they had at the museum. His hands still clasped yours tightly, even as you tried to drop them gently.

You let out a strangled sound from your throat that sounded like “huegh” while steam poured out of your ears.

“(Y/N)?” He said, confused but seemingly unfazed.

You turned towards the closest brick wall, still holding his hands. Your eyes darted around like a cat after a loud disturbance.

No. I cant keep lying to myself like this.

You braced yourself for the realization as best you could.

I’m… in love with Gepard.

It still wasn’t enough. The sky and the ground seemed to reverse that very second as everything went upside down.

Still holding his hands, the first round of mental gymnastics began. You felt almost dizzy as thoughts flooded your brain, so you looked at your shoes to combat it.

(His were there too so it didn’t help much.)

Thoughts like:

Have… I been in love with him this whole time?

And, When did it start? And why? And, Did he notice? What if I’ve been super duper obvious??

And last but not least, Oh, Qlipoth. Please preserve my sanity—,

You blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Sorry, I was just thinking about—,”

You were lifting your head again in order to make your statement seem sincere when, something that was crazier than the time you decided to go crowd surfing on a line of robots, popped into your mind.

Kiss him. A part of you whispered internally.

Every muscle in your body froze.

Do it. You know you want to, the voice spoke again.

Your eyes travelled slightly downward to his lips. All you had to do was—

You yanked your hands away from his harshly, opting to stare at his chest instead of his face in shame.

Oh. My. AEONS. You grabbed your face with both hands. Did I think that? Did I just think that??

No. I don’t think I did, you consoled yourself hurriedly. I think Serval developed a device that projects thoughts into people’s heads, and I’m her test subject!

Gepard made a slight movement. A jerk of the head, which was nothing noteworthy now that you look back on it, but with everything going on at that moment, it was enough to set you off.

You yelped. Just like a snow fox.

The next few moments were a blur. You had taken a step backward without realizing you were on a table, and the surface was in fact, finite, and ended up toppling onto the cold stone ground behind you.

You narrowly missed a stack of crates, which would have definitely left a mark, had you landed on one of the edges.

Gepard had practically leaped off the table to check if you were okay, but the shopkeeper had appeared, waving his broom furiously at the both of you.

Your companion tried his best to placate the man but he wasn’t having it.

In a rush of adrenaline, you scrambled to your feet and took grabbed Gepard’s hand, making a quick dash around the corner.

Hopefully the man wouldn’t recognize him. With this particular outfit, you thought Gepard might stand a chance.

In a cruel twist of fate, you both ended up huffing and puffing in a narrow alleyway behind a drugstore. All that dotted the area was a dumpster and a few posters advertising a play that was five months out of season.

“I think we lost him,” you panted, and promptly dissolved into giggles. “Did you see his face? He was all like—,” you cut off, waving your arms around with a wacky expression.

You wheezed once more and doubled over to hold your stomach as cackling erupted from your throat. Gepard was resting against the wall as well, while his chest heaved with effort.

“Ohhh!” You said, raising your head once more. “Now I remember what I was saying— I wanted to thank you for showing me around so often. I hope I’m not being too much of a burden,” you chuckled to yourself.

Gepard pulled the cape out from where it had been caught between his legs before he responded.

“Not in the slightest, (Y/N). I’m always happy to be of assistance,” he responded.

You wiped fake sweat off your brow (even though you really were sweating). “Sweet. I’m gonna go grab a drink from the vending machine, if ya don’t mind. Want one?”

“I’d appreciate it,”

You ran to the vending machine while Gepard waited, keeping a lookout while his back was pressed against the wall. He was certain his jacket would need a fair amount of dry cleaning afterward. You bounded back with two Strawberry Svarog sodas in hand and popped them open.

Gepard threw his head back and drank heartily. He let out a satisfied sigh after drinking the last drop, while you clutched your bottle tightly after only drinking it halfway.

He was almost seen. You were struck with this thought.

You grimaced. There’s no way the higher ups at the fort would appreciate whatever tomfoolery you were dragging him into.

I shouldn’t let these feelings— no, myself, get in his way.

You two were completely different people, after all. He had a job and a reputation to hold down. You were just a florist.

Maybe they’ll fade with time. You hoped. I guess… I just have to hold on until then,

Because… because there’s no way he’d feel that way about me.

For a split second, it seemed like all of your happiness had leaked out of you and disappeared down the storm drain.

You quickly swallowed the feelings that had formed a hard lump in your throat. Hoping to clear up the silence, you whipped towards Gepard with false cheer, in hopes he wouldn’t notice your mood had dampened.

“So, Captain—,”

His lip stiffened. Again with the “captain?”

“Didja hear the news about the observatory?” You chattered, kind of absentmindedly. “They’ve finally been able to repair the main telescope, and soon it’ll be open for public use again!”

“Is that so? The last time I used that telescope, I was just a boy,” he replied, slightly shocked.

“Yep! I’ve seen the sky before, but I’ve never seen it, like… up close. You know?”

He smiled as you spread your arms grandly.

“Do the guards have a telescope?” You asked with a curious look in your eyes.

Gepard thought for a second, before he replied, “I imagine we did, many hundreds of years ago. But I think the Fragmentum threat posed too great a danger on the surface that—,”

He glanced up at the small patch of sky unobscured by the walls of the alleyway. It sparkled in his eyes.

“—we could no longer afford to pay attention to the sky,”

You joined him in gazing at the clouds.

What a world that would be.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

Bonus Scene 1

After the events that had transpired, and you both had gone home, Gepard was now focused on unbuttoning the seemly endless number of clasps on his coat.

This clasp in particular was incredibly frustrating. Every time he’d get ahold of it, it would slip out from between his fingers.

The captain was considering giving up and just wearing the gaudy thing forever when numerous alerts from Serval went off on his phone.

From: Serval at 15:19

Serval: geppie

Serval: hey

Serval: howd it go

You: Well, thank you.

The captain pinched the bridge of his nose irritably. Couldn’t she have waited at least an hour or so before barging in on his affairs?

His phone dinged once more.

I suppose that’s a no.

From: Serval at 15:20

Serval: is that all?

Serval: You’re totally leaving something out

Serval: oops. im being nosy again.

Serval: Call me if u wanna talk, ok?

Gepard sighed, debated for a moment what he’d rather do, then finally gave in and hit the “call” button.

[“Geppie! You called!”] Serval’s voice crackled to life through the speaker.

He could hear her smile radiating through the phone. The corners of his lips rose slightly, much to his own surprise.

“Indeed I did, sister,”

Bonus Scene 2

Back at the scene on top of the cafe table!

To keep his hands from trembling, Gepard stayed completely and utterly still.

Probably too still.

Your hands were warm, so warm. Although standing on top of a table at a random cafe wasn’t the most romantic setting, he felt like he could bring you into his embrace right then and there.

Never before had he felt so lacking in control of his own desires. Something seemed to be tugging at your thoughts, as you were looking around anxiously.

Could it be you didn’t want him to be spotted because his face was so well known? Gepard could only guess what kind of thoughts were bouncing around your brain.

He watched as you looked, back up from your shoes, to his sheepish face. Your eyes were more beautiful than the clearest ice crystals. Warmer, too. His gaze softened as he saw your eyes flick toward his lips.

And then Gepard did the unthinkable.

He leaned in closer.

❆ — ❆ — ❆

That choice did not end well for either of you.

After checking if you had hit your head and ducking into the nearest alleyway, Gepard wanted to strangle himself mentally.

Why? Why had he made such a stupid decision?

Out of all the choices, that was the most reckless one.

He really should have known better. At this rate, he risked losing your friendship because of his own selfish feelings.

The captain rested his back against the wall in shame as you ran to get drinks from a vending machine.

A man of his caliber shouldn’t be making such mistakes. He should get his act together and court you correctly, for the love of Qlipoth.

But Aeons, he could only ask himself:

What if he had waited a single second longer?

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

💙 THANKS FOR READINF I LOVE YOU 💙

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zombholic · 7 months

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐀

summary - a new girl moved into your small town in montana but you guys start off of the wrong foot

description - poc fem!reader, modern!au, modern!abby, older abby, young reader, strong language, reader is the opposite of abby.

— 🎧　　 ◦ ✺ 　 📽　 ⟢ —

you had just came back home from work, exhausted as always having to close for the fourth time this week. pulling up to park your car at your assigned apartment parking space only to see a u-haul truck taking it up “are you fucking with me..” you had mumbled to yourself before turning on your emergency lights and got out to see who took your spot.

a blonde girl came walking down the stairs of the complex, sweat seeping through her fitted shirt as she came by to pick up more things in the truck, you had walked up to her with her arms crossing your chest “excuse me, you’re parked in my spot.” you tried not to sound so bitchy but you were already so irritated with work.

“no need for the attitude, i’m almost done.” her brow raised up giving you an annoyed look already “i- what? i didn’t give you an attitude— i’ll just wait for you to be done.” you almost proved her right then just decided to get back in your car and wait for her to move.

it had been at least twenty minutes and there was no sign of her moving the damn truck, you decided to just park on the street storming you way back, the cold dark weather not making it any better. walking up the stairs to your apartment you saw a welcoming doormat on what was supposed to be an empty apartment next door, the clues forming in your head.

knocking on the new girls door repeatedly until it finally flung open “what— oh, it’s you” she had a headset around her neck, licking her lips in annoyance “my parking spot? move your shit by tomorrow or—“ “or what?” she cut you off as she leaned against her door frame with her muscular arms crossed across her chest “or i’m gonna get your shit towed blondie” scoffing at her cockiness before opening the door to your home and slamming it shut.

— —

you couldn’t sleep all night with your new neighbor making so much ruckus it drove you mad, her tv blasting, furniture moving around, her constantly going in n out of her place. rolling out of bed you were contemplating if you should strangle her or not for not letting you have a peaceful slumber.

hearing a pretty loud knock on your door you spit out the toothpaste, dragging your feet on over to open your door “oh god— what do you want” you rolled your eyes at her already agitated with her presence “you gotta stick up your ass or something? i wanted to know if i could barrow a drill or something” your tongue rolled against your cheek before you let her inside.

“i don’t have many tools but..” you bent down to open your bottom cabinet in your kitchen “i have these” you pulled out a small girly tool box that made her actually laugh out loud “a pink tool box?” she opened it to see if it was to any use “keep up that attitude and you’re leaving without any tools” she shot her hands up in defense “thank you neighbor” she grabbed the tools, right before she left you chimed in a question “why would you move here?” the question seemed to tense her up, her jaw clenching and her shoulders stiffened.

“uh- thanks for the tools” she shut your door behind her.

— 🎧　　 ◦ ✺ 　 📽　 ⟢ —

AUTHORS NOTE — be honest .. do yall want me to continue this series?

#lesbian #lgbtq #wlw #the last of us ii #the last of us #tlou #abby anderson #tlou2 #abby anderson imagine #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson drabble #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby x you #abby x reader #abby tlou

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the-fiction-witch · 1 month

Text

Emergency!

Media Doctor Who

Character The Doctor (11th)

Couple Doctor X Reader

Rating Suggestive

The doctor is moving about the TARDIS console room with a sense of urgency, darting up and down stairs, circling the console, and even going underneath the glass floor. The doctor's movements are reminiscent of an excited puppy or a child on a sugar rush, with boundless energy that appears to be fueled by an insatiable curiosity and a desire to explore.

As the doctor moves about the console room, they carefully gather up tools, parts, and supplies from various cabinets and drawers, meticulously organizing them according to their intended use. The doctor's focus is entirely on the task at hand, and they seem to be lost in thought as they examine each item, considering how it might be used to tinker with the various steampunk-style alien contraptions of the TARDIS.

Despite the doctor's frenzied activity, there is a sense of calm and purposefulness in their movements, as if they know exactly what needs to be done and are determined to do it with precision and care. As the doctor works, the TARDIS hums softly in the background, a soothing counterpoint to the doctor's frenzied energy.

He suddenly jumps as the phone begins to ring,

"Phone! Right, yes! I have a phone!" He remembers forgetting his whole tardis is literally a phone box. He leans his hip against the console arms crossed over his chest as he puts on his best debonair tone. "Hello?"

"Doctor!" Y/n's voice comes through in a state of panic,

"Y/n... What's the matter? What's wrong!?" He jumps to full attention at the sound of his distressed companion,

"It's an Emergency! You need to get here right now doctor! There's no time to lose!" She said in panic,

"I'll be right there!" He said, he hung up the phone and took the tardis to her stupid apartment as quickly as possible, The tardis immediately Materlalized in her studio apartment, the only light the warm glow of a pink salt lamp, a gentle music playing, a scent of roses in the air. "I'm here! I'm here! where's the emergency?! I'm ready for anything!" The doctor clambers out the tardis sonic in hand,

"Hi," Y/n smiled,

She sat on the bed with her hair done all luxurious, her make-up done naturally but glamorously, she wore a little blue strap bodycon dress that hit her midthigh, a black button-down shirt tied up around her waist, black tights, she smiled widely and excitedly,

"Hello, what's the emergency?"

"There is no emergency,"

"What!"

"There is no emergency doctor,"

"Then why did you call me!"

"I missed you," she smiled innocently,

"You- You," He sighed leaning on her bedpost, "You can't just call me up saying it's an emergency just because you miss me,"

She pouts, "Haven't you missed me too,"

He chuckled, "Course I did," He smirked returning his screwdriver to his pocket,

She shifts up onto her knees and moves closer leaning on the bedpost with him inches from his face,

He smirked and moved closer to her too, "I always miss you,"

"I always miss you too," she smirked holding him by the jaw and tugging his lips to her own, she egarly kissed him and he happily kissed her back putting an arm around her waist, her hands slipped down as their kisses turned heavier into a slow snog, slipping down his neck and peeling off his suspenders, he pulled back and raised an eyebrow at her,

"This why you called me?"

"Mhm," she nodded,

"Come on," he smirked, picking her up and taking her to lay her down on the bed as she giggled full of excitement...

The couple lay closely wrapped in the soft, warm sheets, their bodies intertwined in a comfortable embrace. Her head was nestled gently on his bare chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his hearts. They were both lost in the moment, enjoying each other's company, feeling the warmth of their bodies as they cuddled and cradled each other with tenderness and affection. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, the rustling of the sheets, and the occasional sigh of contentment. It was a moment of pure intimacy and connection, a moment they wished would never end.

"Y/n?"

"Umm?" she mumbled glancing up at him,

"You shouldn't just call when you miss me you know,"

"I know, but I miss you,"

"I miss you too. But you can just call when you miss me and say you miss me. I'll come running just as fast."

"you will?"

"Course I will," he cooed stroking her hair, "Or... you could just sleep in the tardis with me?"

"I'll think about it," she giggled, "But I like summoning you its fun."

"I'd rather just be summoned from... down the corridor, than from half way across the universe,"

"Less fun," she shrugged giving his lips a kiss.

#matt smith x reader #mattsmith #matt smith #doctor who #eleventh doctor #doctorwho #the doctor #doctor #11th #11thdoctor #11th doctor #11th doctor x reader

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rookthorne · 11 months

Text

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐫 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐞

A deal had been struck, and since you had claimed victory that day, you were more than eager to collect the reward of such a win.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ≫ Drifter!Bucky Barnes x Drifter!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ≫ 1.9k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ≫ Fluff ჻჻჻ SMUT: Domme!Reader, Sub!Bucky, unprotected piv, car sex ჻჻჻ KINKS: Semi-CMNF (racing suit), praise, degradation, begging

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ≫ I have nothing to say in my own defence.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ≫ Like U by Rosenfeld

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ≫ @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer ჻჻჻ Week 4 — 'C' Week (Car sex) — Masterlist

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

A successful meet always left your blood roaring with adrenaline – cooling down wasn’t an option, not unless it was in the lap of your equally fiery and amped up boyfriend, who had just pulled into the garage beside you in his Hellcat.

The ticks of the engine as you killed the ignition were the sign of a good thrashing, and you sighed happily. Repairs and tune ups could wait for later – you needed to celebrate your win, and there was only one way you could think of. Your bargain and deal that had been made on your knees this morning.

With a loud groan, you opened the door and stepped out of your Skyline, stretching to the ceiling, wincing as your stiff racing suit clung to your skin. The roller door of the garage closed with a racket, dimming the light in the tool haven.

A door slam, and heavy footsteps behind you were the only warning you had before your back was crushed against Bucky’s chest, his arms tight around your middle as he tucked his face into your neck.

“I am so fucking proud of you,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin. “My girl proved them all wrong.”

Pride swelled in your chest and added to the rush of adrenaline – you had proven them all wrong. Humming happily, you squeezed his arms. “So did you, babe.” The fabric of your suit crinkled and stuck to your skin as you turned in his arms to kiss him. “Let’s get outta these suits.”

Bucky nodded, pulling you through the side door and into the house. “Want something to drink– to celebrate?”

“Hell yeah,” you laughed. “Get out the Jacks.” Cupboards opened, and glasses clinked when Bucky pulled a set of shot glasses and a bottle from the drink cabinet. “I’ll be back in just a second.”

“‘Kay,” Bucky called.

The velcro of your suit came away with a tug, and you grimaced at the feel of air against your clammy skin. “What a day,” you mumbled, pulling free a tank top and pair of shorts from your closet, and threw them on before padding back out into the hallway.

Then, you froze.

Bucky, still in the kitchen, had undone his suit so his top half was bare – his undershirt lay on a stool, and his head was tossed back as he skulled down a glass of water. Muscles pulled and tautened as he bustled about, readying your drinks when he finally turned around.

His chest, bare and muscled beyond belief, shone in the kitchen light as a stray line of water fell from his chin and done his neck. Upon spying you standing stock still in the doorway, Bucky stopped, his eyes widening slightly while a smirk pulled his full lips up. “You alright, baby?”

Something pulled you under and replaced rationale with pure, animalistic lust. You needed him, and you knew exactly how and where.

“I’m thirsty all of a sudden,” you said, tone coy and batting your lashes. “And I know just how to fix it.”

“Do you now?” Bucky huffed, placing the glass on the counter to cross his arms. It was a move to make his chest and arms bigger, and like hell were you going to refuse the urge to stare. “How?”

Instead of answering, you stalked forward and into his space, never breaking eye contact. He only stared back, his eyes never wavering as they darkened – you knew he loved it when you became like this, demanding and unwavering in what you wanted.

“Hand,” you demanded, holding your own up so Bucky could grasp it. He only grinned and placed his rough, callused hand in yours – though he yelped in shock when you tugged him back towards the garage door.

“Slow down, swe-”

“No,” you interrupted, throwing the side door to the garage open again and almost running to the shadowed Hellcat that lay in wait. The driver’s door creaked as you pulled it open – the lighting showing the bare interior.

You turned and caged Bucky against the opening; he was still watching you with simmering hunger and a little bit of apprehension. “What are you- Whoa!” Bucky’s legs sprawled as you shoved him into the driver’s seat, his head ducking automatically so his head wouldn’t hit the pillar. “Baby!”

“Get comfortable,” you ordered. Bucky tucked his legs into the well and shuffled his ass to sit properly in the bucket seat, all while watching you. “I’m going to ride you,” you stated simply, and he chortled.

“I fucking love it when you’re like this, sweetheart,” Bucky growled, grabbing your arm. “C’mere.”

Your thighs brushed against the pants of his suit as you settled, your back brushing against the steering wheel when Bucky pulled you into a kiss, his hands roaming your sides. “Take this off,” you breathed, tugging at your tank top, and Bucky grinned, more than willing to oblige. The fabric flew into the backseat as you fumbled to pull your shorts aside – grateful for the fact that you had picked loose ones.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasped, surging forward to kiss and suck at the skin of your breasts, the feeling of his tongue making you moan softly. “Shit, hang on.” Bucky pulled back and canted his hips up, undoing the zip a little further to pull down his suit past his hips – all the while, you sucked and nipped at his neck, his breath heavy in your ear.

“Buck- Babe, need you,” you groaned, pulling away from his neck to wrap your hand around his shaft. He hissed softly and pulled you into a heated kiss full of tongue and teeth while you worked your hand up and down, twisting on his head to hear the whimper in his throat.

“Please, baby girl,” Bucky softly whined when your hand sped up. “Wanna feel you, sweetheart, need to–”

You shut him up with a harsh kiss while you lined up your cunt, sinking slowly, slowly down until he was seated to the hilt. Both your breaths mingled and fanned over one another’s lips, the feeling of being full only making the roar of adrenaline harder to bear. “Fuck, babe, you feel so good,” you moaned, and Bucky sighed heavily.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” Bucky grits out through clenched teeth, and you grinned down at him, slowly beginning to circle your hips. “Oh, oh- Fuck–”

“Haven’t even started, baby boy,” you cooed, moving your hand to cup the side of his neck, the other wandering to his hair and pulling to tilt his head back. “Said I was gonna ride you; now you sit there and take it like a good boy.”

“Ye-Yeah, fuck, okay,” Bucky moaned.

“Must be so sensitive…” Every word you spoke was followed by a squeeze around his cock, and you giggled as his hand gripped the shifter and your hip, a spluttered noise leaving his lips. “So pent up for me, aren’t you?”

Bucky nodded quickly, his hair pulling against your grip. “Please just move, c’mon,” he whined, shifting his hips as you sped up your grind. “Baby, please.”

“So sweet for me–since you asked so nicely,” you purred, tensing your thighs to grip his hips tightly. “You don’t cum until I say. Behave, and hold it.”

“Oh- Fuck!” Bucky cried, his mouth falling slack as you bounced on his cock, the sound of skin slapping filling the cabin as you worked up and down, the pace gradually getting faster and faster as you chased your climax. “You feel too good, baby, please–”

Your hand slapped over his mouth, and you sneered, working your thighs faster as Bucky looked at you through wide, pleading eyes. “I said I would ride more than your clutch, baby boy,” you panted harshly, huffed moans following every word. “And I said you would sit there and fucking take it.”

Hot breath fanned over your palm, the rush of his moans and garbled words hitting every spot just as his cock slid in and out of your cunt, filling you perfectly. “God, your cock is so big, baby boy; feels so good.”

A muffled whine left his lips, and both of his hands gripped your hips, picking your pace up a fraction. “Aww,” you breathed, a sheen of sweat forming on your forehead. “Getting desperate, are you?”

“Mmphf!” Bucky managed, and you chuckled darkly, leaning close so your nose brushed his. Removing your hand, you found his mouth still slack, but his lips were bitten red, slick with spit from his tongue. “Ah! Baby, please, ‘m close!”

“No–don’t you dare,” you barked, and the urge to laugh at his piteous whimper in reply was almost overwhelming. Instead, you brushed your lips over his cheekbone until you reached his ear, whispering softly, “If you make me cum, you can let go, baby–promise.”

“Fuck,” Bucky moaned, and he grit his teeth, the muscles in his jaw standing out in relief. “Fuckin’- Okay, okay,” he continued, and it was all the warning you had when you felt his thigh spread slightly, your knees now pressed against the door and the shifter block. “I’ll make you cum–need to make you feel good.”

“Oh!” You cried, the sudden thrust up taking you entirely by surprise and throwing off your rhythm. “Shit, babe, ohmygod-”

“Such a fuckin’ slut–aren’t you?” Bucky breathed, a sly smirk on his lips as he watched your breasts bounce. “Wanna hear you purr, sweetheart, c’mon.”

You stared down at Bucky, eyes hooded and brow raised, each thrust up punching the air from your lungs in a loud moan. The Hellcat was rocking slightly with the pace of Bucky’s hips, and you gripped his hair tightly. “Gonna make you purr, baby girl, need to hear it.”

As he spoke, one hand left your hip to trail a line of fire across your stomach, and he stopped where his body met yours, a predatory glint in his eyes. “What are you doing? Oh fuck-”

Your words were cut off with a choked moan, the sudden jolts from his thumb rubbing small, fast circles over your clit forced you to the edge faster than you could have hoped for, and he realised as much. “You’re so close, baby girl, need you to soak my cock–need you to cum for me, please, please- Good girl! Fuck, oh, shit!”

A fast swipe from the pad of his thumb sent you reeling, the pressure cresting and exploding like a bomb through every last nerve, and your body bowed towards him as you moaned to the roof of the Hellcat – the waves of your release pulling you under and drowning you while you shook in his arms.

You came to, feeling Bucky’s hot breath against your neck as he whimpered and whined, his hips still pistoning in and out at a fevered, faltering pace. “‘M so close for you, baby, please–please lemme cum, need to cum- Fuck, it hurts, need it so bad!”

Shuddering slightly, you latched onto his neck and suckled at the skin, trailing a path up to his ear. “Let go for me, baby boy, be good for me and let go. Give it to me.”

“Oh, fuck!” Bucky shouted, his voice broken and hoarse. Warmth filled your cunt, and you smiled against his neck, shifting and rocking your hips to prolong his release – each roll made him moan loudly, his grip moving to your thighs and squeezing. “Feels s’good, sweetheart.”

“Did so well for me, baby,” you murmured, slumping onto his chest and tucking your forehead into his neck, ignoring the mess of your slick and his cum pooling in the crotch of Bucky’s suit.

“Need to get you hyped up on whatever that was,” Bucky mused, his voice rumbling in his chest. “You’re an animal when you’re like that–and fuck, it’s so hot.”

The two of you laughed, content to sit there for a moment longer and bask in the afterglow of victory sex.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #hotbuckysummer2023 #rookthorne's works #Purr

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nethhiri · 3 months

Text

Marooned: Chapter 9

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: none

Reader's vibe in general is very much "Mess With Me" - BXRRELL if you want a song (though maybe it will apply more to the next chapter). Should I make a list of songs I that inspire me for this?

Job Description

Pushing the unpleasant memories back into the depths from which they came, your priority turned to Killer. Finally, you had a proper med bay, or close enough. The cabinets and drawers held basic supplies. You found clean linens, much to your shock, and spent some time putting them on the stretchers so that they were ready when the time came. You made a space in one of the locking cabinets for your things. This would be your space for the duration of your stay. Curiously, much of the tools and meds appeared like they hadn't been used in a while, which either meant they hadn't been in a fight in that time or they were lacking someone who knew how to use them. You were betting the latter, bringing a frown to your face.

You went to the first mate's side, really looking at him while you had the chance. His face was angular and dotted with small, faint freckles. The skin of his forehead was slightly paler than the rest of his face since his bangs protected it from the sun. His lips had a deep cupid's bow and were somewhat thin. You lifted his eyelids to reveal bright blue, stunning eyes before letting them fall shut again, long, blond eyelashes resting on the tops of his cheeks. A small smirk settled on your face, feeling like you had forbidden knowledge in the form of Killer's handsome visage. It was very tempting to give him a little peck. He would never know. Maybe he needed one to wake up, a real life princess. He does owe me. Slowly you leaned down and hovered above his face. He smelled like salt and sweat, in a good way. The heat from his skin radiated to your cheeks, that or you were blushing. It had been so long since you kissed someone, not like with Kid, but a tender, loving kiss. It would be easy to pretend in this moment. A rumbling cough startled you. A burning feeling flooded your face as you straightened up and looked at Killer. Still asleep. Guilt washed over you. What is wrong with me? Sighing, you let your professional side take over. Putting yourself in front of Killer's injured thigh, you checked over your shoulder to make sure no one had come in. You removed the crude stitches that you initially put in. Lightly putting your fingertips to the ragged wound, a soft, warm, yellow light emanated from them. Tanned skin started to knit itself together slowly, until Killer's thigh was smooth. There was no evidence that an injury had been there aside from the still-damaged jeans that he wore. Moving to Killer's head, you did the same. Resting your hands on Killer's chest, first you tried not to think about how firm and warm his pecs felt, then you willed your power to heal his lungs. The soft glow from your hands seemed to radiate into him for a while before puttering out. It was hard to know if it had worked since you couldn't see into him. For it to work, you had to really want it. This situation in general made you uneasy, so healing a person with a high rank could be risky, but it could also be leverage. The conflict within you could be enough to buff your reparative power. The bigger the ask, the more strongly you had to feel about it. Your devil fruit was as versatile as your will, though you hadn't fully explored its potential. Who would have thought something good would have come from landing on that island?

A knock at the door made you jump. "Uh... yeah?"

Heat came in. He had a softer voice than most of the crew that you had heard. "How is he?"

"He's doing better. I don't know when he'll wake up though," you said, predicting Heat's next question.

Heat made an affirmative grunt. "You didn't get breakfast. Are you hungry?"

You blinked and your stomach growled. "I guess I was too focused on finding the least whore-like clothes to wear to be hungry."

The blue-haired man chuckled. "Come with me." He waved you out the door and led you to the mess hall. It was just big enough to fit the crew, with long picnic-style tables. Then he took you through saloon doors to the kitchen in the back and grabbed a plate of leftovers. "So you're our doctor now." He said as more of a statement than a question while you shoveled food into your mouth.

Muffled through your food, "No, m'jus helfing the docker."

"We... don't have one." Heat looked away as if he realized maybe he shouldn't have told you that.

You choked on your food a little, but you did sort of have a feeling that was the case. "Ur captain's a basfard," you accused, pointing your fork at him.

"Better watch it. He's your captain, too." Heat chided.

"Temporarily." You held Heat's gaze before finishing off the last bites and chugging a glass of water. Wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you got up and put your dishes in the sink. "Can I ask you a favor?" Heat raised his brow and you continued, "Would you take me to Killer's room? I want to get fresh clothes. His are crusty and ripped."

Heat thought about it for a while and motioned for you to follow. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."

On the way to Killer's room, most people quickly ignored you when they noticed Heat. "Did you really come to ask if I got breakfast?" As it turned out, Killer's room was right next to Kid's. That seemed appropriate.

Heat let you in and watched you from the doorframe with his arms crossed. "No," He paused to consider his next words, "the captain wanted me to make sure you weren't getting into trouble."

You appreciated his honesty and it made you laugh. "If he was worried, he shouldn't have left me in a room with a thousand things I know how to kill someone with and his first-mate." Heat shifted in the doorway as you made your way to a small dresser. "That was a joke." It wasn't, but you didn't need Heat to report that back to Kid. Looking through his clothes was easy. One drawer had all jeans and one drawer had all the same shirt. The man likes routine. You grabbed one of each when a small corner of black fabric peeked out from under some shirts. Tugging it free, it was a black button down with big white polka dots. It looked much smaller than the other shirts. You held it up to Heat, "What's this?"

"Looks like Killer's old shirt."

"Does that mean he doesn't wear it?"

"I think it's too small."

"So he won't mind if I take it." Anything to get out of these clothes. Heat was about to say something and you cut him off, "I'm taking it." Heat shrugged. He wasn't going to argue. Killer could do that when he woke up, if he wanted. You looked Heat over and pointed to his top. "Do you have one of those you don't wear anymore?" You had an idea.

It turned out that he did. You took your new outfit back to the infirmary to drop it off and then headed down to the brig, only getting lost once, to see what the alleged "mess" was. The crew kept an eye on you, but didn't bother you. The brig was empty of people and was located in the back of the storage area which had rows of crates and barrels. It was very dark, but you could make out the shape that was Mini and her glaring eyes. "I know. I know. I'm sorry you had to be down here." The "mess" was what appeared to be a destroyed crate with several scraps of orange peel around it that had been left in her cell. That's on them. You easily found the lock to the door. Placing your hand over it, the soft, yellow glow came forth from your palm again. There was a soft click as the gate swung open. You went in and gave Mini a hug. Her neck was too big for your arms to encircle. Rough reddish hair poked at your skin as you breathed in her scent. She smelled like disturbed earth, tree sap, and freshly torn leaves. It was comforting to have something familiar. You sighed and released her to start piling up the wood fragments of the crate. Wait. You looked around. No one was there. You touched the pile and focused on the image of a whole crate. Why should you pick up all the pieces when you could put it back together with a touch? Because it makes me tired as fuck. You used your power a lot more today than you had before. One perk of being here seemed like more opportunity to practice, as long as no one saw. There was really no reason to keep it a secret, but you may as well while you were at it. It took a few minutes of focus and the pieces started to fit back together. Daffodil colored light bathed Mini while she finished off the orange peels. Guess I'll have to deal with a scurvy-riddled crew now, you thought as the rest of the crate came together. A loud huff exited you as you let your breath out. You were focusing so hard you didn't realize you were holding it. Dusting your hands off, you grinned. It was a little silly to be proud of putting a crate back together. You had to start somewhere though.

Now, about sneaking a giant boar into the infirmary. It was plenty big for her to be in there with you. You didn't see a problem with it. And anyone who did could try their best to move her. Knowing how stubborn she was, you laughed to yourself. She thought the same of you, you were sure. Was it better to sneak slowly through the halls or to barrel through and hope for the best? Well one of them sounded way more fun and someone was gonna see either way. No. No. I have to be low profile. With your luck, you would probably run straight into Eustass Kid himself.

Miraculously, most everyone was in the mess for lunch. Out of the corner of someone's eye, Mini probably looked like Kid. Her fur was similar in color to his coat and her size was certainly comparable. She did have a hard time squeezing through the infirmary doorway, though made it without breaking the frame. Killer still wasn't awake. You looked around the infirmary some more. There was a few fold-down bunks attached to the wall, extra space in case the stretchers were all taken. You unfolded the top one, making it up so you could use it for yourself. That way, Minerva could curl up below you.

There was also a small bathroom with a shower, a far cry from Kid's luxurious space. It was clean and had some personal hygiene products within. You grabbed some along with a basin and filled it with hot water. For the second time since knowing the man, you stripped Killer. Oh how you wished it was under different circumstances. Grabbing a washcloth you got it wet and put some soap on it to clean Killer up. After all, no one wanted to wake up dirty and he still had some sand clinging to his tan skin. It took a bit of time to get him as clean as he was going to get without a real shower or bath. When you were done, you got a new basin of water. You dipped Killer's hair into it and placed it right below his hair to catch the drips. Taking shampoo, you worked it into his scalp and down the lengths of his hair, untangling as you went. You squeezed as much out as you could before rinsing the rest of the soap out. Then you repeated the process with conditioner and towel dried his blond locks. It was not easy to wrestle clothes back on to him and by the time you were done, his hair was mostly dry. Selfishly, you really wanted to wash it so that you could touch it some more. It was so pretty and soft. You spent an embarrassing amount of time braiding it until it was perfect, definitely just to keep it from tangling again and not for your own entertainment. You didn't have anything else to do. Or maybe you did, but until Kid expressly told you to do something, you weren't going to take it upon yourself to do chores.

A tall shadow appeared outside the door, knocking with purpose.

"If Kid sent you to check on me, I'm fucking busy. Tell him to- tell him Killer is fine and I'm straightening up in here." You were going to say "tell him to fuck off" but that would mean a raging bull stomping into your space within minutes.

The shadow made some kind of mumble and left.

The next day went by, you kept to yourself, eating after everyone else had and retreating to the med bay. Heat had come by and you asked him for another favor. Later that day, you re-painted Killer's nails. Essentially you were having a slumber party with him and he was the only one sleeping, getting his hair braided, and his nails painted, though you did paint yours later, too, out of boredom. There were a few medical texts you occupied yourself with reading since you had never been formally trained, just some field experience. You fell asleep with one of them in your hands, leaned back against Mini, who you had been smuggling leftovers to throughout the day.

#made it extra long just how we all like it #one piece #x reader #kid x reader x killer #killer x reader #eustass kid #massacre soldier killer #eustass kid x reader #marooned

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starqueensthings · 1 year

Text

I was going to wait to post this until Mama Echo Monday, but fck it. Happy Star Wars Day, Pals!

Pairing: GN!Reader x Echo. No mention of Reader’s appearance/gender (with the exception of "an unladylike grunt" mentioned once to describe exertion).

POV: 2nd person, 4641 words.

Summary: Echo and SquadMedic!Reader share their first kiss after he makes an unplanned trip to the MedBay.

Warnings: Slightly whumpy as Echo gets injured while completing some ship repairs, mentions of blood and medical procedures (stitches specifically), mentions of Echo's traumatic past, mentions of the anxieties he deals with regularly now in regards to medical treatment.

Rating: SFW, fluffier than a fkn cotton ball

A/N: I am not a doctor. I’m not even close to a doctor. I don’t know if any of the medical words/references make any sense but I did my best with the tools I had LOL

Huge thank you to the always incredible @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading, your time and feedback was so appreciated.

You hummed quietly along to the song warbling from the radio in the corner as you flattened the last of the dozen cardboard boxes that had, up until this morning, housed the carefully packaged restock of your MedBay supplies. Hunter had long since asked you to start keeping the empty boxes, as they worked well for kindling and the squad had taken to settling down after missions with a bonfire wherever possible. But storing bulky boxes in your already cramped closet of a MedBay had proven a challenge in itself, as the only method for storing such clutter was to have them sandwiched tightly between the wall and the arm of your bulky treatment chair.

“Don't get stressed, it's gonna get figured out…” you sang to yourself. The fluffy pop song filling the quiet corners of the room was not your regular cup of tea, but was surprisingly successful at pulling a small wiggle from your hips, and the occasional snap from your dusty fingers. “Deep conversations at the Waffle House...” You sashayed across the room to the beat of the song, heading towards the wall of cabinets opposite the door.

“But you knowwwww it’s always love,” you chorused, holding an invisible microphone in front of your mouth with your right hand, while your left latched each of the cupboards closed.

The clunk clunk of approaching heavy footsteps (the kind that could only belong to the large metallic feet of Echo) were masked by the reverie that the radio always seemed to put you in, and you were momentarily deaf to everything else.

“Um… Mesh’la? Mesh’la?”

A sudden sharp intake of breath tugged heavily at your throat as your body jerked in surprise. You spun around towards the door, ready to adorn the person who’d induced your cardiac arrest with the most vehement glare you could muster… but the distress on the face of the man slumped in the doorway wiped every ounce of ire from your mind immediately.

“Sorry,” Echo mumbled from the doorway where he had paused. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

The urge to clamp your hand over your thundering heart was immediately robbed from you as your eyes registered his visible torment, and his even more obvious need for medical attention. “Maker,” you hissed, your eyes widening and your lips parting.

“So it is that bad...” he grumbled, correctly reading the shock on your face and triggering his shoulders to sag.

You closed the space between you in a brisk walk, your brows knitted tightly in concern and focus. Echo had his hand clamped over his right cheek, though the pressure he was applying from his palm was nowhere near enough to stem the flow of blood now cascading down his jaw and dripping onto his chest plate.

“Let me see,” you instructed gently, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and slowly tugging his arm downwards.

You had no choice but to ignore the loop-de-loop that your heart did in your chest as a result of your contact with his skin; Echo had had that effect on you from the get-go. For obvious reasons (and not), he was unlike any man you’d ever come across before. Sure, his cybernetics and past experiences made him unique enough as an individual, but it was more than that. He had a distinctive, polite sort of grace about him; a warmth that emanated from deep in his person that you’d never encountered before. There was just something about the way his eyes seemed to caress your features as he listened to you ramble about whatever topic it was that you needed to vent about that particular day; something about the way that his smile tugged just a little more on his left cheek than his right when Wrecker got him laughing hard enough; something about the little smirk on his lips, and nod of his head that he sent your way every morning before he was awake enough to voice a greeting.

Simply having him in close proximity somehow simultaneously calmed and excited you, wiping your mind of all coherent thought, while your heart was jolted into overdrive. It was particularly bad in the moments like this one where your skin brushed against his, as your body always seemed to take it as a cue to throw composure out the window, doping your blood with enough hormones to make your hands tremble. And then there was the fact that time did not seem to be a concrete concept when you two were together; you could have happily spent a continuous decade passing tool after tool over his shoulder as he patched up the ship, or three weeks collecting firewood from the nearby forest, or simply reading side by side in the cockpit chairs.

You cleared your throat quietly, trying to rid your insides of the butterflies that had launched into a fluttering dance routine at his touch, so you could focus on his injury. “Tech told me to come see you,” Echo mumbled through an expression laced with fear as his arm fell to his side. “He said something about a flap being ‘full thickness’?”

Now free from the pressure of his palm, the laceration on his cheek began to leak freely the moment it was exposed. Barely a breath later saw your fingertips quickly cloaked in the same red carnage that had seeped through the cracks of his own fingers. As you gently pulled at the loose overhang of skin, you reached around to the waist pouch on your lower back, yanked the zipper open, and deftly retrieved a handful of sterile gauze packs. With a quick rip of the paper packet, you unfolded a fresh square of linen and immediately pressed it against his cheek. He winced lightly against the pain of the pressure you applied, but did not pull away from your touch.

While one left hand continued to hold the gauze in place against the warmth of his oozing cheek, your other reached for his elbow, pulling on it gently until he took a step forwards through the threshold of the door and into the MedBay. Somewhat awkwardly, as you were walking backwards and at a drastically reduced speed, you guided him towards the treatment chair and sat him on the worn albeit squashy cushion on the seat (an addition you incorporated upon first seeing the cold and rigid equipment).

“What in the name of Mandalore’s moon happened to you?” you asked him, reaching for his hand again and gesturing for him to hold the gauze in place for you.

He swallowed with apparent difficulty, his eyes flickering anxiously around the room, glaring at each piece of diagnostic equipment mounted on the walls around him. The MedBay was Echo’s least favourite area of the ship, and he had already apologetically admitted that he only visited it when he absolutely needed to. “The machines and stuff kinda freak me out,” he had divulged quietly halfway through the generic physical you had put him through shortly after you joined the squad.

Thanks to your research and the details in his medical chart, you were well aware before joining the crew that he had had several limbs replaced by cybernetic machinery in the past, but it wasn’t until several weeks after, in a whispered night-watch conversation on the ramp of the Marauder, that Hunter explained how… and why. Echo’s recurring MedBay anxiety, or the “Med Dreads” as you had comically labeled it since, became immediately validated and unspokenly understood.

“Your cheek, hun. What happened?” you probed again when he failed to answer you, deliberately keeping your tone light and warm as it usually helped diminish his anxiety.

“I… uh… got cut.” He answered your question in a mumble, forcing the lump of anxiety down his throat for a second time and sending you a fleeting glance.

“Well I can see that, Captain Obvious,” you quipped with a smile and a small eye roll as you took the saturated material out from under his hand and replaced it with a fresh one.

After tossing the used fabric into the biohazardous waste bin beside the chair, you reached around your waist into the pouch again, this time retrieving the travel sized bottle of your go-to wound disinfectant: a neon orange effervescent solution that smelled strongly like iron, and worked remarkably well at cleaning superficial wounds with minimal pain. You held the gauze over the opening in the bottle and tipped it upside down thrice. Once satisfied with the level of saturation, you screwed the lid back on and returned the bottle to your pouch.

Your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrist again, tugging it away from his cheek and collecting the soiled linen from his fingers. The bleeding had almost entirely subsided, blood now seeping out from under the flap of skin in droplet form, as opposed to the crimson river it had been when he first walked in.

“It’s… it’s Corporal.”

Had you not seen his lips move out of the corner of your eye, his murmur of words would have been completely lost amongst the incoherent chatter of the radio hosts.

“Pardon?” you asked him, stopping the movements of your hands to give him your undivided attention.

You were surprised to see a small smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth as he turned his gaze back to you. “It’s Corporal,” he repeated. “Corporal Obvious.”

The upswing in his demeanor took you by surprise, momentarily blanking your mind of a response as a smile worked its way across your own face. You peered into his twinkly eyes for a breath of a moment, basking in the warmth that they smothered you in every time that they fell on you. “Oh, my apologies, sir…” you chirred with a smirk, resuming your careful wiping motions across his injured cheek. “Apparently you’re Corporal Funnyguy today, too.”

A small laugh left his nose in something of a soft snort, triggering the butterflies in your stomach to resume their tortuous, internal flap-about. Your cheeks began to burn as the echo of his laugh; you loved when he laughed, particularly if it was you that had managed to pull it out of him.

In an effort to keep the giddy smile off your face, you bit down on the insides of your cheeks, deliberately keeping your eyes away from his until you could regain your composure. After discarding the gauze in your hands, you turned your attention back to the laceration on his cheek, prodding it gently and tugging on each end to observe its reaction to various degrees of tension. Now that the area was cleaned of the carnage, the injury was thrown into sharp relief, and you were internally grateful you’d removed the mirror from this room months ago. Echo was a tough cookie but was notoriously squeamish with blood and injuries, and whatever it was that had cut him, left a clean albeit deep wound, extending from his cheekbone outwards to his ear.

“Hmm,” you hummed, placing your hands on your hips and wiggling your nose as you thought about the best method to close the wound. “It’s definitely full thickness, unfortunately,” you intoned. “I’ll have to E-Mag stitch it, hun.”

His shoulders sank dramatically, and a heavy sigh left his mouth as he tipped his head back in exasperation. You swallowed against the sadness and empathy building in your chest, placing what you hoped was a calming hand on this shoulder. He nibbled gently on his bottom lip before looking back at you, his eyes now framed with small creases of suppressed fear and contempt.

“Can’t you just use a bacta patch?” he asked you, failing to entirely stifle the desperate plea in his tone. “Or some of that fancy tape you have?” His eyes darted around the room again, this time almost frantically, as if visually finding the tape would be enough to convince you to use it, but his silent petitions were met with nothing but a poignant shake of your head. The inevitable, and likely infinite, list of alternatives he was sure to propose, as he so frequently had in the past, were no match for the dismissive explanation waiting patiently on your tongue.

“Echo, hun, we've been over this before. Bacta is a great tool, but it isn’t the end-all and be-all.” You spoke quietly, trying to catch eye contact again by shifting your weight and tipping your head until your face was in his line of sight. “The laceration is deep into the epidermal layer, and skin always heals from the bottom upwards. If we put a patch on, it will limit the amount of breathing your wound can do while it’s healing, and the chance of forming a compound infection increases pretty drastically.”

You watched the ghosts of unvoiced arguments shift his expression as he turned his face away from you again, his amber eyes flickering back and forth between the rebuttals that only he could hear; sorting through the rolodex of bargaining chips in his mind, searching for anything to help him obtain a fast pass out of this chair, and away from the prospect of foreign tools near his body. But despite the crease between his heavy brows deepening to that of dark chasm, he remained quiet, the only motions of his mouth being the mollifying nibble of his bottom lip.

“I promise, once the stitches dissolve, we’ll put some bacta gel on to prevent scarring, and you’ll never know it happened,” you offered warmly, standing up straight and retracting your hand from his shoulder. “But for now, I’ll give you a pain injection to numb the area and you won’t feel a th—”

“No pain injection,” he interrupted, snapping his head around to stare at you.

You stifled your sigh just enough for it to leave your mouth as nothing more than a poignant exhale drenched in sympathy. “Echo,” you started, cowering only slightly under the intensity of his stare. “We've been over this too. You know the stitcher is more uncomfortable than the injector. It'll be more comf—”

“No injection. I don’t need it, or want it.”

“Come on, Corporal Toughguy,” you pleaded, hoping that adding a dash of humour to the situation might soften his refusal. “I’m a whizz with the injector, ask anyone! And you can even load the vial yourself, if you want, so you know exactly what’s going in—”

“Still no, and always no.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and challenged your pleading eyes with the flick of a dark eyebrow, wordlessly reinforcing that this was a battle you were not going to win, and he would out-stubborn you into the ground. Little did he know, the intensity of his warm eyes directed at you so piercingly, had almost entirely diminished your resolve, and a smile was working its way back across your face before you could stop it.

“Fine,” you conceded, sticking your tongue out at him fleetingly before turning around and stepping away from the exam chair.

With an unladylike grunt, you retrieved the heavy durasteel case that held the E-Mag stitcher from one of the lower cabinets on the opposite wall. The Republic Cog logo on the lid was almost entirely faded from the constant friction of your hand opening and closing it, but the tool inside was measuredly kept in good repair. With the prod of the button, you brought the stitcher to life while simultaneously doing your best to hide the tool behind your back as you crossed the room towards where Echo sat watching you.

His glazed eyes focused again as you approached, flickering only fleetingly to your hidden hand before another heavy sigh stole over him. You steeled yourself against the dread building inside of you, reminding yourself that your discomfort in this moment was nothing compared to his, and despite the awareness that you were about to cause him moderate to significant physical and emotional pain, this treatment was necessary.

“You sure no pain injection, hun?” you asked him when you returned to his side.

“I’m sure,” he answered with a stoic nod.

“But are you sure sure? For sure, sure?”

“I’m sure sure… for sure… sure?” he answered slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly as his lips curled into a smile. “Maker, that word sounds weird when you say it so many times.”

A huff of a laugh poured from your mouth as you nodded. “I did that to Tech the other day too,” you said with a grin. “I somehow got him to say ‘tinkle’ three times in a row and I think he almost had a seizure.”

Another laugh forced Echo’s injured cheek upwards, though you were pleased to see the creases around his eyes were momentarily free of pain and tension. The look of neutrality, hell even joy on his features was a welcome change to the subdued and forlorn demeanor that the Med-Dreads drowned him in.

You know you let your eyes linger on him for just a little too long, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same euphoric pull towards you, that you were feeling towards him in the span of that shared laugh. Father Time had launched into his usual cruel tricks the second that Echo’s crinkled eyes met yours, and suddenly moments could have been hours; years could have been seconds; an eternity could have passed and you wouldn’t have known, for his eyes on you made everything around you make sense, and at the same time, irrelevant.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, apprehension ghosting behind his eyes as he clutched the armrest of the chair tightly in his pallid hand.

“Okay,” you answered in a determined whisper, gathering the remains of your resolve, and finally pulling the E-mag stitcher from behind your back.

The wad of boxes wedged between the chair and the wall was, unfortunately, precisely where you needed to stand to hold the stitcher at the optimal angle, but you had no intention of delaying or drawing out Echo’s torture any longer than necessary. Eager to start and to finish so that he could be free of the mental and physical turmoil, you opted to lean across his body instead. You heard his breath hitch in his chest as you stepped in between his knees and leaned into his space, but whether his alarm was triggered from the feeling of your body against his, or the fear that enveloped him upon seeing the stitcher, you were not sure.

“Just keep your eyes on me,” you instructed him, giving him one last smile before turning your attention to his cheek.

And he did. And it almost killed you. Watching his eyes water and his muscles tense with each stitch that you guided the tool to feed through his skin sent a wave of guilt and remorse crashing through your stomach to the point where you began desperately searching your brain for something to distract him with.

“I think I’m going to try and get Hunter next,” you declared after the 6th stitch had wracked his tense features with another wince. You paused, offering him the moment of pain-free peace that he refused to verbalize. “What should I try and get him to say? Something attainable... but I kinda want to be on the raunchy side. Any ideas?”

“Hmm,” Echo considered after a long, slow exhale. “How about something like nipple?”

“Nipple!” you chortled. “That’s perfect.”

“It’ll be hard to get him though,” he added against another wince as the tool in your hand threaded another stitch through his skin. “He’s too aware. You’ll have to get him nice and distracted first.”

“Kinda sounds like you’ve done this before,” you suggested quizzically, glancing over at him and cocking an eyebrow.

Echo shrugged a shoulder and let the ghost of a smirk work its way across his lips. “My brother and I had some prankster tendencies back in the day,” he answered cryptically. “Though he was a natural at it, so I always took his lead.”

“Tell me about him,” you probed, grateful for the opportunity of a lengthy and important topic; one that might be enough to steal his awareness from the present pain that you were putting him through.

A surprisingly sad sounding sigh left his mouth as he closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring slightly against unspoken thoughts. “Maybe another day,” he eventually mumbled with a small grimace.

Every cell in your body urged you to protest; to argue with him; to reassure him that you truly did want to know everything about the brother that he only ever mentioned fleetingly; to remind him that you would eagerly listen, with open ears, for as long as he was willing to talk, like he had done for you only countless occasions. But you couldn’t bring yourself to force him into anything at this moment; not while he was already uncomfortable... already desperate to escape this room and the pain you were putting him through.

You sighed quietly to yourself, making a mental note to prompt again later, and pushed the 11th stitch into place.

“Okay, deal,” you answered. “Maybe you and I can take down Hunter as a team? I’ll bring nipples up in a conversation because, let’s be honest, it’d be weird coming from you… but you’ll have to think of a way to get him to say it multiple times.”

“Deal,” he agreed with eyes clamped shut. “What about Cross? Have you managed to get him, yet?”

“No,” you grumbled audibly and dramatically. “I can’t even get him to say one word, let alone the same word repeatedly. I don't think he likes me much to be honest...”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Echo assuaged, opening his eyes again and directing them on to you. “We all love you. Crosshair’s just a severe guy. It takes him a little longer to show his colours than everyone else.”

“Yeah well… so far the only colours I’ve seen of his are ‘snipey’ and ‘cranky’,” you chuckled, shifting your weight slightly so you could rest your elbow on his shoulder. “Oh… and ‘morning-breathy’.”

Pride welled inside of you as Echo laughed again, his chest vibrating below yours with every snicker that left him.

“He does have bad morning breath,” he agreed with a grin. “Not as bad as Wreck though. He could kill a man with that toxic morning gas.”

“Good thing Tech has the cabin ionizer on full blast at night or I think we’d all be dead.”

“That’s why he has it on full blast at night.”

Two things happened in the subsequent moment of shared laughter: you pushed the final stitch through his skin, but before a suppressed sigh of relief could even think about leaving your mouth, Echo’s hand shifted from the arm of the chair and landed gently on your side. He placed it there so softly that, in any other moment, you may have been able to shrug it off as an unprovoked shift of your waist pouch, but being so close to him had increased the sensitivity in your skin- in your very awareness, and there was no denying that was his hand clasped timidly, yet purposefully on your clothed rib cage.

You froze, turning your head slowly to face him. His eyes were fixed on you, and his face donned an expression that you’d never seen on him before: a juxtaposed blend of confidence and apprehension. You slowly straightened up, the breath in your lungs stalling as you watched his eyes dart from your left eye to your right.

You could have sworn you had heard music playing mere seconds ago, but it didn’t seem like your mind was presently able to register anything other than the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. You could have sworn you were just laughing about something… but that couldn’t be true, as there was absolutely nothing inherently comical about the way he was looking at you, nor did there seem to be any air left in your lungs to spare on laughter.

“Thank you,” he breathed, using the gentle hand on your side to pull you a fraction of an inch closer to him.

“For… for what?” you somehow managed to ask.

Hesitation stilled him for only a moment, his cheeks flushing slightly as his eyes darted back and forth between yours again. “For being… you. For being so... you know... awesome.”

If the butterflies rearranging your internal organs like furniture wasn’t enough to end you right then and there, then the addition of his gentle touch under your chin would certainly have been your demise. Tingles radiated from the place where his finger rested on your skin. Your hands, still limply holding the stitcher at your side, began to tremble in anticipation as a force more powerful that gravity pulled you closer and closer to him. Your lips parted slightly as his gaze darted between your eyes again.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathed, your eyes fluttering closed.

A cannon went off somewhere in the depths of your stomach as his lips brushed against yours, testing the waters of your approval; offering you the opportunity to pull away if you wanted, but there was simply nothing else in the entire galaxy that you’d rather be doing. There was simply no better feeling than this; than transferring every ounce of desire in your body into his through means of a kiss.

You pressed your lips more firmly against his, deepening the kiss while the stitcher fell to the floor at your feet with a clunk that no one heard… forgotten, irrelevant. As he probed your lips further apart, your right hand snaked its way up his chest to cup his jaw just below his ear. His hand returned to your side, brushing his thumb tenderly against your ribs, as his tongue made a hesitant entrance into your mouth. You welcomed it immediately, pushing your chest right up against his, impervious to the uncomfortable rigidity of his armour.

“This does not seem an appropriate treatment protocol for a level 2 subdermal laceration.”

You and Echo broke apart immediately, both of you turning deer-in-the-headlight’s expressions to the door where Tech stood wide eyed and slack jawed in the threshold. Echo blushed and hung his head to his chest, as a nervous giggle left your lips.

“Um…” you started, your mind frantically searching for a valid excuse as to why you and Echo had just been unceremoniously draped all over one another, all the while somewhat distracted by the large smears of engine oil across Tech’s forehead. “Well I stitched him first… and then… shifted focus...” Tech deadpanned you, his expression unreadable, and his magnified eyes blinking intermittently behind the lenses of his smeared goggles.

“What was your method of choice?” he eventually asked you, when not even the radio in the corner could puncture the awkward silence in the room.

“S-sorry?” you stuttered. Echo scratched his nose in your peripheral vision but you refused to look at him, lest you return to pieces and pounce on him again.

“What was your chosen method for the laceration repair?” Tech clarified, shifting his goggles on his nose.

“Oh… um. The Electro Magnetic stitcher. It was full thickne—”

“Then I was correct in my initial diagnoses. Good for me.”

He turned and left without another word, his gaze immediately redirected back downwards to the datapad clutched in his dirty hands.

When the sounds of his footsteps faded to nothing, you finally risked a glance back at Echo. His smirking face pulled an embarrassed smile from you immediately, but his eyes remained locked on you as he stood up and reached for your hand.

“Come on,” he spoke quietly, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you towards the hallway. “Let’s go for a walk.”

#echo x reader #echo x you #starqueenswrittenworks #bad batch fanfic #bad batch echo #echo bad batch

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thewritingginger · 1 year

Text

I have no other reasoning for choosing Ares for this other than he just seems the type to like talking down to his partner and living his best Dom life :)

Also this is the last of my 2022 Kinktober posts! Thank you so much for your patience :3

P.s. Poorly edited, mind mistakes

Fandom: Blood of Zeus Pairing: Ares x Fem! Human Reader Word count: 2.1k+ words Warnings: 18+, Dub-con, God / Human relationship, Rough sex, Master kink, Degrading (use of whore), Belittling, Bondage (chains, flog) , Vaginal fingering, Vaginal sex, Breeding kink, Spanking, Hair pulling, Slight praise, Creampie, Aftercare, A cluster-fuck :)

Enjoy ~

“Listen to how pathetic you are, crying like a wounded animal. Is my cock too much for your little human cunt?” The god says as he pounds into you.

You are unsure of how long you’ve been getting speared on Ares’ unforgiving cock. The sounds of your wet joining, his sack slapping against your throbbing clit, your wanton moans and incoherent babbling, and the chains that have your arms suspended above you make up the cacophony of debauchery in Ares’ room.

Having come back from a sparring match –one interrupted by Zeus– defeated and agitated he sees you, his dutiful little human and your tight cunt was just the outlet he needed to relax.

The late evening rays of the setting sun paints the room, indicating you’ve been at the god's mercy for quite a while. Your whole body aches. Your arms are sore from prolonged suspension, your exposed skin stings from vigorous lashings of Ares’ strong hands and your quivering quim is exhausted from the repeatedly forced oragams and heavy pounding of Ares’ hips.

“Ma -ah- Master, pl-please -ah. I can’t.” You cry for mercy. Your poor body has tried to hold out for as long as your God needed but you can’t take it any more. A large hand is threaded through your hair before roughly pulling your head back, ripping another cry from your throat.

“You can’t?” A chuckle vibrates through his chest and into your back. Heavy panting laces his words, “That’s not really your choice now, is it, pet?” You give a weak whimper then he releases your head and pulls out of you completely leaving you feeling unbelievably empty.

You hang your head, body slack with only the chains around your wrists holding you up. Then the tension on your shoulders releases, pulling a relieved sigh from your lips. Your body drops unceremoniously to the floor. You're shaking and weak but manage to look up at the war God towering over you.

“Ma-master, please.” Your voice hiccups, tears threatening to brim over once more. You flinch when Ares’ powerful body crouches, his cock a steel rod coated in your milky essence erect in your vision before his hand wraps around your throat, directing your face up.

“Please, what, human?” He spits the last word, as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Tsking, Ares tosses your face aside and stands. You timidly watch through your lashes as he paces across the large room to a cabinet. He opens a secret compartment in the back that you know is filled with tools he reserves specifically to tortour you with.

As you try to catch your breath and lift yourself on your shaky arm, you look up to see a flogging whip in his hands and his feral crimson eyes carving into your weak and battered body –the evidence of rough treatment already visible on your skin. He stops a few paces away from you and looks between you and his bed expectantly.

“Bed. Now.” Swallowing, you urge your legs to move so you could stand but are stopped promptly by a lashing of soft leather straps across your back. “Did I say you could stand. Crawl.” He spits, punctuating with a flog to your already reddened ass.

“Yes, Master.” You obediently say as you try to will your limbs to keep you up right as you scoot across the marble floor.

Making it to the bed Ares’ voice barks out once more, “Get on.” with another lash across our skin. With a whimpered response you crawl onto the plush mattress to the center and present your ass to him as he likes, your arms folded under you and face pressed into the soft furs beneath you.

You feel the bed dip from Ares’ weight. Positioned behind you, his warmth washing over you once more, you flinch at the sudden touch of his rough palm gripping your asscheek to spread you open.

“Look at your filthy cunt, gaping and dripping with my spunk like a street whore. You’re nothing but my toy, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.” A pleased dark laugh vibrates from the god’s chest and another lash of his whip.

“You like being used? Having your tiny human cunt stretched out around my cock, ruining you for any mortal man? Only a god’s cock will be able to satisfy this filthy hole of yours, huh?”

“Yes, Master. Please, Master- ah!” Your pleas were cut off by his hand coming down firmly on your ass.

“Such a greedy little whore. Please, what? Did I ask you what you wanted?”

“No, Ma-.” Another smack on his hot palm.

“No, I didn’t.”

Tossing the flog on the mattress Ares positions himself on one knee, his large hands groping and firmly massaging and spreading your ass in warning and in thought.

“I give you so much, do I not?”

“You do.” You plead and sniffle, new tears springing from your ducts.

“I do? Then why could you possibly be crying?” He says with a spank. “Did I not already give you my cock? My seed? Is being filled countless times and left dripping still not enough for you?”

“No. I- ah.” Another spank.

“No? Do you need me to fill you up more? You’ve already wasted my cum. Letting it drip out of your pathetic cunt and across my floor.” You feel his calloused fingers sliding through your soggy folds, collecting the white liquid dripping out of you. “Should I really continue to give you my prick after that?”

“I’m sorry, Master. Please, mercy.” You cry, making him laugh darkly once more

“Mercy.” He huffs as he shoves two thick fingers into your exhausted core. “Do I not show you mercy when I take you in my chambers instead of out in the open? Or perhaps I show it by not passing you off to another God to deal with you when I’m through with your sniffling?”

His digits bully your walls in quick and rough movements. He curls your insides making unearthly sounds rip from your throat, tears streaming down your face, muscles contracting.

“You’re lucky I’m fucking my seed back into you rather than throwing you outside to leak onto the pavement of the courtyard.”

“Yes, M-Master. T-thank y-you, M-ah!” Your words are robbed from you as your umpteenth orgasm of the evening erupts.

When your high dwindles the fingers pumping into your cunt don’t falter, they seem to continue with more vigor and ferocity, stealing your body’s chance to relax.

“Wait -ah- I- please- ah!” Your choked sobs are broken up and you feel helpless against the ruthless War God pummeling your trembling body with his fingers, especially when he just chuckles again and brings his hand against your bruised ass

“That’s right, little human. Cry. Beg. Beg me to stop ruining you. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“No? Then plead. Scream for me. Let all of Olympus hear how needy you are for your master’s cock.” You cry, unable to speak as his fingers continue their assault.

Leaning over your back, your head is pulled back unnaturally by your hair so Ares can speak into your ear.

“Did you not hear me, human?” He spits through his gritted teeth. “Speak.”

“Please, Master! I need your c-cock. Stuff me full -ah- I need it! Please!” You plead loudly, your voice -along with the squelching of Ares’ moving fingers- bounce off the walls of the room.

“Good Pet.” He purrs into your ear pleased. Before you can let his praise melt over you, his fingers rip from your hole leaving you empty but not for long because before you could adjust to the emptiness you’re split in half on his rigid cock –that is harder than before.

With his hand still tangled in your sweat slicked locks his hips resume the same vicious pace as his finger. The soundtrack of skin on skin and choked moans and heavy breath fills the air.

“Fuck. That’s good. Let every God and human within a hundred mile radius hear you.” He grunts, smacking your ass. “If you try holding anything back from me your punishment will be so severe I’m not sure your human body would be able to handle it.”

His threatening words should scare you but they twist sickeningly sweet in your belly with the unbelievable pleasure he is bringing upon you. Not that you’d be able to hold back anything even if you wanted to, your jaw remains slack letting any and all sounds from your throat fall out and if you have any morsel of sense left you might’ve cared. Maybe even be embarrassed. But you’re not. Your mind is so far gone. The only jumbled thoughts that can pass through your fuck-out head is about Ares and his cock and needing more. More of his cock. More of his cum. You want to be so filled you’re dripping him from next week in reminder of who owns you.

“You’re squeezing my cock so tightly. You like being threatened? Filthy whore.” He says with an edge of amusement as he pulls you up till your back is flushed to his front. “But that just makes you my filthy whore, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, you’re cunt is good. I’m so close. You want my cum, human?”

“Yes.” It’s the only word your dumb brain can make up but Ares doesn’t care, you can tell by his erratic breathing and irregular pumping of his hasty hips against yours that he is soon to burst.

“Yeah? Dump my spunk into your womb? Make you round with my seed? Is that what you want?”

“Gods, yes!” You moan, your head resting back against his shoulder, his hand leaves your hair to rub your sensitive clitoris.

For support you grab onto any part of him you can —his arm wrapped around your front, his tight ass behind you– digging your nails into his skin he hisses in your ear, hips moving faster to reach your collective ends.

“Taking me so fucking well. Your sweet cunt was made to be split on my thick cock. Damn it!” He roars, his hips hitting your ass once final time with a hard smack. Nonsensical moans fall from your open lips as a hot pool begins to spread in your belly, his balls empty out into your quivering core as his fingers continue to rub the nub between your lower lips.

Your stomach twists tighter and tighter the longer his fingers keep moving, hell bent on pushing you over the edge one last time.

“Cum on my fucking cock. I want to feel your cunt milk me.”

“Yes I-I’m-.” You weren’t able to finish your sentence before you were swept under the tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your fatigue stricken body.

“Good girl. Fuck.” Praises fill your ears as he works you through your -hopefully- last orgasm of the night.

Once you’ve finally fully slumped in Ares’ grasp he gently lays you back to the mattress, your cheek presses into the soft pelt beneath you as you try to catch your ragged breath. Warm hands run down the length of your body, tickling the skin of your waist to your hips. Gently rubbing your battered ass in his hands, Ares slowly pulls out of your exhausted walls. Low praises enter your ears as you let out a hiccup of discomfort at the feeling of being emptied and being spread for the God to watch his thick white seed leak out of you.

“You did so good for me, Sweetheart. Just relax, I will clean you up soon.” He says, stepping off the bed. Picking up the whip beside you and placing it on the nightstand, Ares crouches beside the bed to be eye level with you, he pets your head, brushing away stray hairs stuck to your forehead from sweat.

“Are you okay?” His voice is serious and warm. Willing your eyes to flutter open you’re met with crimson eyes that are completely different than before. Before they looked like the ones of a predator but now they are the ones of your lover, a man that loves you. Giving a tired smile you nod your head slightly.

“Yeah.” “Good. Do you want me to run you a bath or do you want to lay for a while?”

“Lay for a while.” You yawn.

“Do you want me to hold you or if you wish I can leave?”

“No, stay.” You lay your hand on his wrist and without another word Ares gathers you in his arms, gentle to not harm your already sore body, and lays with you in the middle of his large bed.

“Rest now, Darling. I’m in no rush.” You humm in tried response and nuzzle your head into Ares’ warm chest, listening to the low rumble of his voice speaking praises along with the steady beat of his heart.

This took a while to get to cuz I couldn’t figure out how to write it But I got there and I hope you liked it

Feedback & Interaction is always appreciated! :)

💛 ~

~ Kinktober Masterlist ~ ~ Masterlist~

#kinktober #kinktober 2022 #netflix blood of zeus #blood of zeus #blood of zeus x reader #blood of zeus ares #blood of zeus ares x reader #boz #boz ares #boz ares x reader #ares x reader #boz smut #*nsfw

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