#//I hope this works as a thread's beginning

[penvisions]

underbelly {gone to the dogs} - a holiday special

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: You and Joel have an understanding, a new thing between you both. Where once biting words were exchanged and annoyance flared, now there's this simmering thing that slowly takes hold. And who is Joel Miller if not a giving man at his core, determined to do right by the people he lets into his pack?

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: canon typical language, outbreak fic, age gap (about 15 years), sub! joel miller, dom / sub dynamics, sexual content, rough sex, p in v, smut, unprotected p in v (it's the end of the world, y'all), oral (m and f receiving), sappy gift giving, holiday fic, some good ole pwp (well a little bc it's me lol)

Fic Notes: set at the beginning of their relationship, so between chapters five and six, i believe

A/N: hello, my loves! this is an apology of sorts for joel's behavior in the most recent chapter of the main series 😅felt like i needed to even the playing field a bit hehe. happy holidays and hope the days are good to y'all!

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

The table in front of you is an organized mess. From the small baggies of pills and powder, to the piles of hand rolled cigarettes and joints separated in plastic bins, there are four more full of medicine and vitamins that aren’t offered at the infirmary. This is most of the current stock you have, save for a bin that contains five to ten baggies of each drug and pill you offer safely secured underneath the loose panel of wood that acts as one of the many patch ups to the walls of your apartment, this one in your bedroom right beside the bathroom door.

You’ve got a beaten up notebook open as you’re looping out names and exchanges owed. A tally of who you traded with the past two weeks and what they asked for in the next two. There’s a lot to organize and you take an afternoon each week to keep it all neatly transcribed. The small bottle of ink you have is beside the little stamp you’ve kept well hidden from anyone else. Not wanting it to fall into the wrong hands and end up being used on product that is certainly not yours or up to your standards.

Tess had just gotten up from the couch, her resting spot for a moment after work. An inner jacket pocket full of baggies she was about to go and deliver to the tenants of the building next door. Just as you’re about to get up and stretch your legs, the front door opens after a jingling of keys and the lock turning.

Joel.

He’s back late for the day, but you don’t mind getting the random hours to spend with him. You do a lap or two around the table before you set a pot of water up on the stove to boil in an attempt at a late lunch. There are a few cans of potatoes you found last week and you wanted to try and make something soft and hot- mashed potatoes.

Snow dusts the top of his shoulders as you watch him carefully lock the door behind himself, his thick fingers sliding the deadbolt and side latch locks. It’s all in his hair too, darkening the locks by contrast, though you can see the gray beginning to thread itself between the strands. Without a word, Joel is turning and something flies out of his grip and towards you across the room.

You catch it, though the hit of the hard thing is cushioned by a swath of thick paper around it and a twine bow tied to keep it closed.

“Joel, what the hell?” But he doesn’t respond, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair you had been in before disappearing into the bedroom. His boots clunk with the heavy steps he takes, the pain in his back and hips worse today without him needing to tell you. Sighing, you set the electric burner to the lowest setting and sit back at the table.

The little wrapped item gets set to the side, not forgotten but saved for later.

“Why didn’t you open it?”

“It’s just more of the same. Wanted to catalogue everything I already have before adding more to the roster,” You swoop the pencil in your hand over the expanse of the table, it was clear what was going on, wasn’t it? Why did he have to pick arguments with you even now, you’ve shared your apartment and bed with him for nearly a year. But sometimes you still feel like you didn’t know all of him and while you had resigned yourself to that very likely reality, you would take what he could offer you. What he was willing and wanting to offer you, because when you did- the tension in his shoulders eased just a bit, that scowl he wears so well lessens just a bit, his dark eyes lighten enough to let you glimpse at the person you assume he used to be.

“Darlin’, it ain’t none of that.” When you tilt your head to the side, much like an entranced dog, you can see the way his adam’s apple bobs, his next words the softest you’ve ever hear from him. In both sentiment and tone, aside from the night everything shifted. “It’s a gift for you. For the holiday.”

“Joel…” The confusion leaks out of you, replaced by a warmth in your chest. It’s been…god, it’s been years since anyone got you anything for the holidays. And here he is, all brooding and big and violent, giving you a piece of himself you hadn’t previously seen. His eyes are heavy on you as the paper crinkles, the twine unravels.

Atop the notebook, nestled in the ‘gift wrap’ is a little wooden figure. A dog. A cane corso dog.

A physical depiction of the very thing that lended you the nickname you’ve taken on in stride. Adapted in your endeavor to provide things for the people that the remnants of government forces refused to or asked for too much in exchange for. You were always giving, sacrificing, scrounging, never taking anything for yourself unless absolutely necessary. But this? This was something just for you, something made just for you but the looks of it. The scrapes and a blade obvious in the carving.

The gasp that leaves you does nothing to help the rapid flutter of your heart.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, sharp eyes watching the way water droplets cling to your skin as you emerge from your shower. The door was wide open, the space heater Joel had found among the rubble now fixed and set between the bedroom and bathroom threshold. A lame attempt at bringing some warmness to where you both curled up at night.

The cold was getting to him, his body aching. Not just sore, but aching in the way that begins to spur thoughts of old age in his mind. He’s not that old, he doesn’t think. But he is a hell of a lot older than you and he sees it in the way you perk up at the sight of snow softly falling from the sky. In the way you offer to run to the commissary or the food hall for everyone when there’s just no energy for standing at the stove or tinkering with something that’s been broken one too many times.

Your eyes are on him as you approach but he doesn’t feel like he used to when they pinned him down in a challenge. Now he feels rooted to the spot, waiting to see what you would do with anticipation rather than anger at being challenged. He no longer feels like you’re heeling him, like he’s nothing but dirt and grime underneath the tread of your boots, flesh that was torn apart and stuck between your teeth.

No. Now he feels like he’s been granted a fresh breath of air straight from your lungs.

And he’s reveling in it. He can’t help out but reach with itching fingers, trailing over the silk of your damp skin. The hitch in your breath he can fucking hear is driving him wild, the way you freely walk around like this when before it was all growls and threats if he even so much as managed a glimpse of what you look like underneath your threadbare clothing. Of the real you that hides behind the harsh persona and attitude you’ve taken on as a shell against the world.

He sees it now, as you let him trail his fingers up to the crooks of your elbows and tug you between his legs. His lips press to your skin, a groan escaping from his chest despite the pull in his shoulder muscles at the action.

The shift of the dynamic was sudden, brought on by seeing you in a new element. One where he was able to glimpse the person you used to be. And it had made his heart both stutter and ache. If you had crossed paths before the end of the world, you would’ve thrown him for a loop, stuck in his head until he carved out time to do something about it. But as the universe played it’s hand, he’s still crossed paths with you. That’s good enough for him, despite the biting words you used to mean as you berated him and bossed him around- shoved the barrel of a gun in his face and demanded what the hell he thought he was doing trying to edge in on the smuggling scene here in this zone like he owned the place.

Because he didn’t then, and he still doesn’t now. No, that’s you.

And he’s now the muscle in it, determined to do right by the situation. It feels good to step down, to follow the orders he gets from you or from you by Tess’s mouth. To just be a piece in the game he had been heading for far too long in far too many places and scenarios. It was nice to just turn off his brain and listen.

He feels much the same way now as he watches with a quick thrumming of his heart and blood rushing to his cock as you move to kneel behind him on the bed still in only your thin towel. Hands gently kneed into his aching muscles, and he leans into the touch. It was a good thing, he thinks, to have taken the time to carve that figure for you. A gift. A frivolous thing he wanted to give to you in the midst of chaos and too cold weather, the half-smile it brought to your face worth the effort of a new hobby he had dared to try.

When prodding fingers find a particular hard knot between his neck and shoulder blade, the moan he lets out pinches his face up in pain.

“Lemme get the menthol stuff, it’ll help.”

He watches as you strut across the room and disappear into the kitchen, towel now gone and all your skin on display. He feels the swell of his cock harden in his jeans and presses a palm to relieve some of the ache there too.

He’s always been the one to lead, to take charge but he’s thinking more and more that you like being that way. And his mind blanks as you stand in front of him with hardened nipples and a jar of homemade lotion that smells far too strong to handle at the moment.

When you upcap it, he reaches out to stop you. The puzzled look that has the hint of annoyance behind it has him rolling his lips, words stuck in his throat. As the silence drags on, you must see the way that his eyes are darkened by arousal and contemplation. But you don’t move until he manages to unstick the words from where they’re lodged.

“Just…not right now. Your hands are good enough, we can save it for another time, yeah?”

Without a word, you’re twisting the cap back on the jar and then pushing a small hand to the center of his chest.

“Then lay back.”

“What for?” He raises a thick brow at the command, ready to dispel whatever hesitation that lingers in his body.

“Gonna take care of you. You gonna let me?”

All he can muster up is a nod before he listens and does exactly what you ask of him. He lets go of everything, every thought and you take the reigns from his hands. The clink of his belt is loud, breaking the drone of the heater working in the corner and the sound of his zipper as him closing his eyes tightly.

“You gifted me something and now let me do the same. Just lemme take the lead, turn that brain off for a moment, yeah?”

Joel sighs out a ‘yes’ as he lifts his hip at the tap of your palms there, allowing you to peel the jeans and boxers from his legs. Goosebumps crop up at the cooler temperature, the heat of his hardened cock bobs against his stomach. He’s never been this way before. Not with you and barely with Tess, physical and sexual interactions always on his terms, on his conditions. Giving into you know feels right, he trusts you. Even as he feels the nip of sharp teeth on his neck before a warm tongue sooths it over.

“You can be such a good boy sometimes.” And the praise falling from your lips in a confident tone should irk him, but it does nothing but cause him to jerk below the waist and clench his teeth together as he feels it wash over him. It’s genuine, not teasing. He should know, because he’s normally the one praising you in such a manner. It’s a nice moment, he realizes, letting you take the lead. Allowing himself to fall into your commands in a less than serious way. In a more serious way. This is everything.

His chest heaves as you move down his body, the denim shirt he’s wearing unbuttoned as you go, lips trailing over coarse chest hair, the trail that moves down down down…

The feeling of him in your mouth is a heady sensation, it’s lighting up your body in hot sparkles that almost vibrate in intensity. The salty, musky taste of him on your tongue is one you would never tire of, even if he seldom lets you indulge him this way.

Down to his core, he’s a giver. He’s someone who gives himself to those around him and that’s obvious even in the bedroom. He always pleasures you, with his plush, delectable lips. His thick fingers and wide hands, the edge of his strong nose. The heft and feel of his cock something you crave just as much as he seems to be willing to sink into your pulsing heat at any chance he could get. It wasn’t just about fucking. Hell, it wasn’t even just about being fucked by him- it was something more. A man whose walls were built so high, bricks unsettling and gaps forming as you both share daily responsibilities and nightly routines. You were bonded.

But right now? He’s given himself wholly over to you.

His lips form a hard line as you nose along the leading head of his cock, flushed a pretty dusky pink, the exact same shade. But you can’t fight the frown that threatens to take over your own as you press your them to the slit to gather the pearlescent drop there, tongue peeking out to taste it.

“Lemme hear you, Joel.” That paired with the hungry way you swallow him down has him surging up with a strangled expletive followed by your name. After that, he hardly has any trouble letting loose deep groans and guttural growls as you take him back into your mouth and hollow your cheeks. His hips lift as you take him as deep as you can, leaking head nudging the back of your throat in the most delicious way.

It's dangerous, how powerful you feel right now. With Joel Miller loose limbed and compliant beneath you, surrendering to whatever you deem he deserves.

But nothing compares to the grip his hands form on your hips and the frantic look in his eyes as you straddle his thick thighs and sink down on him until your bottom is flush with them. Panting, you grind slowly, reveling in the feel of him deep and stretching you to make room for him to nestle. He’s hitting that sweet spot only he can reach and starts burst in the corners of your vision as you meet his gaze.

He’s never looked for open and recked, eyes blown own, breath puffing out in harsh pants, lips glistening from where you swear drool shines over them…

Tracing the bounce of your chest as you continue to grind against him, pleasure swathing you both in a tingling that crawls over every inch of skin. You clench around him, pulling a tortured sound from him as he fights off the feeling of bucking up into you. The shaking of his legs makes you feel pride spark low in your belly just as a flash of heat does.

“Hold on tight, I’m gonna take a ride.”

His head knocks back harshly onto the bed when you lift up and slam back down, eyes fluttering shut as all he does is hold on tight to your hips and lets you take care of him.

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[luvrgreyy]

LAMBS TO THE SLAUGHTER, iv.

leon kennedy x religious f!reader

word count: 4.1k summary: god hates what he can’t have. masterlist | taglist | wips

previous chapter

18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE. themes of religion, manipulation, religious rationalization, age gap(reader is 19, leon is 27), leon being mean for like a split second, kissing, virginity loss, fingering, praise, unprotected sex. this is pretty self indulgent, sorry.

a/n: okay so this might be the last chapter of lambs to the slaughter… i really don’t know how i want to end it so yeah, and i’d rather just wrap this up now that i still like writing about it than force myself to continue with no interest whatsoever. but i do have alot of wips and a few ideas for new series that i look forward to sharing w you guys soon :) thanks so much for the support on ltts, love all of you sm, and hope you all have a great christmas <3

he doesn’t know how it happened or how you ended up here, on the couch, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his hands tangled all up in your hair.

its’s the middle of the week and you went over to his place, like you usually did when your parents were out for work, and now you’re here, your breath hot against his neck and your body pressed close so to his. and it’s all he can focus on. you. you’re all he wants.

the two of you had kissed before, the first time being roughly two weeks ago when you came to him crying, your eyes were red and puffy, and fresh tears were streaking down your cheeks.

the next thing he knew, he had already smothered you with his mouth. it was hard. rough. messy.

when he pulled away, you almost immediately started to complain to him that it was wrong, that the two of you would go to hell for kissing before marriage, and he had to shut you up with another deep kiss before having to talk you through the fact that it wasn’t a bad thing and that the two of you were not gonna go to hell for it, seeing the tears start to swell up in your eyes again.

the coffee mug now sat forgotten on the coffee table, the drink now cold and untouched.

the way your hair feels, tangled between his fingers, as he threads them through the strands.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. your lips are swollen, your hair is mussed, and your clothes are rumpled.

"hey," he reaches up, gently brushing his fingers through the strands of your hair. his other hand slides down your lower back, pulling you flush against him. you're quiet, your eyes fixed on his throat as he speaks. your breathing's harsh, and your body's tense.

“what's wrong?" he asks, his voice soft. you don't answer. can't answer. the words are lodged in your throat, threatening to choke you. all you can do is shake your head.

he kisses you again, his mouth slanting over yours. he shifts you slightly on his lap, so that you're settled on one of his thighs, one leg on either side of it. this new position allows for even closer contact. your body molds against his, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. his hands slide up your waist, his fingers gliding over your back, leaving trails of warmth in their wake.

“leon,” you shiver at the contact, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

his hands tighten on your back, fingers digging in just enough to ground you. “hmm?" he asks, his voice soft, but with a hint of something else. his hands move, one cupping the back of your head, the other on your hip, rocking you softly against his thigh.

one of his hands moves to your knee, gently pushing it forward. the action forces you to spread your legs slightly. the other hand's still on your hip, holding you in place. the hand at your knee begins to drift upward and under your dress, fingers dancing on the skin of your inner thigh. you tremble at the touch, your body reacting before your mind has a chance to process what's happening.

"feel good?" he murmurs against your ear, his breath hot on your skin. the question is rhetorical, and he doesn't wait for an answer.

fingers slip further beneath the dress, fingers splaying across your lower back and creeping up towards your bra clasp.

you try to complain, to object, but all that comes out is a stuttering mess. words jumble in your head, and your mouth refuses to form the right sounds. it's almost as if you've lost the ability to speak, overcome by your body's reaction to his touch.

“what’s wrong, baby?”

his fingers reach the clasp of your bra, and he gently unsnaps it. your body betrays you, arching into his touch despite your protests. his fingers find the underside of your breasts, and you jolt at the sensation.

“leon,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “leon, please… don't want to do anything wrong,"

"baby, there's nothing wrong with this," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "do you trust me?” fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, and you tense, ready to push him away.

"please don't..." you shake your head, unable to find the right words to say. "what if... what if god doesn't understand?"

he pauses at your words, considering them for a long moment. "god gave us free will," he says finally, his voice soft but resolute. "and i think he'd be pretty damn disappointed if we didn't use it." his fingers continue probing into your clothed cunt, tracing the lace trim of your panties, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your clit through the fabric. you tremble at the contact, your hips shifting slightly of their own accord.

you arch into the touch, your back bowing, and your breath catches in your throat.

"doll," he whispers, the word is almost lost in the kiss he presses to the sensitive skin just behind your ear. "look at me."

you can't, can't bring yourself to do so. your eyes are screwed shut, and your face is flushed.

"c’mon, baby, open your eyes." he prompts again, his tone gentle. and when you refuse to comply, he stops moving his fingers altogether, leaving his thumb pressed to your clit through the lace of your panties.

the pressure is just enough to make you squirm, a constant stimulation that leaves you teetering on the edge.

he gently takes your chin in his hand and tilts your face up towards his. slowly, almost hesitantly, you crack your lids open, peeking through the slits.

"please," you whine, your voice high-pitched and desperate. failing to hide the need and desperation stirring within you. you can't form words, can't string together a coherent thought with his skilled fingers wreaking havoc on your senses. instead, you let out a feeble whimper, your head thrashing from side to side as pleasure mounts within you.

“there you go,” he coos, as if praising a small child for completing a task.

"see?" you search his face, seeking some sign of deception, but find only sincerity and unwavering devotion. "nothing bad is happening. it just feels good, that's all." your lashes flutter, struggling to obey. and yet, you yield. your body melting into his touch, and your head tilting back to rest against his shoulder. leon's hand slides up to cradle your face, his thumb caressing your cheek as he whispers reassurance against your hair.

"breathe for me, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple.

"it's alright," he soothes. "i've got you." your head starts to spin, and your heart pounds in your ears. your skin feels too tight, like it can barely contain the heat rising to the surface. his fingers finally find the edge of your panties, and with a swift motion, his thumb rubs against your clit, and you jolt, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“leon,” you whine out, his name torn from your throat. his fingers continue their assault, rubbing and pressing against your cunt.

he chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrates against your body. “yeah? you like that?”

you nod, unable to speak.

his tongue plunders your mouth, taking what he wants. you submit to the kiss, your body pliant against him.

you're sprawled across his lap, your legs draped over each other, your skirt riding up your thighs. his hands are everywhere at once, palming your breasts, teasing your nipples, rubbing your clit. you're panting, your breath coming in harsh gasps.

your skin's flushed, your cheeks burning, and your heartbeat's pounding in your ears. "fuck," he mutters, his eyes locked on yours.

two of his fingers swiftly push inside of you, and you cry out, your body bowing off his lap, nails digging into his thigh. he holds you steady, his other hand gripping your hip.

"relax, princess," he coos. "so tense."

you squeeze your eyes shut, your body trembling. his fingers move, sliding against the slick walls of your pussy.

you tremble and shake, your body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. his fingers move, curling and straightening, rubbing against that one spot inside of you that makes you see stars. "lemme hear you, baby," he prompts. "make some noise for me."

you whimper, a broken, keening sound escaping your lips. he chuckles low in his throat, the vibrations of the sound seeming to reach down and press against your clit. "that's it, such a good little doll f’me. feels good, doesn’t it?"

he's right, it feels amazing. you've never felt anything like it before. his thumb is relentless against your clit, your hands fisting in his shirt. you're lost in a sea of sensation, his fingers and thumb working your cunt like it's the most important thing in the world.

“there you go, baby," he murmurs. "just a lil' more." you're not sure what he's asking for, not really. but you feel it in your bones, in the way your entire body is tightening up like a coil spring.

"lemme hear you," he prompts, his voice low and gravelly.

and then you do. you scream, the sound ripping from your throat as your body convulses and spasms. your vision goes white, and for a moment, you're weightless, floating in a sea of bliss. when you come back to yourself, you're slumped against him, your body limp and boneless. he's still rubbing your clit with his thumb, his fingers still curled inside of you, milking out every last wave of pleasure.

"so pretty when you cum," he breathes, his lips brushing against your temple. "so beautiful.”

you can't form a coherent response, not that you'd know what to say. your brain's gone mushy, and all you can do is sag against him. his fingers slowly withdraw, and you whimper, feeling the empty ache of your spent cunt.

“i wanna try somethin' else," he starts to maneuver you. "c'mon, baby, let’s get this off you," he says, pulling your dress up and off.

you don't protest, letting him strip you naked.

he helps you scoot further up the couch, until you're more reclined, your back pressed against the cushions. he settles between your spread thighs, his body looming over yours.

he positions himself at your entrance, the thick crown of his cock notched against your slit. he pushes forward, and you feel him start to penetrate, your body resisting his invasion.

"aah—“ you whimper, forehead creasing.

"n-no, don’t.." you try to protest, but it comes out as a moan. he chuckles softly, the vibration of his laughter sending shivers through your body.

"’m not doing anything wrong," he reminds you. "think you're forgetting that you’re the one who came to me."

his hands grip your knees, holding them back as he sinks more of himself inside of you. you whine, the sting of the stretch causing you to gasp. but it's a good stretch, like after waking up from a long nap. he sets a slow, deep pace, his hips rocking against yours. your hands reach out, grasping at his shoulders for balance.

"shh, 'm sorry, baby," he grimaces, his pace slowing. "gotta break you in real quick, ‘ts only gonna hurt a bit.”

you try to push against his chest, but he's too strong. he keeps pushing forward, forcing his way into your resisting body. the intrusion is painful, making you instinctively flinch and and jerk away.

"jesus, just fuckin— fucking relax, okay? you're only makin' it worse for yourself,"

he leans down, claiming your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss as he bottom's out, buried to the hilt inside of you. "mmpff—“ you mewl against his lips.

your cunt clenches around him, trying to coax him deeper. he groans into the kiss, the vibration of the sound sending tingles through your body.

he starts to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, deep grind. you're still sore, still stretching to accommodate his size, but with each passing moment, the pain fades, replaced by a growing sense of pleasure.

"feels good, doesn't it?" he asks, his voice a low rumble. "i know, dolly. i know,”

he nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he sets a slow, easy pace. his hands slide up your legs, your thighs, your hips. one hand comes back up to hold your knees, pushing them down to spread you open.

"gonna take my time with you, princess," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "work you open, nice and slow,”

he's huge, and it hurts, but there's something else, something that makes the pain worthwhile. pleasure, building at the base of your spine.

he sets a slow, deep pace, his hips rocking against yours. your hands reach out, grasping at his shoulders for balance. you take a shallow breath, and then another, your body starting to unclench. he starts to pull back, sliding out of you, and you whine in protest. but he's just switching it up, angling himself and pushing back inside. and this time, it doesn't hurt so much. in fact, it feels downright good.

"you gotta breathe, baby," he pants, forehead pressed against yours. "just f'get about it. breathe."

he kisses you again, the movements slow and languid, like he's savoring something delicious.

you're not sure how long he works you open. it could've been minutes or hours. time seems to blur together into nothingness. at some point, he tilts his hips, and you feel him nudging against a spot inside of you that makes your whole body jerk. he does it again, and again, until you're writhing beneath him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"yeah, baby, that's it," he groans, forehead pressed against yours. "show me how bad you want it." you try to speak, to tell him that you don't know what he's talking about, that this is all wrong. but the words won't come.

all that comes out is a keening moan, a sound that's equal parts pain and pleasure. he's still easing you open, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. but it's no longer painful, not in the way it was before.

it's... pleasant. yeah, that's the only way to describe it. pleasant and good and right.

"fuckin’ hell, look at you, baby. takin' it so good, you were made for this, doll. made to take my cock," he starts to speak, his words a stream of praise and nonsense, but you barely register what he's saying. the words are distant, a blur of noise as your focus narrows down to the sensations raging through your body.

his hips are moving in a blur now, slamming into you with a rhythmic intensity that's pushing you towards some unknown precipice. he's saying things, praising you, telling you how good you look, how perfect your cunt is wrapped around his cock.

the words are lost on you, drowned out by the escalating tide of pleasure.

“i knew you'd fit me so good," he pants, his hips snapping harder now, driving deeper. "every inch of you made just for me. so perfect ‘nd pretty. and this perfect fuckin’ cunt... fuck, baby... tightest pussy i’ve ever had…" his words are a blur, a stream-of-consciousness praise that washes over you in waves. you can't process them, not really. all that matters is the feeling of him inside of you, stretching you wide, hitting that spot that makes sparks fly behind your eyes.

your nails dig into his shoulders, your back arching off the couch as he pistons in and out of you, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. your inner muscles are fluttering, clenching around him like a vice, urging him on.

"s'not fuckin' fair," he grunts, his pace faltering for a moment as he fights for control. he's chasing something, you can tell. his movements become jerky, erratic, like he's on the verge of losing control.

"feels too fucking good." he regains his composure, redoubling his efforts until the room is filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh and your high-pitched moans.

the pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your gut until you're sure you'll snap. he's hitting that spot inside of you again and again, and you're teetering on the brink — it's all too much, and yet, somehow, not enough.

"please," you whimper, not even sure what you're begging for.

"yeah, baby?" he prompts, his hips stilling deep inside of you. "whatcha need?" you can't form the words, not really. your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. all that manages to slip out is:

"more."

his hips flex, and he slams into you again, the force of his thrust sending you sprawling back against the cushions. you gasp, your eyes widening as he bottoms out once more, his cock buried to the hilt inside of you.

"so greedy," his hips start to move again, slowly at first, but picking up speed as he senses your desperation. "atta girl.”

each thrust jars you to your core, and you can only cling to him, your nails raking down his back as you're fucked into oblivion.

his fingers weave through your hair, holding your head still as his lips trail over your face. he kisses your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, your cheekbones. each press of his mouth against your skin is gentle, soothing, a contrast to the roughness of his lovemaking.

"easy, baby," he coos, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against your ear that seems to seep into your very bones.

his fingers tighten in your hair, holding you as he peppers you face with a series of gentle, soothing kisses. he's a paradox — the way he's caressing you, holding you, so gently, delicately. but the way he’s been fucking you is anything but.

you feel the change in him, a subtle shift in his movements, his breaths. he's close, you realize, and so are you. there’s that coil in your stomach, something that’s warm and fluttering, building towards something you can't quite reach yet.

“leon, leon— feel weird, again..” you stumble on your words.

"weird's good, doll. means you're gettin' there,” he assures. “just... f'get about it. breathe,”

at the same time, he picks up his pace, his hips slapping against yours with a rhythmic intensity that threatens to shake the couch apart.

"gonna cum soon," he warns, his words a guttural groan, his thrusts even more erratic. "when i do, i want you to let go for me, 'kay? just... just fall apart," he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath washing over your skin.

"gonna fill you up," he grunts, his voice strained. "make a mess of your perfect little cunt.”

and your body responds, as if driven by an outside force. your muscles lock, your back arching impossibly high. your cunt spasms around him, milking his cock for all it's worth as it finally rips through you. a blinding, white-hot rush.

his cock throbs inside you, his hips stuttering against yours as he finally reaches the same peak.

hot strings of cum paint the inside of your walls as he empties himself deep inside you. he stays buried inside of you for long moments after, and you’re not sure exactly how long. but when you finally come down from the high, you find yourself draped across his chest, his hands rubbing slow circles on your back, your sides, soothing you as the aftershocks slowly dissipate.

you're a puddle of warmth and satisfaction, your body splayed beneath his, his softening cock still buried deep inside of you.

you're still limp and pliant in his arms, your breath coming in soft pants against his chest.

he shifts slightly, easing his himself out of you with a soft squelch. you flinch at the sensation, and he notices, his grip on you tightening as he pulls you into his arms. he strokes your hair, your back, your sides, his touch gentle and soothing.

"stay a little longer, alright? just... a little bit more," he asks, his tone sweet and pleading. you blink slowly, trying to clear the haze from your mind. it's hard to think clearly when he's speaking to you like this, his words dripping with affection and adoration.

he's saying things, nice things, telling you how amazing you are, how perfect you are for him, how much he needs you. it's all a blur, a warm, fuzzy haze that surrounds you, envelops you. it makes you feel cherished, special, like you're the only person in the world.

and you feel like you'd do anything to please him, to make him happy.

your mind flits to the clock on the mantle, its numbers seeming to mock you. you should go home, you know that. your parents will be back soon, and you can't afford to be late again.

“leon… i can’t,”

“c’mon, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "just a few more minutes,” you swallow hard, your pulse fluttering in your throat. it makes you weak in the knees, it takes everything in you not to give in to his request.

“but—“

his arms tighten around you, holding you impossibly close as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "please, doll," he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone that seeps into your very bones. "i need you. just a little more time, 'kay?" his words are a gentle persuasion, a tender plea that tugs at your heartstrings.

he's been so gentle with you, so caring. "i'll make it up to you," he promises, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "i'll take you out, wherever you want to go. just... stay with me a little longer, okay?”

the room feels smaller somehow, as though the world itself has shrunk to the space between his heartbeat and yours. your lips part, the beginnings of another protest forming, but the weight of his gaze stops you short. there’s something in his eyes —dark, pleading, a flicker of vulnerability that you can’t quite name.

“okay,” you whisper at last, the word barely audible, a ghost of sound that slips past your lips before you can think better of it.

his face softens instantly, relief washing over his features like a summer tide. “yeah?” he breathes, his smile curling slow and dangerous, like he knows he’s won.

you nod faintly, unsure of what exactly you’ve just agreed to, or why it feels both terrifying and impossible to resist. your thoughts churn, hazy and fragmented, but his fingers are already lacing through yours, grounding you, tethering you to this moment.

“that’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice a low, velvet hum that sends shivers down your spine. “i knew you’d understand.”

you close your eyes, letting yourself sink further into his embrace. it’s too easy, the way his words coax you into letting go of the worries clawing at the edges of your mind. for now, it feels safe — his arms, his voice, the way he holds you as if you’re something precious, something he can’t bear to let slip away.

he pulls you closer, your head resting on his shoulder, your legs tucked up against him. you can feel his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and strong. "rest, baby," he soothes. "you had a long day.”

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae @clitorphosis

[sjsmith56]

Snowfall, Part 5 - Shadows and Light

Summary: Bucky is joined by several Avengers, eager to support him by helping to find Leia. After the case is resolved, Bucky and Leia discuss their future.

Length: 4.9 K

Characters: Leia, Morrison, Bucky, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton, Joaquin Torres, Happy.

Warnings: Violence causing injury, near death experience, perceived hallucinations, medical treatment (edited for this story), emotional reveal.

Author notes: Final part of this short fiction piece. Originally, I tried to write in another half-sibling blaming Leah for the sins of their shared father, but it just didn’t work so this is the ending that felt true to me.

<<Part 4

Leia

Watching Bucky selflessly helping others during the evacuation of the building was uplifting, especially when he carried the older lady down the stairs. It was obvious she was impressed with his strength and gallantry as she kept telling him what a good man he was. He just accepted the compliments with quiet grace. When he heard the call for help with some others outside, he didn't hesitate to step forward, with Leia's blessing. As she watched him pick up another senior, she felt something hard poke into her back. Turning her head to see it, she was stopped by a man's voice.

"Don't turn around. Leave the cat and your purse and come with me, or I'll set off the bomb I have hidden out here."

Slowly, she lowered the cat carrier to the ground, placed her purse on it, then felt herself being pulled away, through the phalanx of fire department and police vehicles, to where a car sat parked at the side of the road. As the man reached for the car door, she whirled around and hit him several times in the face with her fists, knocking his beanie off in the process. His surprise at her resistance didn't last, and he hit her back hard enough to knock her senseless, before pushing her into the back seat and driving away. She remembered looking at him from where she was sprawled in the back, struggling to stay conscious, and seeing the adult face that the sketch artist had drawn. Bucky's recall of the man's features was on the money, except his bloody nose looked swollen now, thanks to her punches. Then, the darkness took over and she passed out.

It was barely light outside when she came around, still in the back seat. The car was in motion. She must have made a noise as the man turned his head back to look at her briefly.

"I was beginning to worry about you," he said. "I must have hit you harder than I thought. Sorry about that."

"No, you're not, Mitchell."

"You remember me, now? Well, that's something. When you didn't recognize me at the farmer's market, I was quite offended."

"Well, you have changed since you were a kid," answered Leia, sitting up and looking outside in the hopes of seeing a road sign. They were on a country road, surrounded by farmland, no buildings in sight. "It wasn't until they did a police sketch of you and de-aged it that I recognized you."

"We're not on the highway," he said, noticing what she was doing. "In fact, we're taking the long way home. Your real home."

"It hasn't been home since Mikey died." She slid her hand into her coat pocket, feeling her house keys in there, threading them in between her fingers. "Do you still live there?"

"I never really left." He gave out a quick laugh. "Well, I did live in a state facility for a while but I'm never going back there." He looked forward again. "Why did you abandon me? I was hurting so bad and you just left without even saying goodbye."

Oh boy. "I was twelve years old, Mitchell. My dad was with his girlfriend while my brother accidentally shot himself. There was no way my mother was staying around. It's not like we were involved. We were kids."

"We were friends!" He shook with the anger he was feeling, his nostrils flaring and his breathing heavy with emotion. "I was going to marry you."

"I didn't even like you."

He slammed on the brakes and reached into the back seat to grab her. Leia pulled the keys out, raking them across his face with all the force she could muster. He screamed and pressed the accelerator then twisted the wheel violently, causing the car to plow into a large snow drift at the side of the road that enclosed the front part of the car. The front seat airbags deployed, enveloping Morrison in their sudden embrace. Leia, who had managed to hold on, glanced quickly at him noticing he appeared dazed. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she scrambled out through the back window that still worked, landing in snow up to her hips and slogged through it then began to run on the country road. She kept running, doing all she could to put distance between herself and the car. Every time she looked back, she didn't see him coming after her.

You're doing good. Keep going. Bucky will find you. He promised.

Without her watch and phone, Leia didn't know how long she ran. It felt like forever, but with her head still feeling sluggish and the cloud cover preventing the sun from casting shadows, it could have been only minutes. More snow fell here than in New York as everything was covered. There was no sign of anyone, no cars, no one outside any of the buildings she saw in the far distance across the empty fields. She had already lost one glove, when she tripped and fell hard enough to knock the air out of herself.   It wasn’t until a short time later that she realized it was gone and that was only because she moved some hair off her face and saw the bare hand. For a moment she considered going back to look for it but the fear that Mitchell was coming after her was so strong that she kept going instead, experiencing another surge of adrenaline. In the loud silence the only sounds she could hear were of the wind, her breathing and the dull plod of her feet in the snow. When that surge of energy finally wore off and she slowed down to a walk she knew she had to find shelter. It was obvious the temperature was dropping. If she could find someplace with a phone she could call for help. As if a higher power heard her, she came to a crossroads and saw a warehouse building in the distance on the road that went left. It was the closest building even though it was at least half a mile away. She picked up her pace to reach the entry into the property. Its parking area had been plowed at some point although it was empty now and covered in a thick layer of snow with some drifts. Still, she could break in and trigger the security alarm; that would bring help.

Staggering up to the glass door, she pounded on the frame, calling for help but there was no one there. Looking around, she saw a large rock, about the size of a grapefruit, used to edge the parking lot. It was partially exposed, and she tried to pick it up, but it was frozen into place. Kicking at it repeatedly until it loosened, she picked it up, smashed the glass, then reached inside and turned the lock mechanism, opening the door. There were no indications that the place was being used; no furniture, no papers, or personal items were visible. It didn't even seem to be heated but at least it would block the wind. Seeing a phone, she picked it up, but the line was dead. Every phone she picked up had no signal. Unless a realtor was bringing someone to see it, she was on her own. She was going to have to wait for someone to find her because she couldn't go any further.

It will be alright. He's already looking. He'll come for you.

Bucky

He was inside his storage locker, pulling out his combat gear and a satchel of weapons when he heard the footsteps from the indoor hallway of the storage facility. With a shake of his head at how fast the man got there, he turned just as Sam appeared at the doorway.

"I was wondering if Pepper would call you in," he said to his friend. "Obviously, I fucked up and need Captain America to save the day."

"You know that's not how it works," replied Sam, coming closer and looking at the assortment of weapons. "You really need all that?"

"I've underestimated him one too many times. He hurt the agent who was watching the outside of the building so he couldn’t warn us. Don't know if he's working alone or if he has followers, or what. But I'm not taking any chances." He glanced at Sam, noticing he wore the suit but not the wings. "You're almost ready for action. I have to be as well."

"I'm not a super soldier so I need all my tools. I got the alert yesterday about the purse snatcher from Pepper. Figured I would come up anyway to offer a hand, but he didn't waste any time, did he?" Bucky grunted as he zipped the satchel up. "What are you planning to use for transport?"

"Beg for the use of a car or truck, I guess." He looked at Sam again. "What alert?"

"You might be on secondment to the FBI for this but the rest of us already think of you as an Avenger, even though we're not official. You really think we're going to let you handle this alone?" He went back to the door and jerked his head towards the hallway. "Come on."

With some trepidation, Bucky locked up the storage locker and followed Sam outside in the pre-dawn light to see a quinjet in the parking lot; its bulk dwarfing the cars and trucks beside it. He could see through the cockpit window that Clint was in the pilot's seat, giving him a small salute. Beside him was Joaquin Torres, the young intelligence officer that helped with the Flag Smashers. Sam had spent a lot of time with him after the lieutenant repaired the broken EXO-7 Falcon suit that John Walker destroyed. It was also one of the reasons Bucky returned to New York, although he never mentioned to anyone about feeling left out by their training, thinking it made him seem jealous of the time Sam spent with the eager recruit. Torres grinned at Bucky in that annoying way he had, but the fact he stepped up meant a lot. As Bucky walked up the ramp he was surprised to see Happy Hogan at the computer station.

"You didn't think I was just a pretty face did you, Sarge?" he asked. "You needed transport and someone to monitor the situation while you guys are doing your thing. I have some leads."

"What about the FBI?" asked Bucky. "What about Alpine? I left her with you in good faith."

"Alpine is with Mrs. Stark and Morgan. She's in good hands. As for the FBI, they've decided we're better equipped to deal with the guy, something about us not being bound by protocol. But they provided us with some information. The blood that was at the scene of Ms. Dunn's abduction is confirmed to belong to Mitchell Morrison. First diagnosed with an obsessive love disorder when he was 15, which is a delusion that he is in love with a certain individual, he's been arrested for stalking the object of his obsessions several times. Ordered to give a blood sample after an incident about 5 years ago, he's managed to avoid forced incarceration by voluntarily undergoing treatment several times at a state facility for his disorder. He walked out almost two months ago, a few days after he got a day pass to attend a farmer's market with his mother and a nurse." He looked compassionately at Bucky. "It's where he saw Leia again, apparently, the first girl he obsessed about according to his mother. She still lives in the same house, but she swears she hasn't seen him since. There's a good chance he's headed there, according to the profilers. He always comes home."

"They've been wrong before," said Bucky, stubbornly. "He shouldn't have known where we lived."

"True, but he's shown flashes of genius at the state facility and seems to have a passion for spy craft. He's definitely a lone wolf type of guy, making friends with only a couple of people, one of them an outpatient named Edward Ruskin. I think he's been two steps ahead the entire time."

"Okay, what's the plan?" Bucky sat next to Happy, looking at the screens he had up of the road systems of Pennsylvania.

"He's using his mother's car which she didn't report stolen because, let's face it, he's still her son. The FBI have already checked New York City roadways and picked him up on several traffic cameras, showing him heading west towards New Jersey. But there's been nothing on any of the major highways or toll roads since then, so he's using smaller roads, which aren't in good shape the further west we go as they actually had a blizzard." He gestured to the screen. "That's a lot of roads to cover. He's either switched vehicles, removed the car's GPS or has hacked into it to turn it off so we can't find him that way. So we do it the old-fashioned way by a grid search. Which is why we have the winged guys, and the quinjet. Based on the time Leia was taken, and the top speed we could expect Morrison to drive on a country road in these conditions, we concentrate our search in this area."

He pressed a button on the console, bringing up a more precise map of country roads from the eastern border to where Morrison's mother lived. There was still a lot of ground to cover.

"Are local or state police involved?" asked Bucky.

"Yes and no," answered Happy. "This snowfall has made road travel difficult and many of them are dealing with accidents or rescuing stranded motorists, as the wind is still blowing snow into heavy drifts. If they see something they're supposed to contact us, but given the size of the area it's still a long shot."

"We'll configure the sensors in our suits and the quinjet for two heat signatures inside a car or truck, just in case he's switched vehicles," said Sam. "At least that way we can narrow down the vehicles we're tracking."

Don't go there. Don't go there. Don't go there.

"What if he's ... dealt with her already and got rid of her?"

No one said anything, then Sam gently put his hand on Bucky's shoulder.

"Then we hunt him down. No one will blame you if it gets out of hand."

"She was wearing her red coat. Can the sensors pick out colours?"

Sam looked at Clint then at Happy, who each considered it for a moment.

"Only one way to find out."

The big man's pudgy fingers flew over the keyboard of the quinjet's system computers, looking for anything that indicated a filter that focused on a certain colour. When he found it, he activated it then sent the command to Sam's and Joaquin's suits. With that done, Clint and Joaquin returned to the pilot's chairs and raised the quinjet into the air just as the sun came up, with Clint advising air traffic control of their takeoff. Within minutes they were crossing over the Hudson River into New Jersey. Ten minutes later they were approaching the coordinates of the first part of the grid. Sam and Joaquin both suited up and checked to make sure their systems were working properly, then the ramp at the back opened and the two men flew out, Joaquin flying to the north of where the quinjet's flight path was, while Sam took the southern path. Bucky assumed the co-pilot's seat and the search began.

Forty minutes later they were at the outskirts of the town where Morrison's mother still lived, but no results. Happy sent the next coordinates for their second pass, and they headed back east along the path with no results. The third and fourth passes also didn't provide any hits. They began the fifth pass and halfway along it, Joaquin radioed.

"I got a hit on a large metal object stuck at the side of the road. Going to investigate."

He hovered over it, confirming it was a vehicle partially buried in a large snow drift. Landing gently on the side that was accessible, he noticed the window was open in the back seat. Peering inside, he could see Morrison, slumped in the front seat, covered in blood.

"Man down," he said. "It's Morrison. Sensors indicate his life signs are unstable. He's got injuries."

"Calling for medical assistance," said Happy. "Stay with the vehicle. We're coming in."

Before the quinjet landed Bucky was back at the ramp, pressing the button that lowered it. He jumped the final 50 feet, landing hard on the frozen roadway and strode to where Sam had already landed. They both looked inside at Morrison, noticing the deployed airbags, and because of his injuries, realizing that Leia must have forced him into the snowbank.

"Smart woman," said Sam, "but where is she now?"

Bucky looked in all directions. The blowing snow had covered everything. Tracking her footsteps would be difficult in this wind as it filled in everything within minutes.

"The purse snatcher remarked that her coat made her visible. But in this cold, she needed to keep her coat on, so she must have been sure she hurt him badly enough to do that." He looked back at the vehicle, at how it was positioned, then at the large drift that enclosed it. There was no sign of anyone trying to climb through it other than the few spots that showed where she came out and even they were quite filled in. She had to have gone back the way they came. "This way. We look this way."

Sam rose into the air, while Bucky used his comms earpiece to tell Clint he was following on the ground.  The quinjet took the other direction, just in case, while Joaquin stayed with the car, promising to join them after medical help arrived.  It was slow going as Sam's sensors were confused by the lack of definition in the snowy landscape.  If she were unconscious, and covered in the snow, he could easily fly right over her.  Bucky had to push through several drifts which must have formed after the car hit the one it did.  There was no sign that Leia had gone through after they were formed.  Just as they were about to re-evaluate their search, Bucky saw a flash of colour in the road, between two smaller drifts. Scrambling to it he brushed the snow off and recognized it as one of Leia’s gloves.

“Found something, a glove,” he reported, then looked up to where Sam had circled back towards him. “She definitely came this way.”

“There’s a lone building about a half mile east then another half mile north from your location,” said Happy, from the quinjet. “Sam, check it out. We’re on our way.”

Sam reported sighting a warehouse about a half mile north from the next crossroad. He flew closer to investigate, reporting it was part of a new industrial park being built, according to the sign.

"I'm going to check it out," said Sam. "It's the closest place to the car." Bucky sped up after reaching the road north, just as Sam landed beside the structure. "The door was broken into. Entering the building." Another moment passed, then just as Bucky reached the parking area, he heard Sam. "She's here. Barely conscious and hypothermic. Clint, land in the parking lot and get the med kit ready. She needs immediate treatment."

Bucky stepped through the small drift that had formed through the broken door, finding Sam in an office where Leia was curled up, almost triggering a PTSD episode from his own time in cryosleep. He forced it back down then reached to pick her up, but his friend hesitated and put his hand out to stop him.

"My sensors read her body temperature as 84°. That's right on the edge between moderate and severe hypothermia. We have to handle her very carefully."

"Just tell me what to do," replied Bucky, his face showing his worry as Leia moaned incoherently.

"Bring a stretcher and see if there is a portable heater in the cargo hold that we can use to raise the temperature in here to warm her up a little. If I can get her internal temperature up a few degrees, we can move her."

Removing his wings, Sam began assessing her using his medical knowledge from when he was a pararescue. He did what he could before Bucky returned with the stretcher and Clint brought the med kit and heater. The heater, battery powered, was set up and turned on. Sam went through the med kit and brought out the thermal coverings they had, wrapping Leia up in them. He instructed Bucky to gently hold her exposed hand with his right hand, knowing his body temperature ran warmer than everyone's. As the interior of the room warmed up, there was more lucidity in Leia's manner. For a moment she focused on Bucky.

"Found me," she murmured. "He said you would come."

"Shh, baby, it's okay." He spoke to her soothingly. "You're going to be alright. You did good."

She nodded her head, then closed her eyes. When Sam's suit sensors showed her temperature almost at 90°, he gave the okay to move her and they loaded her onto the stretcher, then into the quinjet, where Happy pulled out a sliding platform used as a cot. With Joaquin signalling that he was on his way, they waited for him before lifting off and heading for the nearest hospital with a trauma unit. Bucky never left her side.

A week later

Comfortably set up on the couch, pushed near the window so the late afternoon sun would warm her up, with several cushions behind her, and a blanket and sleeping cat on her lap, Leia sipped the tea that Bucky made for her. He sat on the floor just below her, reading a book, occasionally leaning into her hand as she stroked his hair. The swelling in her hands, a reaction from the hypothermia was completely gone now, and other than often feeling chilled she suffered no other effects from her brush with death. As she watched Bucky read the same page several times over, Leia knew it was time to talk about what she went through. It had taken her several days to think on her experience, but she wanted to tell Bucky first.

"I'm ready to talk," she said calmly. "I know you've been patient but if I have to watch you read that page again, I might take the book out of your hands and toss it away."

He folded it shut and placed it on the coffee table, then turned so that he was looking up at her from the floor. Gently, he kissed her hand.

"Where do you want to start?"

"Well, you already know what I did to him," she said. "I broke his nose when he first took me, then I cut him up a lot when I jammed the keys into his face when we got to Pennsylvania. After that I got out of the car and went on instinct, running away for as long as I could, just putting as much distance between us as possible. Every time I looked back, I saw nothing, so I figured I hurt him enough to keep him there. I was still afraid that he was coming for me." She hesitated as this is where it got strange. "Have you ever heard of the third man factor?"

"Yeah, there's a book about it that I've been interested in reading," he answered.

She smiled. "Good to know. Maybe I have time to order it for your Christmas present." Her face became serious again. "After I ran for some time, I heard a voice tell me I was doing good and to keep going, because you would find me. It did keep me going. Then when I found that building and hunkered down in one of the offices the voice came back and said I would be alright because you were coming for me. I just had to hang on and wait."

"You did," he smiled, kissing her hand again.

Leia let out a shaky breath. "Just before you and Sam got there, I was ready to give in and let it all go." Her eyes teared up. "I was at peace with it. After all the bad things that happened in my life, Mikey dying, Dad and Jake being cheating husbands, the stalker ... I at least got to be in real love with a good man who loved me back." She wiped her nose, then laughed a little when Bucky handed her his handkerchief. "I saw who the voice belonged to. It was Mikey, but he wasn't a boy anymore. He was a man, and he was so beautiful, surrounded by this glowing light. He told me you were almost there and that I couldn't give up now, not when the love of my life was coming to my rescue. Oh Bucky."

She cried in earnest now and Bucky got up from the floor, picked Alpine off her lap, placing her further down, then he lifted Leia onto his lap, blanket, and all, holding her in his arms, rocking her like a baby. He cried as well, knowing that she believed in their love as deeply as he did. It wasn't one-sided, or an infatuation, or wishful thinking; it was something real, and incredible, and life changing. As she gradually calmed down, he wiped the tears away from both their faces then kissed her on the forehead.

"There's something I want to ask you," he began. "We've only known each other for a few weeks but I want to know if you'll move in with me."

"Aren't we doing that already?" she chuckled. "I kind of assumed we were going to continue on. I can't imagine you moving out now."

"I mean, in our own place, that we own, and furnish ourselves, with room to grow." He ran one hand through his hair. "It never came up before but I'm quite well off, having received my settlement for back pay, adjusted for inflation and whatever, plus for damages over what was done to me. When I was on my own, I was content to live in my little flat, being a bit of a hermit, and frankly, floundering a little. But then I met you and now I want more. I want a life with you. It's not a proposal or anything because that's a whole other thing to consider ...."

Her mouth crashed onto his, as she kissed him deeply, leaving him no choice but to respond in kind. It felt so right, holding her close enough to feel her heart beating against his chest, almost like they were working in synchronization. As they kept kissing, they stretched out on the couch, sending Alpine to the floor, with a meow of complaint. They ended the kiss and watched the cat walk away, definitely offended that they took over the couch.

"We should get a big chair just for her," said Leia. "You know, one of those chair and a half pieces."

"There's no such thing," scoffed Bucky. "There are sofas, love seats, and armchairs. What are chair and a half's?"

She reached for her phone, searching for it, then showing him the picture. He raised his eyebrows then nodded his head conceding her point.

"I stand corrected. Can we get one of those big sofas that would easily fit both of us lying down if we wanted to watch a movie together?"

She nodded, then put her phone down and ran her hand through his hair, looking lovingly at him.

"We're going to do this, huh? Move in together for real, not just for the assignment?"

"For real. Maybe even find a place with an office for you to write in. How else are you going to be the next Margaret Atwood?" He grinned. "I just want a home that is ours, one that we can grow into, if we, you know ... make it permanent someday."

"Bucky, home is wherever you are and as far as I'm concerned, we're permanent now. I'm yours because you're the love of my life. I believe that with all my heart."

"So do I."

They kissed again; languidly enjoying the taste and touch of each other. As the late afternoon turned into dusk, then evening, they laid on the couch, watching the snowfall through the window. It reminded them of their first date, when they walked back to this apartment and shared their first kiss. That's when they initially knew there was something meaningful between them. Whatever was to come would be faced together, with love and trust. As they kissed, neither of them saw Alpine playfully bat at a barely visible glow in the corner of the room that subtly pulsed and shifted. They didn't notice she followed the glow to another window beside the unlit Christmas tree, where it seemed to pause before dissipating through the glass and joining the snowfall outside. Then Alpine turned back to the couch, jumping up and purring as she settled beside her humans. The other one said he wanted her to watch over them and she was quite happy to accept the assignment.

The End

Series Masterlist

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[ronmanmob]

@vxctorx​

 ❝—Haven’t you already?❞ The fair crown of his head gestures towards the business card which the other had left him with in the midst of a concert hall where he had first met the man. Hitherto, he had never heard of his name, and had he been wiser, he would have heeded the warnings of his friends and simply ignored the veiled offer.

He is regarding the other now with a smile whose subtle tinge never deserts the sensuous curves of his lips. Ronnie Kray is the sole reason for his presence at the club, yet his humorous temper encourages his indulgence in his usual witticisms. ❝—I am merely being facetious. I certainly wouldn’t mind another one, provided that you join me this time.❞

Ron had been right about this one.

He’d had him pegged the moment their paths had crossed in the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden as a member of the upper crust; the cut, fit and quality of his suit and those of his contemporaries marking him out in the crowd as clearly as a neon sign might’ve to those with a mind to looking. On a worse luck evening the lad would’ve ended up pickpocketed, but on that where they’d met it was a different species of blaggard that’d courted his time - one that looked as well to do as the lad himself was, that came off friendly and offered a card made from fine stock with an address printed in cursive and pressed with gold leaf--

                  Esmeralda’s Barn Wilton Place, Knightsbridge, London

That he’d deigned to attend this, the newest acquisition of Ron and his brother Reginald, proved all the more Ron’s first assessment of his nature. There’d been a subtle thrill in the lad’s manner as they’d spoken in the theatre, quite apart from the four shades of white his two pals had gone at the sight of him. Either he knew he was talking to someone who saw crowds like tigers do deer and liked it or, and this thought wasn’t even given oxygen as being serious, he’d liked the look of Ron himself and took the card as something of an invitation. 

He’d not have been far wrong if that was his thinking. Reggie’d already nipped at Ron’s heels about the, “--sort’a clientele yer bringin’ in ‘ere wiv them cards”, and though Ron had denied it to his brother’s face, to himself he was true. It did so happen that most of his cards went to fellahs he found attractive, but that was by the by. Folks were attending in droves thanks to his efforts - the beautiful and the not. They both had what he was really after, and spent it at his bar and in his casino whether Ron liked the look of ‘em while they did it or not.

All that besides though, Ron had been right about this one.

Immaculately presented, likely rich as a good port, and youthful enough to either not know precisely how close he was to someone who many a hard man around London had nightmares about, or to know damn well and not care. Either way, there were drinks to get in. 

“Quick tongue on you, lad” Ron said of his quip about the card and the drink it’d proffered. “Got a quick mind be’ind it I ‘ope, else y’risk stumblin’ inta ‘ot water.” 

Through a fractional pause Ron’s expression, his gaze, was still; fixed in the region of the tip of the other’s nose -- the look of eye contact without having to actually make it. Then, enlivening, he gave a slight nod, let a grin quirk the corners of his lips and gestured to the younger man’s glass. 

“Wha’s y’preference?”

[imaginarianisms]

🖤 for misa about light ??

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends (eventually, over time) / my only friend. (eventually, over time)

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours; specify. || ALWAYS ACCEPTING || @prodigum.

[vuulpecula]

      “Hey! Wait up!” Fox called after the Ripley’s retreating back. She waved as if the other woman could see her, ignoring the odd looks it elicited from the other scientists trying to focus on their work. “Ripley!” This new position was off to a great start, she couldn’t help but wonder how long it’d be until she was politely told to look at the want ads or worse, yelled at by her supervisor in front of the others. It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened before. She was trying to have thick skin.

      “Geez, Ellen, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.” ESH: Emotional Support Human, that is what everyone called the experimental position. There were things out there in the universe that they hadn’t anticipated and those that made it back--not all were doing well. In actuality it had some other boring bureaucratic name, one that had changed twice already, to the point that Fox could not remember which it was now.

      “We had a meeting this morning, you know? That’s three that you’ve missed.” She was huffing quietly, gasping softly between words after her power-walk around the building to find Ripley. Running was prohibited unless it was very, very important. Considering Ripley did not seem a current danger to herself or others, Fox doubted she’d be able to get away with it. “Avoidance won’t do you any favors.”

✖ @lastsurvivor​ ❤’d for a starter.

[oneknightlight]

I’m going to try and make devilsknife a two piece weapon using threaded pvc piping and a coupling wish me luck

[vulpinesaint]

how are people finding my fic series from three full years ago. dkfjghs. who put me on a fic rec list be honest

[chronicparagon]

❛ this fear you feel? it won’t last. ❜

@dawnbrst

Words from an unknown voice force the young woman out of the darkness clouding her mind—the darkness of fear of the vast world that is not her own. The past few days have been pure torture and this night is the only moment of respite the traveler has. Those words pulled her from the depths of dread. Like the first people she met, she understands his language. That gave the outsider reassurance that there won't be a barrier in that regard.

Everything before she woke up in Teyvat was a blur save for the scraps of memories left behind. Though her long, dark hair and red cloak hide most of the anomalies on her body, Diluc may notice that she isn't from here.

Harmony's head lifts until silver eyes meet his image. His long curls as red as the flames tied back in a ponytail. His crimson gaze hold no hostility and he doesn't have his weapon drawn. Her wide gaze stares and him for a moment and muscles tense. She embraces her knees closer to her chest, but she doesn't lash out.

Instead, Harmony relaxes after not seeing any incoming attack. She rises to her feet. The bracer's jacket is too big for her figure, but it did well in concealing the cybernetics from the subtle violet glow from the mechanical blossoms embedded at her shoulder blades and joints of her mechanical arms. Her own clothing is nothing like the styles seen in this world and torn in places from battles.

The night's gentle breeze tousels her dark hair that shines red in the pale moonlight but the movement reveals her complexion that is like the rich shade of terra-cotta in the golden sun. Dark metallic hands pulls the lapels of the jacket tighter to fend off the chill. The very fabric now dull by dirt and stained with her own blood. The very fabric conceals the metal fused with flesh, the result of technology that may not be known of Teyvat. That attracted the masked skirmishers who found her and instantly became hostile. It was a brutal battle with the men using elements as their aid.

Fire, ice, electricity, and torrents of water greeted Harmony, and though she didn't have those powers, she ended them with her superior strength and abilities, which came with her cybernetics.

Fear plagued her as she narrowly escaped with her life. She took this very jacket from one of the skirmisher's remains became her only disguise. The one who struck with fire was the only one of that party not crushed by the boulders that became her ammunition. Red lips turn to an uneasy smile. Harmony is still nervous about this stranger, but perhaps speaking with him will give her the information she desperately needs to figure out what to do from here.

"Sorry..." Her voice is soft, timid for there are many unknowns here. "It's been a lot. Not from here and all." She recalls where she is, a place that is called a winery not far from here. A place called Mondstadt is further away and her weariness got the better of her. This ledge enrobed in lush greenery was where she sat to regroup before the fear took power over her. Gray eyes lower to her boots while arms embrace herself. "Fear not lasting forever...That is my hope." A sigh follows those words, "...You...You're not here to do harm, are you?"

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A fair payment [W. W.]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

People who might be interested: @strugglingwriterwattpad @cattail5 [Timothée masterlist]

some minor Wonka spoilers I guess! If you like it, tell me in the comments, that will make me happy :)

“Can you mend it?” Willy asked, carefully holding his emerald green jacket that had the sleeve seam torn.

The boy had arrived a couple of weeks ago to turn the world of everyone present in the laundry upside down and, honestly, you were already beginning to enjoy his presence. You looked in the background at the blackboard that Noodle used at night to give him lessons in the hope that he would learn to read because, according to the girl's words, because of that he was almost eaten by a tiger. But in the man's words, what was important was the almost part. 

However, tonight he had asked you especially to go to his room, because he had a problem that he thought only you could solve.

“I think so, I just have to pass the needle a couple of times” you smiled.

Since your arrival Mrs. Scrubbit had used your sewing skills for her own benefit, because after all you had ended up in that mess trying to save a little to be able to buy the necessary materials to make a pretty dress that would be worth enough to advance in the business. Although, obviously, that had not been possible.

"Thank you! I'm afraid that's my only jacket."

“It will be ready in no time. I’ll just go to my room and come back, okay?” you said kindly, placing the garment in the boy's lap and earning a sweet smile from the aforementioned.

Just as Willy had his little briefcase for his chocolates, you had your own, full of threads, needles, and buttons, which you just had to grab from the floor to get everything you needed. When you arrived back you settled at the little table and he remained attentive to your every movement, pulling out a chair so he could observe what you were about to do.

“There was a boy on the ship who helped me with these things,” he began to tell you, keeping his curious nose on your shoulder “But I never thought about learning. You know, for when I had to be alone”

“Well, it's lucky you ended up here. We are a curious collection of workers,” you murmured ironically, referring to all the people gathered there against their will by the work of fate "What did you do on the ship?"

"Cook. Mostly sweet things, but I also know a couple of useful non-chocolate-related recipes. I was the chef,” he said, and you laughed at the exaggerated way he pronounced the last bit.

Willy began to tell you about some of the adventures he had had on the high seas and you listened attentively as the tip of the needle went in and out to join the fabric. It only took a few minutes to get his clothes looking like new, taking the liberty of repairing other places that also needed it.

“Put it on,” you asked, trying not to look at him too much when he did so or pay attention to the way the jacket fit him perfectly.

"It is perfect! You can't even tell it was torn, huh?” he said with emotion, feeling with his hands as much as he could. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, it's nothing.”

“I insist,” the man murmured. His curly hair bounced across his cheeks as he sat next to you and he lifted his small briefcase off the floor, opening it to reveal all the little bottles of ingredients. “Your talent for mine. It's a fair exchange."

You had to admit that the chocolates you had eaten were a complete delicacy, but a part of you didn't want to get used to that luxury or you knew that when Willy was gone you would miss his sweetness. In the literal and figurative sense.

Locked in that laundry it was impossible to meet many people your age and Noodle was your greatest company, as if he were a little sister to you. But now that he was there, there was a certain happiness in chatting with him, much more now that his ingenious mind had devised a way to get you out of there even if it was just for a few hours to see the light of day and get coins from the sale of the chocolates to free you of the enormous debt to Mrs. Scrubbit.

“What flavor do you want to try today? Do you want me to add some unicorn skin glitter? Rays of sunlight from a twilight on the seashore? Tears of an African crocodile?”

“Just give me something you think I need,” you replied softly.

Willy thought about it for a moment, because it wasn't the kind of answer he would have expected. What was he supposed to give you that night? A little hope? Happiness? Nostalgia? It was difficult to decide.

Through his bright eyes you watched him reflect and just a second later his hands began to work. You noticed there was a hint of mischief in his smile as he poured milk, chocolate, and the contents of a couple of jars into the processor, glancing at you from the corner of his eye from time to time.

“What are you going to do when we get out of here?” he asked suddenly, not neglecting the tasks.

“Working in a sewing workshop, I guess.”

“Why don't you open your own fashion house?” Willy suggested carefreely, as if it were a very easy thing to do, “You are a great dressmaker.”

“And you are a great dreamer”

“It's my best quality,” he exclaimed, almost offended. You waited a moment before answering.

“I just don't think it's that simple. It requires effort, time, and a lot of money…”

“We will have everything,” he interrupted you, with that optimism that characterized him. Suddenly he stopped what he was doing and one of his hands traveled to take yours. “When I open my factory, we will all be able to fulfill our dreams. And you are going to have a fashion house, I promise you.”

“You make a lot of promises,” you responded, blushing.

“And he planned to fulfill them all. I always do it"

Maybe there was something about the softness of his grip on your hand or perhaps the sparkle in his eyes that made you look away out of sheer nervousness. He seemed to be good and innocent, to the point that he probably didn't even realize how close he was to you or how inappropriate the position would be if Noodle ever walked in.

A tap interrupted your moment and then he abruptly pulled away, excited to show you the product he had just made. It was a pretty circular candy that was bright pink and seemed to be emanating smoke from the inside.

"What's that?"

“You'll have to try it to find out,” he murmured, as he extended the treat in your direction.

You had to admit that you were somewhat curious to discover what the man was offering you, so you took it between your fingers carefully, and even under his watchful gaze you took a bite.

At first it tasted like ordinary chocolate, but then it took on a strange tone, which made you feel a certain warmth in your chest that spread to your cheeks. It was a most pleasant feeling, like bubbly joy combined with the embarrassment of a hug.

You thought for a moment about what flavor that could be, without any success, until after a few seconds you realized that it wasn’t a flavor in itself, but a feeling, an experience... Was it love that Willy had given you?

“How does it taste?”

“Yummy,” you responded, covering your mouth so he wouldn’t see the wet chocolate on your tongue, but also to hide your smile “Delicious, actually. What does it contain?”

“A special and secret ingredient”

"Oh, come on! Aren’t you going to tell me?”

“I just want to know if I got it right,” he murmured and you frowned slightly, not understanding him “About what you asked for. Did I give you something you needed?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from smiling again, your cheeks feeling hot from the simple fact that he was looking at you. You thought that this could even be a love potion that you had consumed without thinking about it, just because he was the one who was offering it to you.

“We could say yes”

“We're even, then,” he exclaimed as he waved the sleeve of his jacket and you nodded in amusement, eating the rest of the chocolate he had made for you.

A yawn leaving your lips made you aware of how exhausted you were and although you didn't love the idea, you knew it was time to leave.

“It's late, I should go to sleep before we wake anyone up.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Willy said quickly, getting up from his seat to accompany you to the exit. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Rest,” you said kindly, and, gathering courage, you leaned forward a little to say goodbye with a hug that he gladly returned.

As you walked down the hall to your shabby, damp room, you thought that it probably wouldn't have even taken a love potion to fall for the charms of the pleasant chocolatier. You just needed one of his smiles.

[pucksandpower]

Suck Him Dry

Day 3 → Oral Fixation 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is dark, the kind of deep, enveloping darkness that sinks into your bones. The only light comes from a sliver of moonlight peeking through the heavy curtains, casting shadows that dance lazily across the ceiling. Charles is breathing softly beside you, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that, on any other night, might lull you back to sleep.

But tonight is different. Your mind is restless, thoughts spinning in circles, too fast and too loud to let you sleep.

You stare up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the shadows. You don’t know how long you’ve been awake — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you're stuck inside your own head.

You feel like you’re trapped in a loop, a constant replay of every worry, every doubt, every little thing that could possibly go wrong. It’s exhausting, but there’s no way out. Not tonight, at least.

Beside you, Charles stirs. You freeze, holding your breath, hoping you haven't woken him up. But then you feel his hand slide over, warm and reassuring, finding yours in the darkness. He squeezes your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice is soft, rough with sleep, but there’s a thread of concern woven through it.

You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you. “No,” you whisper. “I’m just … stuck in my head again.”

Charles hums, a low sound that vibrates through the silence. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at you. Even in the dark, you can feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“What’s going on in there?” He asks gently, tapping your temple with his finger.

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment, just watching you. Then he shifts closer, his hand moving to rest on your hip, his thumb brushing back and forth in a soothing motion. “You need something to get you out of your head,” he says quietly.

You don’t respond. It’s not like you haven’t tried everything already — reading, counting sheep, focusing on your breathing. Nothing works.

Charles seems to understand. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I have an idea,” he murmurs. “But you have to trust me.”

You open your eyes, turning your head to look at him. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes, something tender and a little mischievous. You nod slowly. “Okay. I trust you.”

A slow smile spreads across his face. “Good.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he says, tugging you gently toward him.

You follow his lead, letting him guide you until your head is resting against his thigh. He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Charles shifts, his hand moving to cup the back of your head, guiding you further down. You feel the warmth of him against your cheek, the soft fabric of his boxers brushing against your skin.

“Open your mouth,” he says softly.

You do as he says, parting your lips. He guides you with gentle pressure, and you take him into your mouth, the familiar taste and feel of him grounding you in a way that nothing else does. You close your eyes, letting out a slow breath through your nose as you begin to suck gently.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hand tightening in your hair. “That’s it, just like that,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, mon amour.”

You focus on the sound of his voice, the gentle praise in his tone, and the steady rise and fall of his chest. You feel yourself start to relax, the tension in your body slowly melting away. The constant buzzing in your head quiets, replaced by the rhythmic motion of your mouth and the soft, reassuring sounds Charles makes above you.

He strokes your hair, his thumb brushing over your temple in a slow, soothing rhythm. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers. “So perfect. Just keep going, mon cœur.”

You hum softly around him, the vibration drawing a soft curse from his lips. He tugs lightly on your hair, guiding you a little deeper. You take him easily, your jaw relaxing as you find a steady rhythm, each motion smooth and deliberate.

Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening in your hair again. “God, you feel so good,” he murmurs. “So fucking good. You’re amazing, you know that?”

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He knows. He always knows. You focus on the feel of him in your mouth, the steady pressure against your tongue, the way he throbs gently with each pass of your lips. It’s comforting, in a way that’s hard to explain. It’s like everything else fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

He shifts slightly, his thigh muscles flexing under your cheek. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Do you need to stop?”

You shake your head slightly, your mouth still full. You don’t want to stop. Not yet. You need this — the steady, grounding presence of him, the way he makes everything else disappear.

He chuckles softly, his fingers threading through your hair again. “Okay,” he says quietly. “We’ll keep going as long as you need, mon ange.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that — minutes, maybe hours. Time loses meaning when you’re with him like this, when the only thing that matters is the steady rhythm of your mouth and the quiet sounds of his pleasure. You start to feel yourself getting drowsy, the tension in your body melting away completely.

Charles seems to notice. He strokes your hair gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You’re getting tired, aren’t you?” He murmurs.

You hum softly in response, your eyes fluttering closed. He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “That’s okay,” he says quietly. “Just let yourself fall asleep, mon cœur. I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, letting your eyes close fully. You keep sucking softly, the motion slowing as you start to drift off. Charles hums a soft, soothing tune under his breath, his fingers still moving gently through your hair. You feel yourself slipping into sleep, the last thing you hear is the soft, steady sound of his breathing.

As you fall asleep, still sucking, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body relaxed. And you know, without a doubt, that as long as Charles is here, you’ll always have a way out of your own head.

***

You wake slowly, consciousness returning like a gentle tide washing over you. The world is soft and quiet, the room bathed in the faint blue light of early morning. For a moment, you’re disoriented, unsure of where you are or why you feel so warm and cocooned. Then you realize your mouth is still full, lips stretched around the familiar weight of Charles.

Your head is still resting on his thigh, and you can feel the solid muscle beneath your cheek. The sheets are warm and heavy around you, cocooning you in the lingering scent of Charles — clean and musky, with a hint of something uniquely him that you’ve come to love. His hand is still tangled in your hair, his fingers relaxed but still holding onto you, as if even in sleep, he doesn’t want to let you go.

Blinking your eyes open, you adjust to the dim light. Charles is still asleep, his chest rising and falling with each deep, even breath. You can feel his thigh move slightly under your cheek with each inhale, the slow rhythm of his breathing a comforting reminder that he’s here, right here with you. You don’t want to wake him, but you can’t help the way your tongue instinctively moves, brushing against the sensitive underside of him.

He stirs, letting out a soft sigh in his sleep, his grip on your hair tightening for just a moment before relaxing again. The sound sends a rush of heat through you, pooling low in your belly. You can feel him harden in your mouth, his body responding even in sleep. It’s intoxicating, the way you can affect him like this, the way he trusts you so completely, even when he’s not awake.

You shift slightly, adjusting your position under the sheets. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue pressing more firmly against the sensitive spot that makes him shiver. His breathing hitches, a soft groan escaping his lips. He’s still asleep, but his body knows you, recognizes your touch and responds to it.

Encouraged, you start to move more deliberately, sucking gently, your head bobbing in a slow, steady rhythm. The taste of him floods your mouth, salty and intoxicating, and you can’t help the way your body reacts. Heat blooms between your thighs, a low, insistent ache that makes you press your legs together, trying to find some relief.

But you don’t stop, don’t even slow down. If anything, you speed up, eager to taste more of him, to coax him awake with your mouth.

Charles groans again, louder this time, his hand tightening in your hair. “Merde,” he mutters, his voice rough with sleep. You feel him stir, his body shifting slightly as he wakes. “What …” His voice trails off into a low moan as you take him deeper, your lips stretching around him as you suck harder.

“Fuck, mon amour …” His voice is thick with sleep and something else — something deeper, more primal. You can hear the way his breathing changes, growing faster, more uneven. He’s fully awake now, and you can feel his body tense under yours, his muscles tightening as he tries to hold back.

You don’t let him. You move faster, sucking harder, your tongue working against him with a practiced ease that you know drives him crazy. He groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “God, you’re … you’re perfect,” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop …”

You hum around him, the sound vibrating through your throat and sending a shiver down his spine. His reaction spurs you on, and you take him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him. He curses softly in French, his fingers tightening in your hair, guiding you with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Mon dieu, just like that. You’re doing so good, so fucking good …”

You moan softly around him, the sound muffled by his length filling your mouth. The taste of him, the heat of his skin against your lips, the way he reacts to your every touch — it’s intoxicating, overwhelming. You feel yourself growing wetter, the ache between your thighs intensifying with every passing second.

Charles lets out a low groan, his hips bucking up slightly as he nears his release. “I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained. “Fuck, I’m so close …”

You don’t stop, don’t slow down. You want this — you want to taste him, to feel him lose control in your mouth. You suck harder, your tongue swirling around him with a renewed fervor. He lets out a strangled moan, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully as he finally lets go.

He comes with a shuddering groan, his hips jerking up as he spills into your mouth. The taste of him floods your senses, warm and slightly salty, and you swallow eagerly, not wanting to waste a single drop. He groans again, softer this time, his body trembling with the force of his release.

But you don’t stop. Even as he starts to soften in your mouth, you keep going, your lips and tongue working with a steady, unrelenting rhythm. He lets out a surprised gasp, his hand tightening in your hair again.

“Mon amour, what are you …” His voice trails off into a moan as you suck harder, your tongue flicking against the sensitive underside of him. “Fuck, I-I can’t …”

You don’t listen. You don’t want to. You want to taste every last drop of him, to drain him of everything he has to offer. You feel a surge of satisfaction as he starts to harden again, his body responding to your insistent touch.

“Jesus, you’re insatiable,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of awe and arousal. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

You hum around him, your lips curving into a small, satisfied smile. You can feel him starting to tremble beneath you, his body on the edge of overstimulation. But you don’t stop. You can’t. You want more — need more.

Charles groans, his hips twitching as he tries to pull away. “I … I can’t, it’s too much …”

But you don’t let him. You wrap your arms around his hips, holding him in place as you suck harder, your tongue pressing against the sensitive spot that you know will drive him crazy. He lets out a choked moan, his body tensing under yours as he teeters on the edge of another release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck …” He’s barely coherent now, his words slurred with pleasure and overstimulation. “Please, I … I can’t. I’m gonna …”

He comes again, harder this time, his body convulsing with the force of his release. You swallow every drop, your lips never leaving him, even as he starts to soften once more. He’s trembling now, his body twitching with aftershocks, but you don’t let up.

Charles gasps, his hand weakly pushing at your shoulder. “Mon amour, please … I can’t — it’s too much …”

But you don’t stop. You suck harder, your tongue working against him with a desperate, insistent rhythm. You’re close now, so close, the taste of him pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You can feel the tension building in your core, a tight coil that’s ready to snap.

He groans, his voice hoarse with pleasure and exhaustion. “Please, I … I need you to stop, I can’t take it …”

But you’re too far gone to listen. You’re on the edge, teetering on the brink of release, and you can’t stop, not now. You suck harder, your tongue pressing against him in a way that makes him shudder.

And then you’re there, the tension finally snapping as your orgasm crashes over you in a wave of pleasure. You moan around him, your body shaking with the force of it, your mouth never leaving him. You keep sucking, keep licking, riding out your orgasm as you drain him of everything he has to offer.

Charles gasps, his body going limp beneath you as he finally gives in, his head falling back against the pillow. “Merde …” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breathless whisper. “You’re … you’re incredible …”

You hum softly in response, your body still trembling with aftershocks. You finally pull away, your lips releasing him with a soft pop. You rest your head against his thigh, your eyes closed as you try to catch your breath.

He strokes your hair gently, his touch soothing. “Are you okay?” He asks softly. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, a small, contented smile spreading across your lips. “No,” you whisper. “I’m perfect.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers still moving through your hair. “That you are, mon ange. That you are.”

You let out a soft sigh, your body relaxing completely against him. You feel a deep sense of satisfaction, a contentment that you haven’t felt in a long time. For the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is quiet, your body at peace.

Charles hums softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I love you,” he murmurs. “So much.”

You smile, your eyes still closed. “I love you too,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

He chuckles again, a soft, affectionate sound. “Good,” he says quietly. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Dinner & Diatribes

❝i knew it from the first look of mischief in your eye.❞

Summary: You both swiped right and suddenly you're standing in a stranger's kitchen while he makes you spaghetti.

Pairing: Modern Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Author’s Note: this might be the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written, so fair warning. also, thank you tom, who inspired this by saying that dinner & diatribes would be aegon's hozier song. it's just true. anyways, this was really fun to write.

Warnings: language, recreational drug use, alcohol use, fluff, intense sexual situations (including: oral sex - female receiving, sexual intercourse - p in v), just two single people who are horny, more fluff, aegon being so cute that i couldn't stop smiling the whole time i was writing this.

It was precisely 9:39 PM on a Tuesday.

You were sitting cross-legged on your couch, nose deep in a fresh murder mystery that you had been working through for the last two days. There was a lit joint between your fingers that you were nursing, taking little hits so that it wouldn’t completely burn out, and on the cushion next to you, your phone softly vibrates and lights up; a familiar icon flashes across the screen and you can easily make out the words, “It’s a Match” from the corner of your eye. 

It’d been a regular occurrence since you had downloaded that accursed app. 

You’d been single for far too long, according to your best friend, though you hadn’t really noticed. The sweet silence of a solitary life was something that you had enjoyed for the most part. It wasn’t even like your online dating life had really taken off, either. You’d get matches but hardly anyone would reach out in any way that made you feel like they were serious. They wanted your Snapchat username, or they were in an ‘open’ relationship or asking for a threesome, and one guy even asked if you would send him pictures of your feet. Even some of the ones you thought were serious about taking you out- or even just hooking up- would end up ghosting you before anything actually happened. 

“It’s not supposed to be serious,” you could hear your friend’s words rattling around in your brain. You shake your head and focus once again on your book; they have a suspect, it’s the best friend! How fitting.

Once again, your phone lights up and vibrates. Not wanting to be distracted from the plot, you ignore your new match and get back to your mystery with anticipation; the best friend is about to confess. You go to take another hit of your joint and frown upon realizing it’s burnt out. As you move to grab your lighter, in comes another message, and another, and another. You stop what you’re doing and pick up your phone, swiping at the screen until you find the culprit. He’s known only as Aegon T, and according to the one sentence he has written on his profile, he has a dog. You swipe through his pictures- the dog is a golden retriever, the man looks like a golden retriever. 

In the message thread, he’s basically talking to himself. 

There’s four new messages waiting for you, while three little dots begin flashing at the bottom of the screen; disappearing and reappearing as you read what he’s already sent. 

“So, I’m high.”

“And I am making spaghetti… and it’s really good.”

“At least I hope it’s really good, it could just be the weed…”

“I could use a taste-tester, if you’re up for it? I can’t pay you or anything, but it’s honest work 😏”

Aegon begins typing again and you watch the screen, a smirk on your lips. You are 99% sure that the spaghetti is truly an innuendo for what he really wants and have half a heart to just block him, but you watch as those little gray dots continue in the bottom left corner of the screen; he’s going back and forth with himself and you can’t help but find it oddly cute. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate a witty response, but before you can even begin typing, he sends a fifth message. 

“That was weird as fuck, right?”

Then a sixth.

“You probably don’t want to come over to some random guy’s house on a Tuesday.”

He finishes up with a seventh message.

“Unless you do…”

He almost sends an apology. After all, what's another message? He’s already fucked this whole thing up; not even giving himself a chance before he nose-dived. If he was being honest, he should just go ahead and delete his whole account; save you from secondhand embarrassment and save himself from repeating the same mistake again in the future. He sets the phone down on the kitchen counter and goes back to ripping bong hits to calm his nerves. Though, he’s unable to keep himself from checking his phone for a response; a response that likely wasn’t going to come and he’d spend the rest of his night feeling like a complete idiot. 

Seven back-to-back messages should have screamed ‘red flag’, but you’re glancing at the clock as if you were seriously contemplating taking this stranger up on his offer. After all, you do have needs just as much as the next person. But, you’re wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of pajama shorts, your hair’s a mess, and you were covered in the crumbs of your munchie snacks. Meaning, you were nowhere close to being prepared for what was sure to happen between you and this random stoner offering you dinner. 

Yet, you respond to him, “I could never turn down spaghetti”. 

Aegon’s stirring the sauce when he gets your message. He’s instantly elated, thrusting a celebratory fist into the air. His fingers fly across the keyboard swiftly, sending another quick message, “Atta girl 🙃 My place is on the corner of 9th and 51st, above Jasper’s.”

“Be there soon,” you reply with haste. 

It was apartment #4 and you made sure to text your friend the address, and given name of your potential murderer, and also share your location for her to keep an eye out.  She says all you have to do is text her at any time if you need her to call and bail you out with a fake emergency. All she asks in return is for you to have fun and let her know if you are planning on spending the night- which was an idea that you weren’t opposed to, but it wasn’t something you were planning on. 

You’re nervous as you stand outside of the door to his apartment, fist hovering for a moment. Now’s the time to make a fast exit- you haven’t met him, you could turn around right now and never meet him. You could wake up alive in the morning, safe in your own bed. Or, you can knock on the door and have what might be a really nice spaghetti dinner with a really nice guy. Hell, he could even be the love of your life and in fifty years you’ll both look back on this day and laugh about how you met on Tinder and how you were stupid enough to go to his house and not a public place. 

Finally, you knock. 

Aegon puts the lid back on his spaghetti sauce and shuffles into the living room. Sunfyre is on the couch with his ears perked; his tail’s wagging and he’s panting eagerly, waiting patiently to meet this new visitor. Aegon whispers over to him, “wish me luck,” and thinks to himself, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish, please don’t be a catfish. He peers through the peephole when he approaches the door and there you are, a sigh of relief deflates his chest. 

“Oh, thank God,” you can hear him say as the door swings open. His accent is surprisingly British. “You’re real.”

The very first thing that you notice are his eyes. They’re piercing; somehow blue and lavender at the same time– the color of a warm, summer sunrise and they’re crinkling at the edges as he smiles. He’s wearing a pair of dark gray sweats and a pale green hoodie, and the only word that comes to mind when you look at him is warmth. He’s somehow more attractive in person than he is in the pictures on his profile, which you didn’t think was possible, but he’s standing right in front of you and you can’t help but think to yourself, he doesn’t look like a murderer. 

Then again, neither did Ted Bundy.  

Aegon stands there for a moment, just staring at you, unable to do anything else. His words escape him, he can barely even breathe. You look exactly the same as your pictures; even without the makeup and even in the shitty, fluorescent overhead lights of the hallway. Even in a sweatshirt and pajama shorts, you’re stunning. He’s having a hard time believing that you actually showed up and he doesn’t realize that he’s been staring for much too long until you shrug back at him. 

“Did you think I wasn’t?” You ask with creased brows and a lopsided smile.

The corners of his lips pull upwards as he looks at you, “I don’t know. You’re just so beautiful, I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t some sort of hologram… or a robot.” 

“Wow, you’re pretty smooth,” you say with a playful smirk, desperately trying to keep your composure— trying to play it cool, hoping that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that you’re secretly spiraling, because it took all of one smile and one compliment and you were done for. “But, I’ll have you know that flattery won’t work on me. I’m here for the spaghetti and the spaghetti alone.” 

“My apologies,” Aegon says with a chuckle as he holds his hands up defensively. “Right this way, then.” 

He steps to the side, allowing you to enter his apartment, and shuts the door behind you. It’s nice, clean, smells like fresh baked bread and tomato sauce. There’s niche artwork adorning the walls, he’s got candles burning, and there’s some lowkey, downtempo R&B playing softly in the background. He quickly moves past you and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to follow him. 

However, before you can take all of two steps into his apartment, a flash of golden fur is suddenly at your hip, pawing for attention. You drop down to a knee and happily accept any and all kisses from the pup. “Oh! Hi, what’s your name?”

Aegon sticks his head around the corner and says, “That is Sunfyre. In case you were wonderin’, he’s a very good judge of character and I will be consultin’ with him later where you’re concerned, fair warning.” 

You roll your eyes and scratch behind Sunfyre’s ears, his tail thumps in approval. 

“Would you like something to drink?” He continues and disappears back into the kitchen. “I’ve got wine and bottled water. Oh, and milk?” There’s a rustling in the kitchen before Aegon adds with a nervous chuckle, “scratch that, there is no milk.” 

You politely excuse yourself from Sunfyre and step into the small dining room off of the kitchen. 

There’s a grin on your lips, which you pursed so that he doesn’t think you’re laughing at him. Sunfyre joins the two of you and circles around his owner’s legs as Aegon empties an almost full half-gallon of milk down the drain. His kitchen is small but looks to be well used, which you appreciate. You know almost nothing about this man, other than his name- if ‘Aegon’ was even his real name- and the name of his dog, and yet here you were, standing in the threshold of his kitchen with a strange sense of comfortability as if you had been lifelong pals. 

“Water is fine,” you tell him. 

He produces a bottle of water from his fridge and tosses it over to you with ease and goes back to the stove. You step further into the kitchen, taking in your surroundings. The kitchen, like the living room, is covered in artwork and vintage decor- things you’d only find in some obscure thrift store or estate sale. On the refrigerator are a collection of magnets from different cities and countries, real touristy type shit. Some of them even had names on them; Alexander, Aaron, Alistair, Alan, Adolf. 

Maybe these are the names of people he’s killed. 

“You travel a lot?” You ask, trying to keep the conversation going.

“I try to,” he says from over his shoulder as he continues to stir the sauce. You can hear him set the lid back on the pot. “Most of those are from my sister, Helaena. She thinks it’s hilarious to give me magnets with random ‘A’ names since you’ll never find the name Aegon on any of those,” he says from behind you. He’s leaning against the counter with a half glass of wine. You quirk an eyebrow at him, not fully convinced. “She has a few from me that say Helen.”

“Is that her?” You ask, finger pointing to a pretty blonde in one of the many photographs he had pinned up.

He nods and takes a step closer to you. He’s so close that you can feel his warmth, smell his aftershave. The proximity causes you to blush and he smirks in response, leaning over your shoulder as he points to the other people in the pictures. “Those two are my little brothers, Aemond and Daeron,” he claims and then points to two women. “That’s my half-sister, Rhae, and next to her is my mother.”

“The redhead?” You ask surprised, given she didn’t look like she could be old enough to have four grown children. He nods and takes a step back, leaning against the counter with half-lidded eyes and a tipsy blush. “She looks like she could be your sister,” you say softly, turning back to glance at all of the faces; he seemed proud of his family, like they were very close. 

You turn away from the fridge and lean against the counter at his side. It’s quiet for a moment, save for the music and the sound of boiling water where the noodles were cooking. You look at him and the corners of your lips can’t help but twist up into a shy smile, but you bite at the inside of your cheek out of nervous habit. He props himself up on his elbows, taking a sip of his wine, clearly comfortable with the silence. 

“So,” you look up at him and his little smirk grows. “About the job…”

“Ah, yes,” he nods. “As I stated earlier, I won’t be able to pay you a monetary wage, but the position does come with a benefits package.”

“And what exactly would this benefits package include?” There’s an innocent flirtatiousness in your voice that only adds to the tension. 

“Outside of the free gourmet meals that I would be providin’ to ya, which is obviously the most important part,” he smiles and steps to the side to grab a spoon from the drawer and holds it out to you. Your fingers softly close around his as you pluck the utensil from his grasp. He clears his throat to distract from the fact that he was visibly flustered from the slight touch. “There’s also unlimited cuddle sessions,” before he can finish, you shoot him a look. “With Sunfyre, of course! He’s the real boss ‘round here, after all.” 

“Cuddling with the boss?” You quirk an eyebrow and look down at the golden retriever, his eyes round and gleaming; clearly waiting for a hand-out. “Sounds like a conflict of interest to me.”

“Well, if it’s a conflict of interest you’re worried about,” he counters quickly with a soft yet playful tone. “I s’pose we could renegotiate the terms of the agreement and you could have me instead.” 

“I’m listening.”

“He might be better at cuddling for obvious reasons and he might be better lookin’,” Aegon continues. “But, I give better backrubs. I mean, I have thumbs and he don’t. You can’t give decent backrubs without thumbs, can you? Plus, he’s a sloppy kisser.” 

“Oh, you’re really trying to sweeten the deal now, huh? Backrubs and kisses? I must admit, that is quite a compelling offer,” you muse. “It seems my decision hinders on whether or not you can actually cook, wouldn’t want to accept the position blindly, now would I?”

“Are ya doubtin’ my skills?” He asked playfully. 

“No offense, but you possess the aura of someone who could fuck up a can of Spaghettios,” you tell him with a sincere smile. “So, forgive me if I don't get my hopes up.”

Aegon laughs and it’s a warm and infectious sound that fills the kitchen. It’s genuine, as is his perfect smile. You can’t seem to keep yourself from staring; eyes softly tracing every detail of his face– from his full, pink pout, to the scar above his right eyebrow, and the dimple of his chin– thinking to yourself that you’ve never seen a man more beautiful. His smile turns back into a smirk as he notices you staring at his lips and you look up to meet his eyes. There’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you feeling vulnerable. His gaze softens as you look away, turning your attention back to the spaghetti sauce on the stove in front of you to distract yourself from the blush creeping up your neck.

There’s only one way this night ends.

It was obvious before you even left your house and it was certainly obvious now. 

“Go on, then,” he prods, motioning to the pot on the stovetop.

His eyes are wide with anticipation as you dip into the simmering sauce, stirring it a few times before bringing the spoon to your lips. He’s nervous; it’s his mother’s recipe– one he’s spent years perfecting– but with his luck, you will most likely think it’s steaming garbage. Yet, he watches intently; holding his breath as your perfect lips curl to blow softly, cooling the sauce before you finally taste it. 

The moment the spoon touches your tongue, you're determined to remain impartial. After all, you’ve had your fair share of disappointing meals from men who’ve claimed to be great cooks. Aegon certainly could be the very latest and you wouldn’t be at all surprised. So, you keep your expectations low, and try your hardest to remain stoic, but as the flavors begin to unfold, you can feel your resolve wavering. 

It’s good. Better than most. 

Reluctantly, you have to admit that this is the second-best sauce you’ve ever had, right after your grandmother’s. You glance up at Aegon, who’s watching you with a mix of anxiety and hope, and you can’t help but smile. 

“I have to give it to you,” you say, your voice betraying a hint of admiration. “This is incredible. Almost as good as my grandmother’s.”

The relief and pride that spread across his face makes your heart flutter. 

“Yeah?” He asks with a toothy grin. 

“I’m still not completely convinced that you can actually cook, but you can– at the very least– make some top-notch spaghetti sauce,” you tell him as you place your spoon to the side. 

“Top-notch, eh?” He asks playfully as he begins plating your meal. “I’ll take it.” 

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you say to him with a laugh. “It’s just spaghetti sauce.” 

“Just spaghetti sauce? Don’t let my mum hear you say that,” he says with a smirk, setting a full plate in front of you on the counter. “I guess I’ll just have to work extra hard on the next one.”

“Assuming there will be a next one,” you reply, tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “Though, you have set the bar pretty high tonight. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Well,” he murmurs as he steps closer, his body brushing against yours as he reaches around you to grab a plate. His lips are hovering above the shell of your ear, his voice low and teasing, causing your cheeks to immediately flush as the heat between the two of you intensifies. “I’m nothing if not a perfectionist.”

For a split second you expect for him to lean in for a kiss. Your heart is simultaneously skipping beats and racing at the same time; your breath catching in your throat as he leans in— But then he smirks, grabbing the plate and taking a step backwards. He’s doing it on purpose, you realize; his proximity expertly calculated to keep you on edge. You look up at him with wide, sparkling eyes and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The soft blush of your cheeks has his blood pumping and sends a surge of adrenaline through him. He’s trying his absolute best to play it cool but the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him has him unraveling.

“Is that so?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “What other skills do you have up your sleeve?”

His grin widens as he looks down at you, setting his empty plate to the side. His gaze, once again, drops to your lips. “I have a few tricks,” he says softly, his voice filled with promise. “But I doubt you’d believe me if I told you, so how about I just show you?” 

“What?” You ask with a playful innocence. “Before dinner?”

“I’m not really in the mood for spaghetti anymore.” 

“Oh?” Your smirk is only growing. “What are you in the mood for?”

Aegon says nothing, but a confident grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he rests his hands on your hips. He doesn’t hesitate to pull you in by the waist, until you’re pressed against him and his lips are on yours. The kiss is both gentle and urgent and a little bit awkward, as any first kiss should be. You felt like a teenager again, kissing a boy for the first time– butterflies in your stomach and all.

It takes no time at all for you to find your rhythm with him, and he deepens the kiss, pushing you up onto the kitchen counter to meet his height. Your arms naturally drape across his shoulders, your legs wrap around his middle. He’s completely taken over your mind, filling up every tiny space that he can fit into; the smell of his cologne, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, the feeling of his hands squeezing the flesh of your thighs– his fingertips teasing just underneath the hem of your shorts. 

Breathless, he pulls away from you as he pulls your sweatshirt over your head. He stops for a moment to take in the sight of you; clad only in your bra and shorts, lips red and blotchy, swollen and full. You’re looking up at him from under your lashes, softly biting your bottom lip as you wait for him to continue. He gently lifts his hand up to your cheek and traces the curve of your cupid’s bow with his thumb, providing one last show of tenderness before he leans in to capture your lips in another searing kiss. 

His touch is suddenly rushed; spreading a wildfire across your skin in the wake of his lips as he rips off the remainder of your clothes. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re sitting exposed on his kitchen counter in only a thong, blushing wildly and covering your face with your hands. 

“No– no hiding,” he clicks his tongue and pulls your hands away from your face. “I want to see you.”

He whispers a string of profanities and compliments as his starving eyes roam your figure. Self-doubt creeps into your mind and you momentarily consider making a quick exit, convinced he won’t like what he sees, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel desired in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. 

Aegon’s gaze is electrifying and intense, drawing you in and silencing your negative thoughts instantly. His hands pull you in by the waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter as his lips work their way down your chin and neck; leaving a trail of red marks down to your chest. He hums, smirking as he takes one of your breasts in his mouth. His hand kneads the other, rolling your hardened nipple between two fingers. Your head falls back, lips parted slightly as you breathe out his name. 

Each sound he elicits from you urges him on even further until he’s on one knee, looking up at you from his position with those pretty eyes. He runs a hand up the back of your calf, softly teasing you with his fingertips before tossing your leg over his shoulder. You knew where he was going, and yet, you were still surprised as he began placing open mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs; shivering in anticipation as goosebumps formed on your skin. 

“You’re so wet,” he says proudly, praising you. 

His eyes are locked with yours as his fingers delicately smooth over your clothed clit. He hooks a finger around the dampened cotton and pulls your thong to the side, groaning at the sight of your perfect pussy. Without wasting another second, Aegon’s mouth is suddenly on you and your hands immediately find the back of his head; fingers curling into the roots of his silver hair. 

You roll your hips against his tongue, cursing out as your legs begin to shake. He moans, face still buried deep in you and the vibrations have you writhing. Both of his arms are wrapped around your thighs now, holding you tight to him, not letting up for even a second. Then he stands, lifting you up onto his shoulders. You squeal in shock, holding onto him tightly, but he doesn’t stop; he continues to devour you as he blindly carries you towards his bedroom. 

When his knees hit the side of his bed, he tosses you back onto the mattress. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch as he strips out of his clothes. . You can see the outline of his arousal; prominent and pressing firmly against the fabric of his sweats. You bite your lip at the sight and he smirks as he catches your stare. His movements are unhurried, giving you ample time to appreciate the sight before you. His hoodie and shirt come off first, then his sweats, and you can’t help but notice the way that his muscles flex with each motion. He’s not overly built, but there’s a solid strength in his frame that is evident in the way he moves.

Outside, headlights from passing cars cast streaks of light and shadows across the walls of his room. It’s quiet, the music in the other room has stopped playing and all you can hear is the sound of your own heart beating in your ears. You swallow thickly, encompassed by the tension of the moment as he crawls up the length of your body; placing tender kisses along your skin. His lips leave a trail of warmth, each touch igniting a spark that travels through your entire body.

When he reaches your face, he pauses, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches away. The anticipation builds, thick and electric in the air between you. His lips find yours in a kiss that starts slow and tender but quickly deepens; fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you closer, his body pressing yours deeper into the plush mattress. Your hands explore his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the tension and strength beneath his skin and coming to rest on his shoulders; gripping tightly as he continues to worship your body with his mouth. Each kiss, each touch, is deliberate, heightening your senses and pulling you further into the moment.

You curse at the feeling of his girth against your entrance. Your hand moves up to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips as he presses slowly into you. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpers into the crook of your neck as his arms become weak. 

He knows that he won’t last like this; it’s been a while and you feel way too good. He’s slow at first, wanting to steady himself and maintain control, but his rhythm picks up quickly; hips moving with an unrelenting rhythm, each thrust bringing you both closer to the edge. You can feel his muscles tense, his grip on you tightening as he buries his face in your neck. His moans are a mix of pleasure and desperation, and you can tell he’s fighting to hold back.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, feeling the overwhelming need to reach that peak together. His pace quickens, the tension in his body building to a breaking point. You feel the same pressure inside of you mounting before it’s suddenly crashing over you like a wave. He follows seconds later, a low groan escaping his lips as he spills into you. The intensity of the moment leaves you both breathless and clinging to each other, bathing in the afterglow. 

“That was incredible,” he murmurs against your skin, head pressed to your chest as you stroke his hair softly. His eyes flutter shut as he listens to the sounds of your heartbeat. 

You hum in agreement, smiling to yourself as you savor the peacefulness of the moment. 

Suddenly, you’re joined by Sunfyre jumping up on the bed, his tail wagging enthusiastically. You smile at him and pat the empty space next to you, inviting him to join your cuddle session. He eagerly accepts the invitation, circling the bed a few times before snuggling up next to you. Aegon lifts his head and smiles, clearly pleased that you would be so open to having the dog in bed with you. He wraps his arm around both you and Sunfyre, pulling you closer. 

“This is perfect,” he says softly, his voice filled with contentment as he lays his head back on your chest. 

"So, about that job offer," you say playfully, your fingers tracing patterns along his skin. "I think I'll accept the position. When would you like for me to start?"

He lifts his head to look at you, a playful glint in his eyes. “How about tomorrow night at seven?”

Before you can respond, a distinct burning smell reaches your nose. Your brows furrow as you sniff the air. “Do you smell that?”

Aegon’s eyes widen in realization. “The spaghetti!” 

He jumps up from the bed, pulling on his clothes quickly, and scrambles into the kitchen. You follow behind him, tossing one of his t-shirts over your head and meet him in the kitchen. 

“I guess I forgot to turn off the burner,” Aegon looks disappointed but then chuckles, shaking his head. He looks at you with a glint in his eye and smirks. “Occupational hazard, I guess.”

“Oh, that sucks!” You laugh, playfully nudging him. “Is it too late to back out of the job now?”

“Way too late for that,” he says as he pulls you into a soft kiss, silencing any doubts immediately. “You’re mine now.” 

“Mm,” you hum against his lips. “But I came here for the spaghetti.”

He chuckles and pulls back slightly. “Will you settle for pizza?”

“I’ll settle for anything, as long as it’s with you,” you say with a smile as you wrap your arms around his waist. “And as long as there’s extra cheese!”

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 1260 words

series masterlist ; main masterlist this is part one of this blurb! the next part will be smut! this was supposed to one whole blurb, but unfortunately, i can't stop adding details

A week had passed since that toe-curling, heart stopping kiss with James, yet the memory clung to you, refusing to loosen its grip. Every moment replayed in your mind—the way his breath had mingled with yours, the warmth of his lips, the intoxicating mix of hesitation and desire that had crackled between you. It was impossible to shake, no matter how hard you tried to push it to the back of your mind.

But life, as it often does, had intervened. Work had been intense for both of you. His late nights at the office, followed by early morning school drop-offs, and your endless deadlines and marathon meetings had drained you both, leaving little room for anything else—especially the conversation you so desperately needed.

But you were hoping tonight would be different. He’d asked if you could watch Henry, and you’d never refused him before. And you weren’t about to start now.

“Darling?” Henry mumbled, his voice carrying that endearing tone that always made you smile. As he grew older, the nickname was losing its childish lisp, becoming clearer and more deliberate with each passing day. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on it, knowing it would bring you to tears. And as much as it weighed on you, you couldn’t even begin to imagine how James was feeling.

“Yeah, my love?” You hummed, your eyes still fixed on The Rescuers playing on the TV. Henry had insisted on watching it in James’s room because he wanted to “see the mice all big.” At first, you hesitated, unsure if being surrounded by James’s scent was a good idea. But Henry’s excitement was impossible to resist, and you found yourself giving in, despite your nerves.

“When is daddy back?”

“Um,” You glance at the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Soon I would think.”

“Oh.” Henry murmurs, shifting closer to cuddle into your side, his tiny hand reaching out to grasp yours. The two of you are nestled under the dark duvet, surrounded by the seven stuffed animals he insisted on bringing along. “I miss him,” he whispers, his voice tinged with quiet sadness.

“I’m sure he misses you too.” You say, offering him a gentle smile. He looks up at you with those unmistakable eyes—his father’s eyes—brown and sweet, carrying the same warmth that James’ have. His dark curls fall messily across his forehead, a mirror of James’s unruly hair. Even the curve of his smile, so innocent yet so familiar, pulls at your heart. It’s impossible not to see James in every feature, every expression, and every little gesture Henry makes. 

All you can think about is James.

“Do you miss daddy?” Your lips part, flustered and caught off guard by the question. For a second you debate lying, but you realize there’s no point. 

“Yes, I miss him too.” You finally murmur, and Henry’s face lights up with a grin, as if he’s just heard the most wonderful thing. He turns his gaze back to the TV, his attention returning to the movie, while he snuggles his stuffed dinosaur tightly in the hand that isn’t holding yours. The sight of him, so content and secure, tugs at your heart.

The movie has long finished and another has begun, but you’re oblivious to it all. Henry is fast asleep, nestled into your side, and you’re not far behind. Your focus is solely on threading your fingers gently through Henry’s dark curls. The rhythmic motion that had soothed him to sleep now lulls you as well, your eyes growing heavy with each tender stroke.

“Hey.” James murmurs with a warm, inviting smile, immediately drawing your gaze to the doorway where he stands. His white button-up shirt is casually open at the collar, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and as he crosses his arms, the fabric tightens over his biceps, accentuating their firm definition. Your eyes slowly trace down to his forearms, where the veins are subtly prominent. The combination of his relaxed stance and the his snug shirt makes your pulse quicken.

You resist the urge to fan yourself.

You swallow hard, struggling to pull your gaze back up. “Hi,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He grins, and you know instantly he’s caught you. “What are you two doing in here?” He asks, walking further into his room, glancing down at the stuffies with a soft chuckle

“Henry missed you,” You say softly. “That and he wanted to watch a movie on the big TV.”

“Of course he did.” James says with a soft, knowing tone. He rounds the bed and settles next the side closest to Henry. With a gentle touch, he brushes a few stray curls from his son’s forehead, his fingers lingering for a moment. Then, leaning down, he places a tender kiss on Henry’s forehead.

“I’m going to put him to bed.” James says softly, his voice soft as he looks up at you from his kneeling position by the bed. You nod quickly, your words caught in your throat.

You watch as James moves with practiced ease, sliding one hand tenderly behind Henry’s back and slipping the other under his knees. He lifts him carefully, his movements gentle yet confident, raising Henry up and off your chest. As hedoes, Henry lets out a soft whine, his small face scrunching up in a mix of sleepiness and longing. With a tiny, outstretched arm, he reaches toward you, his fingers stretching as far as they can go, desperate to grab you.

“No.” He huffs, his eyes opening the tiniest bit to glance up at his dad.

“It’s bedtime.” James says softly, drawing Henry close to his chest and gently reaching down to grab the stuffed dinosaur Henry clings to. 

“No! But I—” Henry protests, wriggling in James’s arms. He twists around, casting a desperate look over his shoulder at you. “I want mummy.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your eyes dart to James, wide with shock. He mirrors your surprise. With one arm securely wrapped around Henry’s squirming body, he struggles to keep his son from wriggling free. Henry’s little face is flushed with frustration, his eyes locked onto yours as he reaches out with tiny, pleading hands, desperate for your comfort.

“Do you want to say goodnight to mum before bed?” James asks quietly, leaning down to speak into Henry’s ear. Henry stops squirming instantly and nods. Gently, James places his son back onto the bed, and Henry immediately flings himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck. He collides with you with a soft thud, and you hear James mutter about being gentle with you.

“Goodnight,” You say whisper, one arm holding him to you and the other holding the back of his head. “I love you bunches. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Your eyes flicker up to meet James’ who is watching you with an indescribable look.

“Love you.” Henry mumbles, the sleepiness in his voice affecting his pronunciation. Then he leans back and plants a big kiss on your forehead, mimicking the affectionate gesture he’s seen his father make so many times. You laugh quietly and press a kiss on his nose in return. Satisfied, Henry crawls back to his father and lifts his arms. James picks him up, his gaze lingering on you.

“I’ll be right back.” James says softly before heading to Henry’s room. As he walks away, Henry peeks over his shoulder and waves a tiny hand at you.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

part two here!

[luveline]

Hey lovely, How about Hotch and wife!reader having their first family outing with new baby, a walk in the park or grocery shopping something like that you can pick.

Hope your having a good weekend lovely Xx <3 🌼

ty for your request ily <3 —you and Hotch juggle your small family for the first time. fem, 1.2k

“Please hold my hand?” 

Having a baby has activated some intrafamily jealousy, but you don’t mind. You’re cooing at Noah adoringly when Jack interrupts, thrusting his hand in the air, the very beginning of a tantrum lining his eyes and his thin eyebrows pinched like a threat. 

“Baby, don’t you wanna come and sit up here with Noah?” you ask. There’s not much room next to the carrier, but Jack's slight. 

He shakes his head, hand poking your tummy. Grocery shopping with Jack has always been hard, he wants to look at everything, wants to take the list, and doesn’t ever wanna sit in the cart, but it’s proving harder today. 

“Aaron, you have to push the cart.” 

He’s been begging you to let him for the last half hour. “It’s gonna tire me out,” he says, nudging you aside by the hip, “but I think I can handle it for you. You did call me by my first name for once. We reward good behaviour in this family.” 

You roll your eyes and take Jack’s little hand. Calling him Aaron now you’ve had a baby together should feel natural, but it doesn’t. It feels more like a loving nickname than his actual name —over two years of calling him Hotch is hard to ignore. 

Jack gives you a loving look that makes the fuss worth it. “This is fun,” he says. 

“This is awesome.” 

You and Jack got used to doing grocery shopping by yourselves while you were on your maternity leave without his dad. With Hotch now on his own paternity leave to accompany you, it is admittedly easier, and much more fun. You and Jack swing your hands together as Hotch steers the cart and your baby into the cereal aisle, which’ll take hours to get through, no doubt, but it doesn’t matter. What else is there to do? 

You make it Hotch’s job to say no to the boxes that are mostly sugar, and, unfortunately for Jack, get distracted by Noah in his baby carrier where it’s locked into the cart. His eyes reluctant to open, tired, dark lashes threaded together at their corners, his tiny mouth. “Aw, look at you, handsome, you’re nearly smiling. You look just like your daddy, he never wants to smile either,” you say, tapping his nose. 

Your saccharine tone prompts distress. “Y/N,” Jack whines, “you need to help me choose the cereal.” He yanks at your hand. 

“Jack, don’t start, bud.” 

“Dad,” Jack pouts. 

“No, it’s okay. We’re supposed to be sharing everybody now, so Jack gets to share me too. I’ll help you pick some cereal. I don’t mind,” you say. 

You sort of do mind, just a bit. This is Noah’s first time out in the world that wasn’t sitting peacefully in the backyard, and you don’t want him to be scared. Maybe baby’s can’t be scared, you don’t know. It’s nicer to feel close to him in these big moments. But it’s Jack’s first time having a baby brother at the store, too, so you’ll have to make it work. 

“You don’t have to,” Hotch says. 

“It’s fine, it’s okay.” You bend down to see the cereal selection. “They have your favourite, Cinnamon Toast Crunch. And your second, Fruity Pebbles. It’s up to you, it’s your treat.” 

Jack gasps and hits a box of Fruity Pebbles, “Barney’s on the box now!” he says, pointing at the blonde character behind the cereal bowl. 

You give a soft laugh quickly lost as Jack’s force topples the box. It hits the floor with a light crunch. “Oh, whoops. Let’s pick this up,” you say, popping down into a crouch without thinking. 

“Honey–” Hotch says, which would surely be followed by a Should you be doing that? if you weren’t already flopping onto one knee in pain. 

Bad idea. Terrible idea. Having a baby tears a mixture of tissue and muscle, and while the fiery pain of labour has since become a bad memory, a spike of trauma erupts between your legs. “Ow,” you yelp, eyes welling with unbidden tears. 

“Y/N!” Jack and Hotch say simultaneously. 

“Are you alright?” Hotch asks, bending at the waist to grab you, never cruel but clearly perturbed as his hands grasp your shoulders. They slip down under your arms. “Come on, can you stand up?”

You blink away tears and force yourself to stand with his help. He’s quick to pull you close, one hand on your wrist, head ducked to see your face. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

You let out a queasy breath. “Something’s not done fixing itself,” you joke weakly. 

“Are you alright?” he asks again, lower. 

“I’m fine.” You’d love to sit down. The pain is a thrum like your heartbeat now, hurting but half as intense. “I’m okay. Really, it just shocked me.” 

He slips his arm around your neck to encourage you in for a temple kiss. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You wiggle out of Hotch’s hold. Jack stands with a large pout near the fallen box of cereal, his hands twisting together over his tummy. “It’s okay,” you say. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, panicked tears slipping down his cheeks. “You hurt getting it and it was mine, I’m sorry.” His voice squeezes out of him in guilty pangs. 

“It’s okay!” you repeat, leaning over with a wince to offer your arms, “It’s really okay, it’s not your fault. Don’t be upset, baby, I’m fine.” 

You hoist Jack into your arms as he begins crying in earnest. His crying startles Noah, who starts to whimper, and then sob despite Hotch’s gentle shushing. You look at one another in mild defeat, your hand cupping the back of Jack’s head as he clings to you for reassurance. 

Noah’s sobbing is like a ringing bell. Jack says he’s sorry into your neck, and it’s such a desperate scene you let a laugh slip out. “Aw, baby,” you say, smiling as you press your nose to his cheek, “it’s really okay. It wasn’t your fault at all, it was just ‘cos I’m out of practice. I’m just tired.” 

“You fell.” 

Noah gurgles behind you. “I know,” Hotch says quietly. “I know. You’re okay, bud. Jack’s okay. Mom’s okay. Shh, shh.” 

It’s obviously not how you’d want your shopping trip to go, but Jack’s crying eventually slows, sapping all of his energy, and so he finally agrees to sit in the cart. The only problem is that he doesn’t fit there as well as you’d thought he would. Hotch ends up carrying him the entire time you’re in the store, and Noah doesn’t ever settle. You’re like zombies when you get back to the car, a headache stark between your ears and evident in his pinched brow. 

“Let’s try again in a few weeks,” Hotch suggests. “I can go by myself. Or we can make somebody else.”  

You wish you had the energy to kiss his brow, giving a defeated nod as you slouch down into your seat, grateful at least for his hand on your knee. “Okay.” 

[ellecdc]

This might be a weird needle to thread so i totally understand if it doesn’t work but:

reader who was blamed in a previous relationship for sex being too boring/infrequent/vanilla and has been conditioned that she has to initiate on a regular basis even if she’s not really feeling it for fear of her partner getting upset

maybe she and Jamie (or anyone, really, whatever person or group of people you think works for this) have had a hectic, stressful couple of weeks and she realizes that they haven’t had sex in a minute and it comes to light that she initiated because she was scared of the backlash if she didn’t

I often wonder how many people have sent me requests back in *checks notes* APRIL that have since unfollowed me. I'm sorry. thank you for your request; hopefully it finds you, and if not, I hope you're well out there wherever you are 🫶

James Potter x fem!reader who is worried he's upset over a lack of sex [1.2k words]

CW: mature themes/discussions around sex but nothing explicit, themes of consent and past abusive/toxic relationships, James being the king he is

James had been aware of your presence, but only managed to lift his head from his laptop when he realised you were simply hovering in the doorway instead of approaching him as you often did.

“Hey, angel.” He greets with a smile curling on his lips. “Feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

He opens his arms in both a stretch and an invitation which you readily accept; your sock clad feet quickly padding across the room as you settle into his lap. He circles his arms around your middle and lets out an appreciative hum as he breathes you in. 

“M’sorry.” You respond, and James’ brows furrow as he rests his chin on your shoulder and looks at you in bemusement.

“What’re you sorry for, sweetness?” 

You shrug the shoulder James’ chin isn’t currently resting on as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t know…that you haven’t seen me in forever.”

A tsking sound escapes James’ lips as he unwraps one hand from your waist in favour of freeing your lip from its current assault. “There’s nothing to be sorry for; we’ve both been busy, yeah?” 

You seem unconvinced but don’t bother voicing it; carding your hand through James’ curls as you begin to worry your poor lip again.

He lets you gather your thoughts before he asks “is there something on your mind?”

“Should we have sex?” You blurt rather suddenly, and James’ head actually rears back in shock, causing your hand to slide down his chest and into your lap. You turn bashful. “Do you want to have sex?” you quickly amend.

“I- we…sweetheart,” he stutters, “do you want to have sex?”

“We can have sex.” You agree quickly.

“That’s not what I asked, my love.” 

You look properly troubled now; brows furrowed as your eyes frantically search James’ face as though he were a live bomb and you were responsible for disabling it. He opted to press a delicate kiss to the tip of your nose before resting his chin on your shoulder as you considered him. 

“You’re not mad?” You nearly whisper, and James thinks he might cry, not just at the insinuation, but at the glassy quality your eyes took as you asked him. 

“Of course not, sweetheart. What on earth do I have to be upset about?” 

He can tell your shoulders are just itching to hike up in embarrassment as you begin fiddling nervously with the cuffs of the sleeves on your jumper. 

“Well, we just…I realised we haven’t had sex for a long time?”

A long time? It was currently… Friday, and James was pretty sure the two of you fell into bed together Sunday night after dinner at Sirius and Remus’ place. Actually, he was certain the two of you fooled around Sunday night, because you have given him shite for not even managing to help you get your dress off before he was ridding you of your knickers.

But even if that had been a long time…

“I don’t really think that’s true, angel. And even if it was, what right would I have to be upset about that?” 

You didn’t seem to have an answer for that. 

“Have you wanted to have sex?” He tries, and he can see the conflict on your face before you even voice it. “I don’t want you to say we can have sex, I want to know if you want to have sex.”

“I…” you start, gaping at him, “well…I mean, right now?”

He simply tilts his head at you. 

“Not… really? I mean, we c-”

“Nope, that’s all good. There’s no explanation required.” 

Words die on your lips as you nearly shake your head in disbelief. “We- so…you’re not mad?”

“I’m not mad.” 

“And… you’d tell me if you were?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart. Can I ask you a question, though?” He asks, continuing when you nod your head yes. “Where is this coming from?” 

“I…don’t really know.”

“Have I done something to make you think this is something I would be upset about?” He asks genuinely, heart cracking when you quickly shake your head in the negative, seemingly distressed over the thought of having offended him.

“No! No...I- you’ve been lovely; you’re lovely.” 

“You’d tell me if I did, though?” He asks, craning his neck in an attempt to meet your eyes. “If I’d done something to make you feel as though I’d be upset?”

“I would.” You agree, eyes turning pensive before a sorrowful sigh leaves your lips. “I’m sorry, I…it’s not you, it really isn’t.” 

James nods his head in understanding but doesn’t force you to elaborate, simply replacing your hand with his own when you begin picking aggressively at your nailbeds. 

“I think it’s one of those…leftovers.” You explain, looking at him with a crinkled nose as though the ghosts of past relationships deigning to haunt this precious thing you had with James was a disgusting thought. 

“Did someone make you feel bad if you…didn’t have sex?” 

You shift your head back and forth in a so-so way. “Sometimes. Or if it wasn’t very good or…exciting or, yeah…if I didn’t offer frequently enough.” 

James has a lot of thoughts about a lot of what just left your lips, but he tamps it down and takes a steadying breath as he simply embraces you tighter against his body; finding comfort in the fact that, at least now, you’re safe and settled with him. 

“You owe me nothing, sweetheart.” He murmurs into your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the space where your jumper gives way to skin before shifting you in his hold so that you were straddling his lap with no choice but to make eye contact with him. “Whatever you want, whenever you want it, okay? I like to think it’s very obvious when I’m putting the moves on you-”

He pauses to smile when you giggle; it had been his goal, but the sound surprises him anyway and he can’t help but relish in the warmth of it. 

“-so you never have to guess or assume or initiate in worry that I’m sitting here waiting or wanting for you, okay?”

“Okay.” You let out with a breath; smiling at James as though he were some generous and honourable soul for not expecting you to put out every night. James really thinks this thing between you two might be forever, but if godforbid he’s just a chapter in your life, he hopes that - if nothing else - he can raise your standards. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Jamie.” You say with a wide smile.

“Do you want to have sex, sweetheart?”

You let out another laugh that turns into an exhausted groan as you fall limp into his chest. “Honestly? I sort of want to order takeaway and just rot on the couch.” 

“Sounds like a plan, angel.” He says, leaning over to slam his laptop shut and patting your hip. “Off to the couch with you, I’ll order something for delivery.”

[tetzoro]

fluffy little blurb of kissing zoro’s scarred eye . established relationship (?) WC : 622 . dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

“do you trust me?” your words jumbled out in one shaky breath of air as you make your approach towards zoro — the man who had been taking his mid-afternoon nap on the sunny’s deck for the past half hour.

“huh?” zoro cracked his eye open, watching you kneel before him. the golden sky illuminated behind you, wrapping around you in a soft hue of innocence, a stark contrast to your usual demeanor. something was definitely on your mind, so he raised his head up off of the wooden banister he was using as a pillow.

“i said do you trust me?” you repeat, your hand gently resting on his forearm. the vulnerable look in your eye told him that you weren’t pulling any tricks, not a drop of mischief in your irises that held the hope of a thousand stars.

of course he trusted you, you were one of the people he trusted most in this world. always beside him while fighting through whatever challenges you all faced, sitting next to him during meals times, keeping him company while he works out. you’re privy to everything in his life. the question was almost laughable.

“yes.” zoro answered simply. he was curious as to what brought on this sudden question though. did he do something that made you think he didn’t trust you?

“good. close your eye.” you whispered, leaning into his personal space now. if he had to guess, he figured you were about to crawl into his lap like you sometimes do when you nap with him, curling into his body before the two of you doze off under the warm sun.

so he doesn’t argue with you, lets you do whatever you please and shuts his eye.

but you didn’t move.

he wanted to open his eye back up to see what you were up to but as if you read his mind — your voice hums, reminding him to be patient.

zoro feels your presence getting closer, your face moving towards his. were you going to kiss him? he squirmed a little under the uncertainty.

but you surprise him, you always do. gently, you press your lips against his scarred eye, a feathers touch that if he wasn’t so keen with his observation; he might’ve missed it. the kiss itself didn’t linger, but your presence did, the reassurance flooding through his veins and drowning him in the light of your love.

the closeness begins to mend a fracture in his heart that he never knew about, carefully stitching it back together with a thread of affection he hopes never goes away — stubbornly imprinting itself on the ever beating muscle that sings to the rhythm of your name.

zoro accepted the state of his eye long ago. positively convinced that it will make him stronger, that when he finally reaches his goal, it will become that much greater because of all the challenges he’s had to overcome — everything he’s had to endure come to fruition.

he never thought it would bring this tenderness in his life, that your sweet nature would rub off on him by the ghost of your lips pressing against the scarred skin.

but it’s all over far too soon, zoro’s head falling toward your lips to chase the sensation that graced his skin like molten sunshine. but he straightens up, opens his eye and peers down at you curiously.

“was that okay?” you ask, nervous from his reaction. his body melts back into something mushier than the state he left it in. a new feeling blooming in his chest as he pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose against yours before meeting your anxious gaze.

“yeah.” he smiles a little, enjoying how your nerves flow away into the wind as he wraps his arms around your waist, securing you in place before settling back into his napping position. “that was more than okay.”

thank you so much for reading ᰔ