#All Ears Avow

[pastanest]

Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: me posting twice in the same month?? someone do a welfare check

warning: age gap mentioned (bc I’m a slut) but not extensively or in a weird way bc Spencer’s not a pervert lol

Moth To A Flame

Closing the bathroom door with your own back, you slide down it until you’re sitting on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest and taking a shaky breath. You shouldn’t call him while crying, you know better than that, but you know your own tells enough to hope you can mask them; a futile effort considering who you intend to call at 3am.

Lifting your phone to your ear, you hear it ring no more than twice before your prayers are answered, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Hey, Spencer.” You greet him quietly, smiling from just saying his name.

“Hi, sunshine. How are you?” Spencer’s voice is calm and collected, but it’s clear through the phone he’s delighted to hear from you.

There’s no question raised regarding the time at which you’re calling. But no matter how many times this happens, Spencer always enquires after your wellbeing.

“I’m okay, thank you. Just…you know. How are you?” The question is returned, though neither of you are a fan of small talk.

“Yes,” Spencer responds specifically to the insinuation he knows, because he does. Then, he continues, “-I’m well, too, thank you.”

His words, and what goes left unsaid, makes your smile grow.

“What’re you reading?” You ask, and the quiet chuckle you hear from Spencer is enough to prove you right in your assumption of his reason for being awake at this hour.

“Pride And Prejudice. How did you know I was reading?” He wonders aloud with a fondness in his voice that he reserves only for you.

“When aren’t you reading?” You roll your eyes playfully, and Spencer can practically hear it.

“When I’m sleeping.” He quips, his own smile evident in his voice.

It’s enough to have you laughing softly into the phone, which only serves to make Spencer’s smile grow.

“Read me some?” You request quietly.

Like you ever need to ask.

Spencer clears his throat into the phone.

“After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began, ‘In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’ Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her immediately followed. He spoke well, but there were feelings besides those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness…” Spencer reads aloud, and the smile on your face is almost as soft as his voice sounds through the phone.

By the end of the chapter, your eyes have drifted closed and your head is tipped back against the bathroom door behind you. Hearing how calm your breathing has become, Spencer pauses, and you hear him close the book.

“See you in the morning?” He always asks because on the rare chance you’ll say no, at least he has time to mentally prepare for your absence. Tonight is not the night for that.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow…Thank you.” You reply, already feeling close to sleep.

This stumps Spencer momentarily, and he falters before he replies, “For what?”

And there’s only one thing you can say to that.

“Being you.”

Spencer chuckles sheepishly, “I don’t know how to be anyone else.”

Of course he doesn’t. Perhaps, if he was anyone else, you’d stand a chance.

“Goodnight, Spencer.” You tell him gently.

“Goodnight, sunshine.” There’s a second of warm silence as you savor the sound of each other’s quiet breathing, and then you both hang up the call.

Standing up from where you’d been sitting on the bathroom floor, you take another deep breath before reaching for the door handle. Walking through a house that isn’t yours, into a living room where the sound of snoring from the couch makes you want to tear your hair out, past a kitchen where a cheap measly pile of four red roses lie limp on the counter with a post-it note in place of any kind of meaningful card, up the staircase where framed photographs filled with eyes that aren’t on your side stare down at you judgmentally, until you’re safely confined in the bedroom you feel doomed to. Crawling into your side of the bed, you adjust the pillows that occupy the other side, filling the space in a shape long enough to resemble the shape of someone under your bedcovers. And with Spencer’s voice still in your ears wishing you a good night, you close your eyes and drift off to sleep.

Meanwhile, Spencer adjusts his alarm clock to wake him an hour earlier than necessary, and awakens from a peaceful slumber with a determined mission in mind. Once his normal morning routine is complete, instead of driving to the office, he drives to his preferred florist, who greets him with a knowing smile when Spencer walks in.

“Another dozen?” The florist guesses.

“Please.” Spencer nods, smiling politely.

Retrieving his wallet from his back pocket, Spencer pays for the flowers and graciously thanks the florist, taking the flowers and then leaving the establishment to return to his car. He drives back home, placing the dozen flowers in a glass vase that he keeps pristine for this very purpose, with the perfect level of water for optimal growth for this specific species of flower. Very carefully, Spencer inspects them until he determines which has the prettiest bloom today, and that is the one he elects to remove from the vase, carefully securing its stem in seran wrap and placing it in the pocket of his suit jacket, then continuing on his normal journey into work.

Purposely, Spencer arrives earlier than the rest of the team, so that he can execute his plan without interruptions. From the staff kitchen, he chooses the most elegant looking glass he can find and again pours the perfect level of water - this time for just one flower, specifically - unwrapping the single bloom in his suit jacket and setting in the glass. He then walks to your desk and positions it in an aesthetically pleasing location, but already knows it is not enough. The picture is not complete. It must be perfect for you. Briefly visiting his own desk, Spencer opens the drawer to take a piece of his own parchment paper, from which he cuts a small section that he then folds in half. On what appears to be the front of the folded piece, he maps out a constellation in a dot-to-dot sketch, then inside the fold of paper, he writes the story behind it. After several attempts, Spencer finds the perfect angle at which to place the folded piece of paper next to the flower on the desk, and only then does he return to his usual morning routine of making himself a coffee in the staff kitchen. Counting down the minutes.

By the time you get to the office, you’ve pushed the thoughts of your home from your mind and have a bright smile on your face, looking forward to a day spent working with your friends and not thinking about-

“(Y/N)! I just saw! He got you roses! That’s SO cute! You have, like, the best boyfriend!” Penelope squeals as she runs up to you the very second you walk through the glass doors of the bullpen.

Your heart sinks and your eyebrows furrow.

“You saw?”

Penelope nods excitedly, gesturing to her phone, where she shows you the post your boyfriend had made on social media: a picture he had taken of the four red roses he’d bought you that he filtered to high heaven to make them look more grand than they were, with a caption that said ‘happy four and many more, babe x’. If it weren’t for the sake of keeping your business private - something he clearly cares for about as much as he does you - you’d scoff.

“Oh, yeah. Must’ve missed that he posted that.” You plaster a smile on your face that doesn’t reach your eyes, walking side by side with Penelope towards your desk.

“It was your four year anniversary, right? Did you do anything fancy?” She’s giddy on your behalf.

“No, just had a quiet night in.” You provide an excuse, the most generous blanket statement you could have given to the shambles that were your boyfriend’s anniversary plans.

Your dejectedness, however, is abruptly cut short when your gaze lands on your desk. A single bloom of your favorite flower, with a neatly folded handwritten note of a constellation placed next to it. In a microsecond, you’re turning to where Spencer sits at his desk, hiding his smirk behind his cup of coffee.

“You didn’t!” You feign chastisement, but your giddiness is obvious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer shrugs, his smile as obvious as yours is.

You’re practically bouncing on the spot when you bring the little glass and the delicate flower within to your face to breathe in the sweet scent.

“These aren’t even in season anymore, Spencer, how did you-“

The question is cut short by a magician who never reveals his secrets.

“I played no part in this, but perhaps someone happens to know somebody else who is equipped to grow them on request.” There’s a teasing lilt to his otherwise matter-of-fact tone, and you are shaking your head in absolute disbelief.

Setting the glass back down on your desk, you pick up the constellation, admiring it carefully before folding it and placing it in your desk drawer, in amongst another 30-something hand drawn constellations. The smile is still lingering on your face when you sit down at your desk, and from where Spencer sits at his, his chest feels warm. So much joy from you at the cost of only an hour’s less sleep and a few more dollars than the asking price of your favorite flowers. Perhaps, tonight you won’t call him trying to hide that you’d been crying again, he hopes. Whether that comes to fruition or not, he has another eleven blooms waiting in his apartment to gift you at random intervals to surprise you and keep your tears at bay for as long as he can, without you ever telling him there was a chance of them falling. He knows.

For the rest of the day, Spencer catches you glancing at the flower on your desk while you work through various reports and paperwork, an almost shy smile lighting up your face every time you see it there.

It’s only when the team begins packing up for the day that Spencer thinks to look into what Penelope had referenced that morning- a post of some kind? Easily enough, Spencer finds your boyfriend’s social media on his computer, and what he discovers makes him borderline violent. Four years together, encompassed by four measly roses and what you called a ‘quiet night in’ that was so beyond underwhelming you ended your evening by calling Spencer from your bathroom. A celebration of that scale warranted only four red roses, while the mere hint you’d been crying was enough for Spencer to visit the florist he pays specifically to keep growing your favorite flowers for you, to buy another dozen that he intends to deliver to you one by one at irregular intervals. Still, it isn’t Spencer’s job to compensate for what is clearly absent from your relationship; at least, not consciously.

“Babe!” A voice calls out that has Spencer using every ounce of strength he possesses to withhold from rolling his eyes. Shutting down his computer, he stands from his desk just in time to see your expression fall where you pack away your things at your own desk.

Turning to face your boyfriend, you give him a tight-lipped smile.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” You ask shortly.

Excellent question, Spencer thinks.

“Just came to surprise you and drive you home!” Your boyfriend exclaims like it’s some kind of achievement, opening his arms in a big gesture as he approaches your desk.

How considerate, ambushing you at your workplace under the guise of it being a nice surprise, Spencer scoffs internally, deliberately slowing the pace at which he readies his satchel to leave the office.

“Oh. Thanks.” You don’t know what else to say. “I’ll be ready in a second.” You add, feeling like you’re defaulting to basic lines of dialogue to avoid awkward silences.

“Great!” Your boyfriend exclaims, looking around the bullpen like he’s never seen the place before - he has, twice, and Spencer wishes his eidetic memory would allow him to erase the memory of your discomfort during both instances - until his eyes land on a face he recognises, and he grins.

“Spencer! My man!” Your boyfriend yells, and your eyes widen as you watch him walk right over to Spencer and pull him into a bro-hug that immediately has Spencer rigidly uncomfortable.

“I’ve told you-“ You implore, shooting Spencer an apologetic and pleading look before your boyfriend starts talking over you.

“Oh yeah! Sorry, man, forgot you’re weird about touching people.” He laughs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender.

You scowl, parting your lips to bite his head off, but Spencer steps in to prevent you from saying something that’ll only cause more arguments for you when you go home.

“I have an acute awareness and disliking towards unfamiliar germs and contact.” Spencer corrects your boyfriend firmly, aware that only you and him realize what he means by a germ in this context.

“Yeah, man, no worries.” Your boyfriend laughs, like he’s the funniest man in the world to himself. “Ready to go, babe?” He asks you.

“Mhmm.” Another tight-lipped smile, and that’s apparently convincing enough for your boyfriend, who wraps an arm around your waist in a careless action rather than something that should be treasured, and would be treasured by the man you look over your shoulder to give one last apologetic expression to.

That is, until Emily steps out of her office and calls over to you, “Don’t forget about Rossi’s party!”

And you literally wince.

“A party?! Oh man! Can’t wait! Thanks, Emmers!” Your boyfriend answers for you, regarding a party you had deliberately neglected to mention to him, and then he’s all but dragging you out of the office.

Once out of earshot, Spencer actually does scoff.

“Emmers?” Emily asks him with a frown from where she stands on the raised walkway, leaning on the railing.

“A shocking breach of social etiquette to assume a nickname for someone he barely knows.” Spencer clarifies, to which Emily nods.

“You still not coming to Rossi’s tonight?” She elects to ask him, a smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

Spencer sighs heavily. He looks down at his desk, then lifts his head to look over at the elevator doors closing, snatching the view of you away. He knows what will happen tonight. He knows.

The mirror stares back at him. If someone told Spencer a year ago that he’d be attending a work related get together he’d initially rejected the invitation of but went back on himself solely in the hopes that his suit of choice would impress a coworker just over half his age who has a boyfriend, Spencer would have walked right out of prison and requested a psych eval. Still, the thought at the forefront of his mind is that 6 months and 8 days ago he had worn an all-black suit on a case that you had complimented. It is a foolish dream to think you would compliment him for it again, but for you, Doctor Spencer Reid is a proud fool.

Much to your own embarrassment, you and your boyfriend knock at Rossi’s door an hour late, and based on your expression it is not difficult for Spencer to deduce it’s not your fault. Or, it wouldn’t have been difficult if his brain hadn’t short-circuited at the sight of you wearing a thin strapped, floor length purple silk dress that hugged your every curve to the extent that when Spencer rose from his seat in a gentlemanly gesture at your entrance, his knees very nearly buckled beneath him to a position of worship. Your boyfriend’s arm is careless around your waist again, and he drops it not to pull your chair out for you at the table, but to bro-hug David Rossi, who looks at him like he spat in his bowl of pasta. In your disgruntled state, it takes you a second to acknowledge that Spencer is standing, and in between greeting the rest of the team, your eyes continually flit back to him, his heart skipping a beat each and every time in a way that only further convinces him he is in the midst of a medical emergency. Finally, your gaze lingers on him, and he doesn’t waste the opportunity.

“Can I get you a drink? Rossi’s minibar has some of your favorites.” Spencer gestures with the hand not holding his own drink, and without so much as looking to your plus one, you nod and walk around the table.

His large hand ghosts the small of your back, fingers flexing, but he doesn’t allow himself to make contact until he counts the microseconds to cross the distance that takes you both away from every other pair of eyes in this house. The heat of Spencer’s fingertips meet the purple silk of your dress, barely there, but oh, do you feel it.

Once safely standing at the minibar, Spencer only needs to watch your face to see which bottle your eyes light up at, and as soon as he notices, he pours you a glass without you having to ask. In a gesture that feels like a secret, the two of you clink your glasses together and lock eyes to take a simultaneous sip.

“Nice suit.” You nod at Spencer, a shy smile forming behind your glass.

“Thank you.” He tries not to choke on his drink, then nods back at you. “Pretty dress.”

You have to bite your lip to prevent your smile from growing any bigger.

“Thank you. The color reminded me of your scarf.” You remark quietly, and if you weren’t a profiler, you probably wouldn’t notice the almost imperceptible widening of Spencer’s eyes at your words.

“It is a similar shade.” He agrees, his heart in his throat.

Comfortable silence settles between you. Eyes locked, nursing your drinks, your free hands hanging idly at your sides. Standing just a little too close. Fingers almost touching.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” You say eventually.

Spencer shakes his head dismissively. “I appreciate it, but his oversights aren’t your responsibility.” Or your burden, he so badly wants to add.

You sigh. “If he overstepped the boundaries of a guy who was less of a man than you, he could’ve got his face caved in.”

And what a shame that would have been, Spencer muses in his own mind.

“I didn’t escalate the situation, but not because I’m a man- because it wasn’t a worthy cause.” He amends.

“So if there was a worthy cause, you’d have clocked him?” You giggle at the idea.

“Possibly.” Definitely, Spencer smirks.

“What constitutes a worthy cause in the mind of Doctor Spencer Reid?” You tease, tilting your head to look up at him with a curious twinkle in your eyes.

“If he made you cry.” Spencer chooses his words very carefully, and inspects every micro expression on your face in response.

Because your boyfriend has made you cry, you know that, and you know Spencer knows too, despite the fact you haven’t ever stated as such. He knows. All you’d have to do is say the word, and Spencer would walk right back into the dining room, grab your boyfriend by his collar in front of the entire team, drag him outside and beat him to a pulp in the street.

If Spencer wasn’t a profiler, he probably wouldn’t notice the almost imperceptible widening of your eyes at his words.

“Babe! There you are! Rossi’s served us up a couple plates of something with a name I can’t pronounce- Spencer! Hey, man!” Your boyfriend’s agitating, grating voice cuts into the peaceful bubble you and Spencer had been existing in.

Sharing an equally irritated glance, you both turn to face him.

“Linguine alla Puttanesca.” Spencer drawls.

“Yeah, something like that, for sure!” Your boyfriend laughs, loudly, and without you saying a word, his arm is thrown around your waist again, stealing you from Spencer - who trails behind with a scowl fixed on your boyfriend’s arm - and returning to the dining room.

At the table, you sit opposite Spencer, with your boyfriend sitting on your left. You’re grateful for the casual conversation in the room taking his attention away from you for the most part, allowing you the peace of eating without him saying something that makes you want to vomit.

“Been thinking of getting some sleeping pills myself, not been sleeping too good on the couch!”

Nevermind.

Your eyes close in a pained blink, and you lift your napkin with an unnecessarily firm grip to wipe at your mouth.

“Oh. You’ve not got…comfy cushions?” Penelope tries to save the conversation, but the awkward silence has already descended upon the table at your boyfriend’s blatant overshading at your expense.

“Nope, barely been sleeping a wink! I miss my own bed, I’ll tell you that!” Your boyfriend laughs.

Setting your napkin down, you keep your gaze fixed on your half empty plate. You can feel eyes on you. Everywhere.

“A dinner party with your partner’s friends is not the social setting for discussing your relationship.” Spencer quips, releasing enough tension in your chest to allow you a breath.

“Don’t worry, bro, she doesn’t mind!” Your boyfriend nudges you with his arm, and you are rigid.

“Nobody at this table requires a profiling skillset to determine that (Y/N) does mind.” Spencer’s protective nature is bristling.

“Oh yeah, bet you profilers can just look and tell exactly what her problem is, huh?!” Your boyfriend laughs. “Go on, guess!” He demands of the table, like he’s prepping a joke with the greatest punchline in human history.

The table is silent. You close your eyes in a pained blink, begging any god that may exist, please, please-

“She won’t sleep with me!” Your boyfriend roars with laughter, and time slows to an agonizing halt.

The only accompanying sounds are cutlery clattering against plates, then two chairs scraping against the floor.

“That’s enough. Get out.” Rossi points at the door.

“With pleasure.” Spencer’s tone is cool as ice. In a fraction of a second, he rounds the table, grabs your boyfriend by his collar and drags him out of Rossi’s dining room, to the front door.

While the rest of the team crowd around you to check you’re okay, you’re shaking your hand and scrambling to stand, running outside. Spencer’s fists grip your boyfriend’s collar, pinning him to the side of his car.

“-and if I ever find you within a five mile radius of her, I’ll ruin your life without breaking a single law.” He seethes.

“She’s barely even my girlfriend, man, she doesn’t even put out! You can have her!” Your ex boyfriend holds his hands up in surrender while signing his own death warrant.

Spencer’s right hook sends him hurtling against the sidewalk, and Spencer is on him in the blink of an eye. Trapping him under his legs, Spencer delivers punch after punch, hearing bones crack with the force but only seeing red, until Rossi and Luke physically pull him off, and even then he tries to fight past them to carry on.

“Kid, kid, take a breath- you got him!” Rossi gently pats Spencer’s back, and with wide eyes like a deer in headlights, you appear in front of him.

“Spencer.” You breathe his name with an unnamed emotion, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, and his glazed over eyes that hadn’t been able to look anywhere but the bloody mess on sidewalk, find you in an instant.

Emily is already calling in some favors with the local police department to get this resolved with minimal assault charges, if possible.

“C’mon, inside.” You tell Spencer gently, taking one of his trembling, bloody hands in yours and guiding him back into Rossi’s house.

Taking him past the dining room, you find the kitchen and lead Spencer to lean against the empty counter beside the sink. Very carefully, you hold both of his hands under the cold water to wash them free of blood. It doesn’t take you long to realize the blood doesn’t just come from your ex-boyfriend. He’s running on adrenaline, breathing heavily, half watching you and half watching the doorway, as if expecting someone else to walk in that he has to take out to protect you.

Once his hands are as clean as you can get them, you retrieve some ice packs from Rossi’s freezer and hold them to Spencer’s swollen, bloody knuckles. You can’t look away from them.

“Are you in any pain yet?” You ask in a small voice.

“None.” Spencer answers sharply, gaze fixed on the doorway now because he can keep you in his peripheral vision, mind locked in fight or flight mode with an obvious winner.

“This is all my fault, Spencer, I’m so sorry- if I’d have broken up with him…” Your forehead drops to Spencer’s chest, pressing against the fabric of his black tie.

Those words catch him so off guard that he falters, and then frowns.

“None of this is in any way your fault.” Spencer states bluntly.

“If I’d broken up with him already, he wouldn’t have been here, wouldn’t have said those things in front of y- Spencer!” You cut yourself off when your reminder of what your ex had said has Spencer trying to move past you to go back outside and start right where he left off, having no choice but to grab his arm in an effort to stop him.

Realistically, you are not strong enough to hold Spencer in place. If he wanted to, he could push past you easily, but your hand on him could disarm a nuclear bomb if he was its power source.

“Don’t. Please. Stay.” You plead.

Like you ever have to ask.

Spencer settles back against the counter, one of his cold, bloody hands lifting to cup the back of your head, tilting your forehead back to his chest hold you there.

“By the same token, I could have prevented this, had I said what’s been unsaid.” Spencer murmurs into your hair.

“That’s way less fair than the point I made.” You remark, which has him smirking against the top of your head.

“Don’t get smart with me when I’m running on adrenaline.” Spencer warns playfully.

“Don’t get flirty when you just beat a guy to a pulp for disrespecting me.” You counter, causing him to scoff quietly.

“That reminds me, I must amend a previous statement.” Spencer says, and you can’t resist tilting your head back to look up at him, his hands immediately shaking free of their icepacks to cup your cheeks.

“Mhmm?” You press.

“I said all it would take for me to clock him would be him making you cry, this has proven to be incorrect. Based on my actions tonight, I can safely say if he made you cry, I would kill him.” Spencer speaks with a tone so soft you’d think he was complimenting you, his thumbs caressing your cheeks so tenderly while he threatens your ex’s very life.

“Wow. Big words for a man who hasn’t even taken me out on a first date.” You smirk.

“Moving a little fast, aren’t we, sunshine?” Spencer quips teasingly, his own smirk forming.

“A year of tiptoeing around each other while I was in a relationship is only moving a little fast by the standards of the romance novels you read, Doc.” You joke.

“Touché.” Spencer laughs fondly down at you. “Does this mean I can finally attempt to court you, fair lady?”

Butterflies that he singlehandedly commands, fly free in your stomach.

“I’d say so.” You answer softly, and Spencer breathes the deepest sigh of relief.

He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, ever so gently bumping his nose to yours in the most tender gesture of affection.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Spencer whispers, his breath fanning your lips.

“Anything.” You murmur.

Spencer smiles at the breathlessness he can already hear in your voice, solely caused by his proximity. Time slows to the most beautiful halt as he leans in, leaving the softest kiss at the corner of your mouth, barely even touching your lips.

“It was me who left a flower on your desk.”

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down: IV

Photo credit to @thebluemage. Edit mine.

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Finally! Date Number Threeeeee!

This is a follow up to Part III

Word count: 3.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This is the final part! (For now) I think that this is one that I will definitely write in answer to asks. I just love these two so so much! Thank all of you for rocking with me on this one. This was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. SMUT!!!! The end of the Slow burn, now it's burning very fast 😅. Cursing, flirting, jealousy, apologies, Bucky cooking (a warning!), kissing, dry humping, dirty talk in both English and Romanian, voice kink, oral sex (m and f receiving), protected sex (yay Bucky!) And these two are so fucking fluffy. I'm scared, y'all. I want it to be good enough for the build up.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

As soon as he entered the Brownsville Arts and Culture Center, James Bucky Barnes was hot. Blood was rushing to his ears and he needed a drink. He wasn’t sick; his symptoms were all due to you.

The black dress that adorned your body contained all of his hopes and dreams, but you seemed to be flirting with another man, twirling for him and then giving him a hug. To add insult to injury, you had the nerve to laugh and smile with the punk. 

You in that black dress was everything in the world that Bucky could want, except maybe you out of that black dress. As his eyes traced down your form, he noticed the 5 inch red bottoms that you had on. Yes. You, out of that dress with just the red bottoms. That was what he needed in his life.

But first, he had to take care of that other man.

—-

“Benson’s work emphasizes the subjects’ spiritual essence over their physical appearance, don’t you think?”

You turned around at the sound of the deep baritone. 

“Well hello, Mr. Rogers. How are you today? Delivering an art analysis given to you by AI? Oh. I forgot. You are an ‘art dealer.’ An art dealer who goes to Soul Cycle in Brownsville all of a sudden?”

Steve clutched his heart.

“Ah. I’m hurt, Y/N. I thought we were cool. But I guess I deserved the air quotes.  I do actually love art. I took some art classes when I was a kid and I still love to sketch.”

“Hmmmph. Okay. I’ll give you that. But how is it that you popped up in my Soul Cycle class? Don’t play me, Steven.”

Steve raised his eyebrow at you and grinned. He understood why Buckiy was so drawn to you. Not only were you gorgeous, you were a spitfire. That was hot.

“I would never try to play you, Y/N. I also actually love Soul Cycle. Used to teach a class in Park Slope.”

“I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?”

Steve’s eyes slid over you appraisingly.

“Speaking of. You look very, very nice today.”

You twirled for him, feeling as safe as you would your brother.

“Nice. Okay, listen. I’m sorry about the other day. I was just trying to protect my friend. And you.”

Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve never seen Bucky like this. He’s never been this smitten with someone before and let them into his life. But I get it now.”

Steve’s blue eyes were almost as beautiful as Bucky’s.

“Bucky is my family. Since we were kids. He’s always taken care of me. And I will do anything for him.”

He raised his eyebrow at you.

“I can see now that means that I will do anything for you, because I have a feeling that you’re gonna be around a lot. So do you forgive me?”

You considered Steve. He was not too different from his best friend, and you couldn’t hold a grudge. Not after Bucky laid it all out to you last night You opened your arms.

“Let’s hug it out.”

Steve chuckled and gathered you into his warm embrace. You pulled back and giggled, grinning at him.

“So what makes you think I’m gonna be hanging around?”

“Well, judging from the look on Bucky’s face, he’s serious about you.”

Steve nodded behind you, toward the door. You looked that way and saw James Bucky Barnes headed straight for you. 

And he didn’t look happy.

—--

“Good morning, Frumoasă. You look stunning today. The exhibit is amazing, the space looks great and it seems that the right people are in the building.”

Bucky came up and placed his hand on the small of your back as he spoke to you, ignoring Steve. His blue eyes were storm clouds at the moment, and his touch was electric.

“Thank you, James. You’re so observant, I appreciate that. And you look very handsome today.”

You looked him up and down and bit your lip, meeting his gaze and the way he kept eye contact as he inclined his head in response. 

Bucky was attractive as hell in his black on black shirt, blazer and slacks. You noticed that his collar was unbuttoned; the medallion hanging on his chest made you want to take it between your teeth. You stared at it for a moment, imagining such a scenario where that could happen and then met his eyes again, prompting desire to roll through you as Bucky licked his lips. He was right there with you.

You smiled at him in a way that you didn’t smile at Steve. Who was Steve Rogers, anyway? You could hardly remember meeting him as your mind went to the feel of being in Bucky Barnes’ arms.

You sensed an air of proprietariness as Bucky took your hand and kissed it, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Possessive Bucky Barnes felt like a sin you wanted to indulge in. You cleared your throat and looked at Steve, as if surprised to find him still standing there, watching the show.

“Well, I see some board members over there, I’m going to go do my job. Talk to you later, boys.”

You walked away and gave them a wink over your shoulder, and you caught both of them looking at your ass. You shook your head and chuckled as you went on your way.

“You trying to steal my girl?”

Everyone stopped when Steve laughed, his deep boom a distraction. Bucky still wasn’t amused.

“Oh. So you’re in love.”

“What?”

“You’ve never worried about me taking your leftovers or vice versa before. Hell, we’ve even shared–”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bucky snapped at Steve who put his hands up.

“Whoa, there. Just yanking your chain, buddy; I know she’s special. I wouldn’t dream of making a move on her. Not that she knows I’m alive. When you walked up, I thought I was going to have to take off my jacket so you two could fuck on the floor.”

Bucky was barely listening to Steve as his eyes followed you around the room. One thing Steve said was echoing in his mind: “So you’re in love.”

—-

You floated through the rest of the day on a cloud. The exhibit was a smashing success with the 

Board of Directors in attendance. Securing Howard Benson’s penultimate work from Rebirth was the feather in your cap. 

And you had Bucky to thank for it.

Bucky’s visit was also a hit; he and Steve charmed the board members with the help of Sam and Nat, who arrived later. They all made amends for what occurred that week and you were left very impressed with James Barnes.

After a couple of hours at the event, Bucky came over to let you know he was leaving.

“I will see you later, Frumoasă. I have much to prepare for tonight. Nico will pick you up at 7:30.”

“See you soon, James.”

He kissed your hand again.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

—---

“It is actually insanely attractive how you handled yourself in the kitchen.”

You were seated with Bucky on his couch in his living room, looking over the New York skyline from his Brooklyn penthouse. The dessert had been delicious and the wine in your hand was spectacular. 

“I was sure you’d order something in and just play it off. But I watched you create a meal in front of me, and I should have known that if you said you were going to cook, that you would do just that.”

Bucky’s heart beat double time at what you were saying. He wanted so much for tonight, but most of all, he wanted it to flow naturally. He saw that you were relaxed and open to him, which pleased him immensely.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Frumoasă. I enjoy cooking for my friends and family. Cooking for a beautiful woman is a treat.”

Bucky’s eyes slid over your form. You had changed to jeans and a color block sweater that just put your cleavage out there for the world, which was Bucky Barnes, to see. You also wore the same red bottoms from that day, and Bucky was beginning to think he had a foot fetish as you took them off at his entryway.

You took a sip of wine.

“How often do you do that? Cook for a woman?”

You barely hid your curiosity.

Bucky smiled and drained his glass, reaching over to refill it.

“Not as often as you’d think. Never had any other woman over here. Food is not usually the top priority with them.”

You pouted, which was so cute. Your spark of jealousy inspired Bucky.

“But I don’t want to talk about anyone else. Tonight is about me and you.”

Any uncertainty that arose was quelled by his assertion. You grew warm, so you finished your wine and rose to go to the window. 

“This is the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen.”

“Absolutely agree.”

You looked behind you and Bucky was still sitting on the couch, hands spread out on the back of it, checking you out. You gave him one of your adorable smiles and he came to stand behind you, and took you in his arms. 

“I want you to know that you deserve everything, Y/N. To be cheered on and protected every day. And thoroughly ruined every night.”

You turned around and his hands went to your hips. It was the perfect moment.

“James?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

Bucky’s eyes dilated, and he moved his hand to your cheek. He licked his lips as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Ah, Frumoasă. I thought you’d never ask.”

His first movement was a subtle brush of your lips. He pulled back to assess the situation, and you didn’t know why, but that made your nipples tighten into stiff peaks. You gasped as Bucky watched you hungrily. 

The air seemed to change around you, and you shivered. He lowered his head so his lips could meet yours again, and this time his mouth was gentle but demanding. You gasped at the spike of electricity that flared between you and Bucky took the opportunity to dip his tongue into your mouth, scorching your lips and soul. With a low groan, he shifted your angle, bending you backward a little to kiss you deeper and ripping a moan from you as you melted against him. 

Good lord, could the man kiss. 

At that point, he was holding you up, one hand on your hip and one hand on the back of your head as you molded yourself against him. Bucky’s fingers dug into you, sure to leave bruises the next day. You relished the thought as you moaned into his mouth again, giving him the opportunity to continue destroying your soul. 

Bucky dragged his lips from yours reluctantly and stared at you, eyes almost black with desire. He brought his thumb up and wiped the moisture from your bottom lip. Motivated, you captured his digit, drawing it into the hot wetness of your mouth. He stared at you, mouth open, as you looked him straight in the eye and started sucking.

Bucky moaned as he pushed his thumb deeper into your mouth, and walked you back to the couch. He extracted his finger, watching the show your lips put on as he pulled it out, leaving them in a delectable pout. 

“More,” Bucky demanded as he crouched down and took your head in both hands as he kissed you again. 

His hands wound up in your hair, tugging gently, then on your back, then your ass as you arched your back to fill his palms. Bucky picked you up, then deposited you on his lap as he sat down on the couch, and you felt how aroused he was. His thick length was where you needed him most.

“Fuck! That feels good.”

Bucky was watching you grind on him like it was the best show on earth. Then he looked up at you.

“Yes, yes it does.”

He leaned forward and captured your bottom lip between his teeth, a preview of how rough he wanted to be with you. Then, he went in for another kiss. That continued for a good five minutes until he pulled away to stare at your swollen lips, and down to your cleavage, which was practically in his face.

When his eyes met yours, you were entranced.

“You good? You want this to happen?”

You nodded and took his hands in yours, guiding them up to your breasts, squeezing yourself with his hands. You rolled your hips, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Like you said, James. More.”

You continued to grind on him, causing him to just gape at your body moving on his.

“I’ve dreamed of this so many times…”

“Yes? Tell me about your dreams, Baby.”

His hands moved to find your nipples through the lace of your bra and the wool of your sweater. He found them in no time, and pinched them lightly, then more roughly when you moaned.

“Mmmmnnnn. So fucking hot.”

Bucky kissed you again and then pulled away as he stared you down and tortured you. 

“I dream about marking you up,” he kissed your neck under your chin, “to your clavicle,” a kiss there, “and all over this beautiful flesh until I get to your nipples.” 

He looked at you for any signs of discomfort as he slipped his hands under your sweater to find the thin lace there. He found your hard peaks again and started rolling them both in his fingers.

“Then I want to kiss and suck them until you come in my arms.”

“Holy god, Jamie….”

Bucky’s eyes rolled at the second pet name you called him and continued.

“Wake up so fucking hard every morning since I met you. Then, I daydream about how wet and tight you will be after I made you cum, and how good it would feel to… to give you my cock. Do y’like that idea, Frumoasă?”

“Y-yesssss!”

“O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă.”

You almost came right then.

“D-don’t know what you said, but yes to whatever you just suggested.”

Bucky pulled you to him, and then chuckled into your ear.

“It means that I want to make you cum over and over again on my cock.”

You were already making a mess in your jeans, but you knew he could feel you soaking them at the moment.

“Please. Give it to me?”

Bucky groaned and kissed you again, this time encircling your waist in his grip and pressing you down on his bulge. 

“You know I can’t deny you anything. Are you certain?”

“Yes, James. Please…”

He lifted you easily, kissing you as he walked you down the hall to his bedroom, depositing you on his bed. 

“Y’look so fucking good.”

He crawled toward you on the bed and settled between your thighs as you hitched your leg over his. You pressed your core against his bulge and it had you muttering.

“Too many clothes.”

Bucky leaned up and you were fumbling with his button and he with yours. You looked up and laughed. 

“Maybe faster the other way.”

“Agreed.”

You two made quick work of your own garments, flinging them around the room between frenzied kisses. The way your eyes widened when Bucky got naked made his chest swell. He wanted you to always look at him like that.

“Wow…,” you said as your eyes roamed his physique.

His cock seemed massive as it slapped him on the abs.

“Wow, indeed,” replied Bucky as he took you in hungrily.

Your white lace underwear looked amazing against your skin and against your cunt it served to make him hungry.

He moved toward you again, kissing up your leg until he got to the edge of your panties and nudged his nose there, making you squirm.

“Smell so good, look so good…”

Bucky kissed at the edge of your underwear,

“I just know you’re gonna taste good too..”

He moved to the center of you, placing a kiss over your lace-covered sodden slit. Then, he looked up at you and smirked before he leaned down and licked you over your panties. 

“Fuck.”

He pulled your panties to the side and gazed at you there. 

Those blue eyes threatened to steal your soul as he gazed at you and confessed, “This is the most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen,” and proceeded to lick a rude stripe up the center of you after he tore your panties away.

“Oh my god, James.”

You rolled your hips again and reached down to feel Bucky’s soft hair. He pulled your hips closer and his lips suckled you with more pressure, adding one finger, then two to stretch you out. 

“Gotta get you ready for me, my love.” 

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you moaned through Bucky thrusting his tongue inside you, then pulling back to focus on your clit.

“I c-can’t.. I–”

“Give me my cum, Frumoasă!”

You locked eyes with him as he buried his face in your cunt and shook against him as you came embarrassingly fast, pulling on his messed up curls.

“So fucking delicious. Taste.”

He took your head in both hands and kissed you deeply, and you responded by sucking your essence off of his tongue. You reached down and started stroking his cock, overjoyed and a little bit scared that your fingers didn’t meet around him as he unclasped your bra.

Bucky whimpered as your thumb came up and stroked his sensitive head, spreading his precum over the wide, mushroom cap.

“You’re so fucking huge, Bucky…”

Bucky pulled you toward him as he reached into his bedside drawer for a condom and a bottle.

“And you’re so wet, Furmoasa. We will make this work. Believe me…”

You continued to stroke and watched him as he brought the wrapper to his teeth and him tearing it open was about the hottest act of sexual protection you’d ever seen. Somehow, your mouth ended up sucking his tip as you watched his eyes roll back into his skull.

“That beautiful mouth…”

Bucky put his hand on your head as you tasted him experimentally, wondering if you’d ever be able to take it all. He seemed to read your mind as he spoke next.

“Don’t worry, I plan on us having a lot of practice with this later, but if you don’t let me put this condom on, I’m gonna cum all over your face, Frumoasă…”

You looked up at him and grinned as his cock jumped in your mouth, but you finally pulled off of him with a pop.

“I need to feel you around me when I cum love. S’all I’ve been dreaming of all week.”

Now his chest was heaving as he rolled the condom on, and he pushed you back onto the bed as his hand went to your core once again. You were even wetter than before and Bucky smiled at you, lining up and kissing you on the forehead as he began to breach your folds.

When he slid inside, your fingernails curled into his shoulders and your eyes grew wide. Bucky stopped, concentrating while his cock pumped, barely inside you.

“There is nothing. In the world. Like being inside your soft, wet, cunt.”

“Fuckkkkk!” 

You became even wetter and he slid fully inside you. There, Bucky waited for you to get adjusted around him.

“So fucking tight. And hot. Just like I knew you would be.”

“More, Jamie!”

Smiling, Bucky started moving and you gripped him as he stroked in and out.

“Please don’t stop. Harder!”

Bucky grabbed the headboard and gave you what you wanted. His other hand pulled your hair and his strokes became more intense.

“Wanted to last longer, but I can’t, Baby. So beautiful. Pussy made for me. Cuming soon, but later… O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă. I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

You orgasm whited out your vision and your throat burned as you screamed. Bucky roared, filling the condom with copious amounts of cum. Your cunt was milking him and he hoped it would hold. He stayed sunk into you as long as he could before he had to get up and rid himself of the prophylactic.

He was only in the en suite for a few minutes as you floated in and out of sleep, lust drunk and exhausted.

Bucky climbed back into bed and got both of you situated under the covers, whispering in your ear.

“Stay tonight.”

“Of course. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

Both of you chuckled, because you knew it was true. Bucky kissed your ear and waited for your breath to even out. When he thought you were asleep, he whispered again.

“I’m going to be a better man for you, Frumoasă.”

“You are exactly who you need to be, James Barnes. Just keep moving forward. Tomorrow is another day to do that.”

After a few more minutes, you spoke again.

“Tomorrow will only be a week that we’ve known each other. Imagine that.” 

Bucky buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Guess I better wait until tomorrow to ask you to marry me.”

You laughed a sleepy laugh.

“You got jokes.”

“You know me, Frumoasă. A professional comedian.”

But somewhere in the dark of Bucky Barnes’ closet, a diamond found some light and sparkled.

——

The next morning is here ;)

Please, please! Let me know!

[espace--positif]

Avowal // a Sylus x f!Reader medieval AU fic

Summary: King Sylus never tires of watching his most loyal knight fight. That is, until he tires of just watching and decides to test himself against your blade. WC: ~2.4k Content tags: Medieval AU, King!Sylus, F!Knight!Reader, swordfighting/sparring, sexual tension, praise, mild sub/dom themes

Read on AO3 // Masterlist

King Sylus never tires of watching you fight.

The sounds of metal clashing against metal stir the audience that fills the tournament grounds to the brim, cheers and roars traveling through the stands as heated battle unfolds before them. From the vantage point granted to him by the shaded royal box, Sylus calmly watches as you avoid your enemy’s relentless blows, sometimes redirecting and sometimes dodging, all the while being slowly but surely pushed to the edge of the arena. His guest of honor, the rambunctious monarch of one of the few remaining independent kingdoms in the Grasslands, sits besides him and punctuates the exchange of blows with unprompted commentary. Praises of the hulking knight who relentlessly advances on you fall on Sylus’s deaf ears, your distant form the only target of his attention.

It is the third day of tournaments held to inaugurate negotiations with said monarch, negotiations which Sylus has no doubt will end in his favor. And so the tournaments and festivities are nothing more than a formality. That, and a wondrous excuse to send you forth to joust in his name, to joyously watch you obliterate would-be champions.

The loudmouthed monarch applauds and cheers as his chosen knight applies more pressure on you. Your opponent is large, almost twice your size, and the greatsword he brandishes with heavy arms would certainly be cause for concern for any knight lesser than you. But Sylus does not worry, for he’s seen you dance this dance countless times before. Before long, your back is nearly touching the edge of the railing that delineates the arena. The rambunctious monarch whoops, and Sylus watches in silent anticipation. The presence of his not-so-honored guest is easily forgotten as he tunes out the monarch’s raucous cheers, focused only on you.

This is his favorite part.

In a swift motion, you pivot on one foot and duck under your opponent, swiftly avoiding what would have been a decisive strike. Off-balance and off-guard, the man fails to compensate for your movement in time, and you’re behind him before he can react. Your swift arms carry your sword into your opponent’s ribs in a powerful strike, and you follow through with a fervor that draws a contented hum from Sylus’s lips. The man comes crashing down in a heap of plate and mail, breaking through the fencing, and the crowd gasps, some letting out pained hisses at the sight of the dent you’ve left in his thick armor.

As expected, the giant’s raw power was no match for your calculated dominance of the field, each movement of your beautiful dance a deliberate choice made to move your opponent exactly where you wanted him, when you wanted him. All the while leading him to believe he had the upper hand.

Sylus doesn’t just love to watch you fight, he’s exhilarated by it.

“I don’t believe it!” bellows his guest, wine spilling on silk robes as he thrashes about in disbelief.

“I warned you not to underestimate her,” Sylus replies with a smirk that’s equal parts smugness and pride.

You sheathe your sword as you effortlessly stride to face the royal box while your large opponent clambers up and unceremoniously waddles behind you, struggling to catch up. You both offer deep bows at the box — your opponent’s gesture tainted with shame as he nurses his likely bruised rib, and yours brimming with tension.

Yet another part of you he never tires of glimpsing.

As captain of his personal guard, you are his most trusted knight. You’ve fought for him for as long as he cares to remember, representing his kingdom, defending his life, slaying dozens and injuring hundreds in his name. Each time, after the deed is done, you inevitably look to him, your tender eyes measuring his reaction, awaiting his approval. And each time, he gives it to you. How can he not, when you look so beautiful, draped in the scarlet colors of his kingdom, in his colors? When the lamellar feathers that line your gauntlets and greaves strike fear in all who would oppose you, for they know you would cut them down at the snap of his finger? When the crest of the crow on your breast, golds and reds and blacks shining brightly under warm sunlight, serves as a daily reminder of how deeply beholden you are to him?

Today, a playfulness in him, no doubt engendered by the swelling pride he feels at your victory, tempts him to delay this little ritual of yours. He simply settles deeper into his seat, long legs sprawled out, and rests his chin onto his palm as you raise your head. Even from beneath the visor of your helm, he can sense your nervous impatience. The crowd roars for you, but you pay them no mind. You remove your helm with urgency, beaded braids falling freely down your shoulders, sunkissed skin glistening under the warm daylight, and he finally meets your gaze. It’s filled with anticipation and loyalty and eagerness and adoration, and that’s all it takes to draw an inevitable smile from his lips. He nods, offering slow, tender claps that are just for you. Relief fills your eyes, and you return a subdued smile, beaming with a light that only he can see.

—

The ceremonies have come to a close, and you’ve finally been relieved of your post after diligently standing guard beside the king well into the late evening, never leaving his side throughout the festivities and beginnings of negotiations — just as he personally requested of you. Even when your relief arrived in the form of the night garrison, you looked at Sylus for quiet confirmation, and he gave you the slightest nod as he continued his conversation.

You now busy yourself with your favored method of decompression after tournament days such as these. Tucked within the confines of the makeshift armory — a spacious tent where your settlement’s arms are laid out — you inspect weapons, sharpen blades, and polish pommels, surrounded by nothing but quietude, steel, and dim torchlight.

The sound of the tent’s flap shuffling pulls you from the task of buffing out a chip in the blade of a longsword, and you’re greeted by none other than King Sylus himself, the last person you expected to walk into your little patch of solitude.

“There you are,” he says in that low voice of his that always settles pleasantly in your chest.

You immediately straighten, planting the tip of the sword you’ve been working on into the ground with both hands.

“Your Majesty,” you say, offering a small but courteous bow.

“You fought beautifully today,” he says with a warm smile as you raise your head. A flush creeps up your cheeks, and you hope that it is too dark for him to see it.

“Thank you, Sire.”

Sylus absently toys with one of the swords you’ve just finished maintenance on, running the edge of his thumb across the sharp blade.

“I would spar with you myself,” he says suddenly.

“I’m certain you would make a formidable opponent.”

“Then let us find out.”

You freeze. “Now?”

“Now.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have suitable armor for you to wear here,” you reply, looking around. You know your armory well, and you’re certain that none of the standard armor will fit his tall, muscular form. “Perhaps—”

“I’ve no need for armor.”

“Sire, I couldn’t possibly fight you without adequate protection. It’s too dangerous.” You stare incredulously at his bare chest — he wears nothing but what is perhaps the least protective belted leather sash you’ve ever seen and fine leather trousers, leaving him less than battle-ready. For a king, he’s never been one for gaudy robes nor ostentatious armor, leaving very little to the imagination as he flaunts a chiseled chest and firm arms that could’ve been sculpted by the gods themselves.

“And if I ordered you to?” He cocks an eyebrow, and you realize your eyes are still lingering on his chest, torchlight dancing on the soft curves and hard edges of his muscles. You make no effort to look away.

“If you ordered me to, then I would of course oblige,” you smirk, emboldened by the intimacy of the setting and by the smile that already adorns Sylus’s face. “I suppose it’s a good thing you haven’t done that yet.”

It’s hardly the first time he’s loosened up when alone in your presence, and you like to think that he can be more than the indomitable king, more than the unyielding conqueror, more… himself, whenever he's away from the prying eyes of the kingdom. So you indulge and let him indulge in the playful informality that has become commonplace between you on such occasions.

He hums in mock contemplation. “Then I’m ordering you to.”

You study his face, trying to discern how serious he is. When his curved lips settle into a line and his eyes narrow at your lack of response, you breathe out a small sigh that you hope he doesn’t notice and acquiesce. “At once, then.”

You toss the polishing cloth aside and Sylus assumes a relaxed position a few feet away from you, sword still in hand.

He motions towards your helm, which sits forgotten on a stool at the back of the tent. “Aren’t you missing something?”

“It’s only fair that I match the stakes you’ve put down, Sire,” you answer in a low voice, trying to quell the all-so-familiar embers of anticipation that ignite within you. It isn’t an unfamiliar feeling, especially when you find yourself before battle, but this time is remarkably different. This time, Sylus won’t simply be watching — he’ll be at the receiving end of your sword. The thought causes smoldering butterflies to flutter in your stomach.

“En garde.” You point your sword at him, and he mirrors your motion, lips cocked in a half-smile

Without another word, you initiate the dance.

Your movements are careful and measured, each of your strikes relenting when you feel the tension between your blades threaten to falter in your favor, a tension that would normally spur your muscles to exert more pressure and vie for that final blow.

But you aren’t the only one holding back. Sylus remains defensive, his every strike nothing but a careful response to your own aggression. Even when you misstep, the tip of your sabaton catching on an uneven patch of dirt, your thrust falling short and leaving a gaping opening at your side, he does not move to take the opportunity.

A mixture of the tension building within you – tension you’re unable to channel into your sword lest you injure the king himself – and drumming anger at the fact that he might be toying with you pushes you to a limit you didn’t know you had. Your expression darkens, and you gradually stop easing up at the tail end of your strikes. Sylus’s amused grin does nothing but fan the flames that rouse you. Here you are, teetering on the edge of insubordination by daring to strike so harshly at the king, and here he is, letting you have your way with him. How far will he truly let you go before he earnestly fights back?

He wants you to find out, and you won’t disappoint.

A sudden charge of your plated shoulder knocks Sylus off balance, and you follow up with a deft upward cut. His move to block is a bit too slow, and he catches the full force of your ascending swing. For a moment, your eyes interlock just long enough for you to catch his own widening with surprise. With a resonating clang, your blades clash, and this time you follow through, only stopping when the king is sprawled on the ground, his sword thudding in the soft dirt. You tower over him, your cold steel tickling at the bare skin of his chest as you glide the tip of your sword downwards ever so softly. The sight of him under your grasp, pristine silver locks all disheveled, eyes narrowing at your audacity while his lips curl with approval, stirs something unholy within your depths.

“Yield,” you breathe, the words escaping your lips before you can stop them.

His voice is soft and breathy, gravelly tones traveling through your ears and sending tingles dancing on the surface of your skin. “I yield.”

“Louder,” you push, and his grin widens, revealing sharp canines. Your fingers tighten around your sword’s grip, an involuntary response. The sharp blade draws a single, glistening droplet of blood from his bare chest.

A glint of something unrecognizable, primal and predatory, flashes across the deep reds of his eyes, and you immediately know to pull away. But halfway through the movement, Sylus’s large hand curls around your sword arm, and before you can even register what happens, your back is hitting the ground, armor clashing harshly against the supple dirt. The impact draws a sharp gasp from your lips. You try to shift, but your movements are restricted by a heavy knee on your core, and your sword arm is rendered immobile by the firm grip of his hand on your wrist.

And now, it is his turn to tower over you, to hold you under his grasp. There’s a fiery intensity in his eyes, and you threaten to melt under the adulating grin he now bears.

“You did well.” The words burn all the way through you, leaving nothing but ashen desire in their wake. You shift fruitlessly under the weight of his body.

 “I lost,” you reply between uneven breaths. You lost, but you don’t seem to care right now.

“On the contrary. I yielded,” he says in a low whisper. “The fight is over, knight mine.”

He’s close enough that your breaths, erratic and laced with exertion, mingle together in the quiet of the tent. The world outside stills as you lose yourself in his presence, in the warm closeness of his body, silent devotion drawing you into the vermilion pools of his eyes.

Then, Sylus suddenly stands, finally freeing you. A strange emptiness replaces the pressure that his body was exerting on your own, and you can’t help but think of the look he gave you, right as you pushed him to the limit. A light shiver runs down your spine, an enticing mix of trepidation and anticipation. You wonder what it will take to see that look again.

He’s already at the tent’s entrance when you shuffle back to your feet, and you realize how deeply you’ve forgotten yourself throughout this… duel, if you can call it that. Quickly, you offer a small bow at his back, and blurt out, “It was an honor, Sire.”

“Come by my quarters later,” Sylus smiles over his shoulder. “You’ve a lot to teach me yet.”

My knight hyperfixation and my LADS hyperfixation have coalesced into this fic, and I really really really enjoyed writing it. It's inspired by a melting pot of the Grassland Romance card, the NDZ card, and some ASOIAF (which has been on my feed recently). In my head, this is a whole cinematic universe, so I might revisit with some more snippets if I have more ideas. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed ❣

[araybiaaa]

can u write rafe talking sofia through it pleaseeee :)

rafe loves talking sofia through it; he loves hearing the pretty sounds she makes as he fucks her, loves seeing how well she takes him and how her body reacts to his touch.

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pairing: rafe cameron x sofia

tags: praise kink, penetrative sex, cunnilingus, fingering, vulgar language.

notes: loved these kinds of requests filthy!rafe is one of my favorite things to write especially when it comes to him praising his favorite girl!

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Sofia’s eyes rolled to the back of her head when his mouth alternated its attention. He was sucking at the spot of skin behind her ear, nipping at the flesh until it darkened from his ravenous love bites.

“Fuck, Sof...” She whimpered in between his guttural groans, sliding her hands into his hair and scraping her fingers against his scalp as she tugged him closer. He kissed her greedily, swallowing every breathy gasp that she moans into his mouth.

He’s painstakingly rigid, his erection was protruding through his briefs and pressed hotly against her thigh. She shivered at the friction; tugging harder on his short tufts of hair when he inadvertently chafed against her thigh again. Rafe groans, his forehead falls to her shoulder when she wriggles her hips and thrusts their aligned pelvises against each other’s creating a delicious friction as she moves her working hips in an oscillating motion.

She didn’t know how to explain it—the need, the desperation, the ache that stirred in her. But being with Rafe like this, felt better than anything she has ever experienced before.

He grabbed her by the chin and kissed her slow and deep, pushing his tongue inside of her mouth. He pulled away, kissing her nose before lowering his mouth to her throat, his teeth nipped softly at the skin and his tongue soothed coolly over the marks. “Can I taste you?” He murmured, “Please, baby?”

(And fuck if that wasn’t the hottest thing she ever heard.)

She whimpered, nodding her head; avid and aching.

He kissed down her body, then lifted up the hem of her shirt to press kisses against her stomach. Shivers licked up her spine at the coolness of his lips against her skin. His mouth descended lower, hovering just above the waistband of her underwear. He grabbed at the fabric and pulled them down with Sofia wriggling her hips as she assisted him.

He imprints love bites all over her thighs; kissing up her legs, proceeding upward until he was between her thighs again.

His nostrils flared at the sweet musk of her arousal that seeped in his senses.

“Fuck, you smell good.” He murmurs; his mouth already began to salivate at his eagerness to taste her on his tongue.

He allots himself in between the juncture of her thighs, sliding a hand over her calf as he lifted her leg up and secured it around his shoulder. He reached down again to grab her other leg and adjusted his position so that his face was directly perched at her center.

She was already swollen and wet; and when he nudged her legs open—he was rewarded by the pretty sight of her glistening arousal as it messily spilled out of her cunt and down her thighs. “You’re already so wet for me, baby,” He purred, pursing his mouth as he blew against her sensitive lips.

The gust of cold air caused her to squirm mercilessly beneath him, “Rafe,” She whimpered (begged) anxious and impatient as her hips lurched forward.

“I’ve got you.” He avows before burying his head between the crux of her thighs.

She was leaking on his lips, her arousal was sweet and tangy it sat on his tastebuds. He nosed at the sensitive flesh, teasing her, before he lapped his tongue up her in one smooth drag. “Mm,” Sofia whimpers, her legs stretched and tightened around his head as she thrust her hips against his face, seeking more friction. Her hips canted back and forth while his tongue fucked her; licking and sucking on the pink flesh of her vulva.

His fingernails dig into her thigh and she is almost certain that she will have bruises on them tomorrow, but that caring, along with everything else, except for the way Rafe thrust his tongue up her slit and sucked on her clit , then blew on it afterwards to soothe it, was absentmindedly disregarded from Sofia’s mind.

Her thighs stretched on the precipice of pain; her fingers scraped against his scalp, pushing his head further so that he was nearly suffocated in her cunt. Pleasure spread through every crevasse of her body and she bit down so hard on her bottom lip that she could taste the salty bitterness of blood as it stinted from the bruise.

Rafe’s cock swelled in his underwear, pressing hard and uncomfortably against the mattress. He could feel a wetness gathering in his boxers; he shifts his leg, feeling another rivulet of precum ooze from the slit of his flushed tip.

Sofia arches her back, to where she’s almost levitating entirely off of the bed. Rafe’s hands grabs at her thighs and anchors her in place as he continues his ravenous onslaught on her weeping pussy.

“C’mon, baby.” She crooned at the term of endearment, spurred on by his encouragement and praises. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head in pleasure as the stimulation of his tongue pushed her to her precipice. “Cum for me.”

Her legs trembled; her clit pulsed in a quiver on his tongue — she was so close.

She was shivering, her mouth hung agape, her hands grabbed at his shoulders when she finally came. It was thick and messy, spilling on his mouth and onto the sheets in a wet puddle that formed beneath them.

She peered down at him; his lips were swollen and pink, glistening with his a mixture of his saliva and her orgasm that coated around his mouth. He looked debauched—his eyes were lidded and glossed with lust that reflected heavily in his pupils, his face was flushed and rosy, from where it was suffocated between the burning heat of her thighs.

He lapped his tongue around his mouth and licked away the remnants of her cum. He stands on his knees, grabbing at her ankle as he pulled her body down to where he was. Rafe crawled up her body, sprawling halfway atop of her so that he’s straddling her waist with his cock weighing heavily between them.

“Are you okay?” He murmurs in between kisses, retracting away a bit to look at her.

“Mhm.” She murmurs, though her body’s still lax and trembling from her orgasm.

He’s already hard as the weight of his cock slapped between them. Rafe tugs his briefs down, shoving them down his hips and over his ass just enough so that he’s able to pull his cock out. “Can’t wait to be inside you again. Can’t wait to feel you around me,” He grunts, his forehead falls against hers as she swipes his cock head between her wet pussy lips and spasms, choking on a groan. “Yeah?” He questions—when they’d both indulged in enough foreplay and were aching to finally be inside one another.

Sofia nods, anxiously in anticipation.

Sofia moans, biting down roughly on her lower lip as the friction coils and pulls in her lower abdomen. They’re both mesmerized by the stimulation and the visual of his thrusting cock as they experimented with the pressure.

Rafe huddles a hand underneath her thigh, dragging her body further down until their pelvises are aligned again. He reaches between them and grabs ahold of his pulsating cock; tilting his head down to rest his forehead against hers—looking at her underneath the lengthy wisps of his eyelashes as he suavely tipped his hips forward.

Sofia’s eyes roll to the back of her head at the delicious intrusion that spreads through her. The pain is sharp as he penetrates her without resistance, her wetness makes it an easy submission. She flutters around his cock; still sensitive and swollen from earlier.

He fills her inch by inch until he feels the head of his cock buried completely at the hilt as he bottoms her out. “Fuck!” His breath comes out in warm puffs as he sits there waiting for both of them to adjust to the stretch of his girth.

A kiss and her feet kicking off the bunched up underwear that were pooled around his ankles, lets him know that she’s ready. He pulled his shirt off tossing it on the floor absentmindedly along with his now discarded briefs, leaving him fully nude.

He grabs her left leg, straddling it over his waist. He leans down and kisses her slowly and sensually, sliding his tongue messily within hers as he gyrated the first thrust. He pistons a full body roll, letting his pelvis linger against hers as he fucks her slowly.

A breath catches in her throat at the tight pull her cunt captures around his cock.

Her jaw goes slack as her mouth parted open slightly ajar while she crooned loudly in pleasure. Pleading whimpers and breathy moans falls off of her kiss-swollen lips as she arches her body and tosses her head back.

She pulls him back in every time he slips out of her; it’s perfect the way they move in tandem, both reciprocating the emphasized movements of their hips, fucking each other into oblivion until their minds are delirious from the clouded pleasure.

“Sof,” He murmurs, his face is flushed and there’s a faintness of red colored on his high cheeks.

Rafe’s always been beautiful but she thinks that this is when he’s the most prettiest; when he’s completely wrecked because of her. Her cunt throbs, clenching tightly around his cock and it elicits a filthy moan from the both of them.

She could feel the tremors wrecking his body as he deepened his penetration. He briefly lowered his eyes to their conjoined pelvises as he watched her pussy swallow his cock inch by inch until he’s buried deep at the hilt and fully bottoming her out again.

He withdraws from inside of her to where he’s nearly slipping out of her; then, with one suave lurch of his hips, he’s caught at her entrance again, reclaiming her around his cock with a throaty groan. They revel at the noisiness of their sex; at the wet squelching sounds as he retracts and brims her to where she’s nearly suffocated in pleasure that spreads throughout her body.

“Sofia,” His voice is gravelly as he speaks, his tenor wavers switching between airy murmurs and throaty grunts. “Look at how pretty you look taking my cock. You’re taking it so good, baby.” They both watch the laps of their pelvises and how they wetly thrust against each other.

They marvel at the lewd sight—of his cock stretching her, retracting and penetrating her completely—and her pussy messily coating him with her wetness.

He thrusts his pelvic bone against hers, languid and shaking in his efforts. She moans into his mouth as she reciprocated her own thrust, grinding her hips in a shallow motion inciting the perfect amount of friction and gusto. Gripping her hips, he lowers his head and meets her for another kiss,

“Come on. Cum for me.” He avers, as she positioned a full body roll. He thrusts into her deliberately slow but still drawing out his stroke to where she still feels him inside of her even when he pulls out.

“I’m close,” She urges, eyes burning as tears gathered in the back of her pupils. Her lip trembles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t stop!” She pleads, as if he’d actually do something that absurd.

His arms tremble, his eyes pinned down at her with the weight of his stare as she opened herself to his onslaught. He thrusts into her with abandon, grabbing her ass, pulling her already working hips closer to him, pushing himself deeper.

It doesn’t take much longer until she completely falls apart the moment he presses his thumb against her swollen clit — it’s accompanied by his soft coos of “that’s it, baby,” and “good girl,” that has her shivering, her mouth hanging agape and her hands clutching at his shoulders when she finally cums.

He rocks into her slowly, fucking her through the aftershocks of her orgasm and milking her completely dry until she goes boneless. His cock lurches, ready to conceded to his orgasm that’s been tittering on the precipice and when Sofia clenches around his cock he chokes on a groan, falling helplessly on top of her as his orgasm squeezed out of him.

He’s wilt with exasperation; body languid and still trembling from the exertion.

They laid there for a while with him still buried inside of her; cock still halfway hard, chest heaving, body trembling, while her breaths were panted loudly in his ears and her hand rubbed soothingly against his neck. He turns his head and embraces her into a kiss; one that easily turns ravenous with Sofia whimpering for more and his cock twitches inside of her at the sound of her plead.

He nods, brushing his nose against hers as he tilted his forehead against hers as he concedes to her plead—persevering through his own virility to satiate hers, though he knows he won’t last long through this feat.

He breathes softly through his parted lips, his nostrils flare as they intake the smell of her arousal seeping through the air.

He leans towards her again, hovering his lips over hers as his callused hand glided over her calf and hefted it over his hip. Leveling his hips, he implemented a fluid thrust against her pelvis—that has his cock catching at her entrance. Her cunt immediately tugs and flutters around him at the welcoming the familiar intrusion.

He retracts out of her with a soft pop, the filthy wetness of their body fluids intermingling ignites his libido. Then, in one swift motion, he’s fucking himself into her again, deep and slow, allowing his pelvis to linger against hers. He feels the trembles of her body, how it reverberates against his.

The headboard knocks lightly against the wall, the mattress creaks a bit beneath their weight when Rafe emphasized the rotation of his hips. “Touch yourself for me,” He whispers, voice gruff and throaty. His breath is hot as it brushes against her cheeks.

Sofia is docile as she slides her hand down her abdomen until it’s between her thighs.

Brushing through the curls of her pubic hair, she stretches her legs open just enough for her middle and forefinger to make its way between the tunt of her slick folds. Her mouth falls agape, her body shivers uncontrollably at the contact. She bites her bottom lip, feeling overstimulated by the pleasure of Rafe’s cock and her fingers assault on her sensitive cunt. “Just like that baby. You’re going so good.”

“That’s it, come for me again.” She whimpers, sliding her moist fingers over her vulva, feeling her abdomen clench at Rafe’s words of encouragement. “Let go for me, Sof.” He says, nearly desperate in his own plead because he could feel himself nearly slipping into his own arousal.

But he refused to cum before her.

She nods, licking her lips as she hastened her efforts. “I’m close,” She whimpers, her lower lip trembles, her back arches and her free hand twists around the bedsheets as she feels the rush of her third orgasm spilling out of her.

Her hand falls limply to her side, wet and sticky. Rafe continued to fuck her through it until she’s fully satiated and languid. “You did so good taking me, baby. Such a good girl.”

He shudders, toppling halfway atop of her as he lulled down from his orgasm. They laid there for a moment; bathing in the filth of their sweat and cum, their limbs and pelvis’ still intertwined.

“I’ll get up, I know that I’m probably heavy.” He murmurs against her skin, his lips tickling her as he spoke. He’s still sprawled out on top of her but decides to alleviate the heaviness of his body weight off of her when he pulls his flaccid cock out of her cunt.

Sofia smiles as she looked over at him; watching as he sauntered to the bathroom.

She admired his features from behind; ogling at the tautness of his broad shoulders, the cup of his supple ass, the flex of his back muscles as he stretched and yawned loudly (she bites on her bottom lip, smirking when she notices the redness of her fingernail markings carved into his back. She doesn’t even remember doing that) and when he appears back into the bedroom she equally heeds at his frontal physique—his chest is chiseled as it stretched with his six pack abs, his cock was now flushed and heavy between his legs, still lathered with their mixed fluids.

“You see something you like?” He accuses teasingly, eyes narrowed, lips pursed in a playful smirk as he approached her. “I haven’t even been out of you for two minutes and you’re already trying to go at it again,” He chastised in a jest, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth making a playful chastising tsk-ing noise.

She giggles, sitting up as she rested on her elbows. “I’m just admiring the view. I like looking at my boyfriend,” She shrugs, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared abashedly at him. (He always liked hearing Sofia referring her claim on him—he liked that she called him hers, because there’s not anything else he’d rather be.)

Rafe mimics her smile as he sauntered up to her and leaned across the bed to meet her lips in a kiss. “And I like looking at my sexy ass girlfriend.” He murmurs, brushing his mouth against hers.

Sofia’s hand brushed against his neck as she sighed softly; indulging in the laziness of their tongues intertwining. The sound of her stomach growing loudly has both of them laughing as they pulled away from the kiss. “How about I go cook us some breakfast?” He offers, feeling his own stomach beginning to lurch from hunger.

Sofia nodded as she smiled, her dimples deepening in her cheeks. “Yes, please.”

“Alright, I’ll be back.” He avers, giving her lips one last kiss before he’s reaching down and grabbing ahold of his discarded briefs, tugging them back over his hips. He retreats downstairs and goes into the kitchen where he turns on the faucet to wash his hands before he begins to prepare breakfast.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 5

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

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

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: How are these getting longer lol

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

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

If you thought the darkness was torturous, the light proves to be worse. You look at your surroundings. It’s eerie. A room curated for one. For you.

The white fluffy stool in front of a matching vanity. A picture of a woman in white sitting in a meadow, flowers all around and a stream flowing through the lush field. A vanity painted with flowers, the night tables matching; the bedspread under you similar woven with pansies. The trim at the top of the wall is pink petals on white and a soft rug under the foot of the bed.

It’s all very cute but deranged. You’d love to have all this and more but you’d rather your apartment. If the price is those three men then you’d rather a gutter. Most importantly, you want your dog.

You can’t even make your demands. The walls can’t give you what you want. You doubt your captors will either but you can try. You can wear them down. You can be nice sure, you prefer that, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be your own brand of evil.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. The noise needles in your ears and you hear the mechanism click. You raise your head to watch the door open and the one with the beard enters. Alan, Arnold? Ugh, you don’t care.

He doesn’t break the threshold. He crosses his arms and stares at you. A ripple in his forehead underlines his thoughts.

“I’m going to bring you out but you have to be good,” he says.

You close your eyes and drop your head. You fill your chest and let out a blasting wail. He grunts and stomps to the bed. He grabs your shoulders, shaking you until you nearly swallow your tongue. You bite the tip as he sits you up and you’re forced to face him.

“No, no more of that. Or you don’t get your first present.”

“I don’t want any of your presents,” you sneer.

“This one, I think you do,” he intones, “I’m asking you to give me a chance. Let me show you that this isn’t just for us. This is about you, honey.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” you hiss, “why can’t you just let me go?”

He shakes his head, “it’s too late for that.”

“I won’t behave. I swear, I’m going to scream–” you inhale and he quickly covers your mouth, his other hand coming around the back of your skull. 

He hushes you as his blue eyes darken, “honey, I’m being nice right now, so you need to go along with this. If you don’t…” he pauses and looks over his shoulder, “I don’t know what they’ll do.”

You furrow your brow. Getting out of this room is one step closer to escape. You can be good. For now.

You let the tension leave your body and soften your expression. He senses it and slowly slides his hand away from your mouth. You flick your lashes, putting on your best pout.

“Okay, Alan, I’ll be good,” you avow.

His brow tweaks and his cheek ticks. His nostrils flare as his chest rise and falls, “it’s Andy.”

“Right, I’m sorry, I’m really freaked out,” you show your teeth sheepishly, “that other guy… he hurt me.”

“Which one?” He asks.

“Er… stache guy.”

“I’ll talk to him,” he huffs, “can I untie you?”

“Yeah.”

“No, honey, I’m asking,” he looks you straight in the face, “you’re not going to try anything, right?”

“I can be good,” you squirm, “my wrists hurt.”

“Alright.”

He lays you back and rolls you over. He pulls the tape away from your arms, then your ankles. You think of the trick from the van. You know his weak spot but it’s too soon for that. Timing, it all comes down to the right opportunity.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand and helps you up.

You get to your feet and let him lead you out. His large hand clings to yours as he pulls you after him like a child. As you go into the hall, you examine every inch of the place. He takes you into the front room, a low din that in any other circumstance would be cozy.

It looks like any other living room. A sectional and an armchair, an artificial fireplace set into the wall, a mantel trimmed in tinsel, a rich carpet spread over the dark hardwood, and shelves of books along with a television mounted to the wall. The tree in the corner stands bare over a red velvet skirt.

“We can decorate the tree tonight and see if Santa leaves anything for tomorrow.”

You hold back a scoff, “um, I know Santa isn’t real.”

He chuckles, “it’s a joke.”

“Is this the surprise?” You deflate. Sounds like work to you. Of course, your apartment is too small for a proper tree but you’re less than excited for a pastime you always longed for.

“No, not the only one,” he lets you go as you tug on your hand. “Honey, we did this all for you.”

You turn on him, “I didn’t ask you too.”

“Hey, hey, why are you acting like this? You’re such a sweet girl.”

You swallow tightly and hear beeping again. Then a clamour that includes a scramble, some scraping and the thump of a door against something else. You try to see past Andy as you feel cold air rush in from outside. You want to race past him but he’d be on you in a moment.

You hear a familiar growl before another voice wafts in from the entryway.

“Ah, he bit me. Again!” One man says.

“You think I’m having fun at the ass end?” The other retorts.

“Woah, oh, shit–”

There’s a duller thump and you hear claws and paws on the floor. Your heart leaps and you look around Alan– Andy as you hear the heavy breaths bounding towards you. 

“Ernie!” You squeal as the Saint Bernard lumbers in, furtively searching before he spots you. “Ernie, my boy. Oh, baby boy.”

He nearly knocks over Andy as he barrels into your arms. You hug him around the neck and inhale the scent of his fur. His collar tinkles and let his warmth ease your fear. You were so worried about him, more than even yourself.

“You said it was a puppy,” the bare-faced man snarls as he shakes his hand.

“I didn’t know…” Andy says.

“He is a puppy,” you insist.

“Who let the pussycat out?” The mustachioed creep asks.

Your eyes shoot darts in his direction and his hand shields his pants, almost instinctively. Ernie drags his large rough tongue up your cheek. He was scared too but now you have each other.

“Surprise,” Andy says, “so now, honey, you’re going to be good, right?”

You look at him and chew your lip. His eyes fall to Ernie and you put your arm in front of the dog. He doesn’t need to put his threat into words.

“Shit, I’m bleeding. That thing got shots?” Scarf asks.

“What about the girl? She got me good,” Mustache snickers.

“No, but maybe I should get checked now,” you snip.

“Woa-ho!” Mr. Caterpillar exclaims, “she’s got a mouth.”

“Honey,” Andy warns, “we’re being good, right?”

You huff and nod.

“So, apologise.”

“What?” You burst out, “he–” You stop and look between all three men. You have Ernie but you’re more worried about him getting hurt than knowing he’d hurt them in an instant. Even then, he has his head low, a steady rumble brewing in him.

“That thing needs to calm down,” the naked faced one whines, still cradling his hand.

“He’s confused,” you defend your son, “okay? And I’m sorry, er, dude, I’m sure you don’t have any communicable diseases.”

“The fuck? Disease– Alright,” the man steps forward, “that’s it. First she bites me, then she kicks me in the dick and now–”

“Lloyd,” Andy puts his hand up, “no. We’re all just getting used to each other. You’re not exactly easy to be around yourself.”

“Fuck that, I’m funny,” the fuzzy lipped man, Lloyd, argues.

“Everyone just quit,” Andy demands, “alright? Did you get the food?”

“Food?” The bare-faced man shrugs out of his jacket, “what food?”

“For the dog? I told you–” Andy begins.

“Ah, shit, knew we forgot something,” Lloyd chuckles, “he’ll be fine. He can eat chicken, can’t he?”

“He has a sensitive tummy,” you say.

“Jesus,” the third man grumbles as he hangs his scarf over his coat. “I’m not going back. It’s late.”

“Can he have rice? Carrots?” Andy suggests.

“I guess, I don’t know if he’ll eat 'em,” you look at Ernie as his deep brown eyes meet yours. You pet his head to keep him calm. He doesn’t like these men any more than you do.

“Fine,” Andy huffs, “go get the decorations,” he orders the others.

“Why don’t you get the decorations?” Lloyd sneers.

“She needs to change,” Andy explains.

“Like we can’t help her,” the other man challenges.

“I don’t often agree with him, but he’s right. We’ll get her changed.”

You grimace as your eyes ping pong at the back and forth of their conversation. This isn’t good. You don’t enjoy being talked about like you’re not there.

“How about I get myself changed?” You offer.

The men turn to you. None of them seem impressed. A sudden peel of thunder fills the room and you look at Ernie. His bark echoes in your ears.

“Shut that thing up,” Lloyd snaps.

“He’s quiet,” you say, “he was just saying the same about you.”

“Really?” He goes to take another step forward and the other man stops him, “Ransom, let me go.”

“I’ll take her, you two go get the decorations,” he says.

Andy frames his hips and sighs, “fine. We all know the plan. Let’s stick to it.”

You want to raise your hand and clarify that you do not, in fact, know the plan but you suspect you’re not a part of the collective. You keep your hand on Ernie and gulp. He nuzzles your hip.

You bend and pet behind his ear, “it’s okay.” It’s not. You move to face him, “sit,” you raise your voice, “stay. I’ll be right back.”

As you stand, the dog obeys. He’s a gentle giant, at least with you. You pat his head and turn away. The men watch you.

“That thing listens?” The one they called Ransom asks.

“He can.”

“Come on,” he beckons you with two fingers, a smirk ghosting on his lips.

“This is bullshit,” Lloyd mutters as Andy approaches him.

“We can keep talking all night,” Andy pats his shoulder, “or get things moving.”

“Whatever,” the man smooths his mustache.

You reluctantly move towards the third man, the one with no personality grown out on his lip or jaw. A baby face if you ever saw one. The way he leers makes you uncomfortable. He smells like Armani.

“Not smiling now, are you?” He says under his breath as he ushers you down the hall.

He points you into that same bedroom. You stop just inside and he shoulders past you with a grumble. You watch him go to the wardrobe and open it. You look between him and the door. You could make it.

You wait a few seconds as he pushes hangers over the bar. You take a step. He doesn’t notice. Another and he’s bitching about colours. You didn’t think men were that picky. You get right in the frame of the door and back out. He looks around the open wardrobe.

“Bye,” you wave and pull the door shut.

You know he’s probably swearing at you but you can’t hear him. You hold onto the handle and hit the little lock icon in the corner of the keypad. The deadbolt rolls into place.

This is it. You edge out to the living room. You don’t see anybody. Ernie sits where you left him, sniffing the air. He sees you and perks up. You wave him over and he lifts his rump, taking careful steps across the room.

You grab his collar and take him with you to the front door. You twist the handle, it doesn’t budge. You flip the lock over it, still nothing. You don’t know what to do. What the hell?

You search around you. The windows are barred, you can’t get out that way. There’s a small box right beside the door. You flip it open to reveal another keypad. Fuck.

“And where are we going, pussy cat?” The question nips your ears as a plastic ornament pings off the wall beside you. You spin and face the mustachioed menace. 

“You know, I just need some fresh air.”

Ernie growls and puts himself between you and the man, keeping the distance with his body. He prowls around, snout low as he paces back and forth. Lloyd steps closer and the dog mirrors him.

“Call that thing off,” he demands.

“Why would I do that?” You challenge.

“Well I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if I made him stop,” he opens and closes his fist.

“You wouldn’t hurt a puppy–”

“I’ll do what needs to be done,” he tilts his head.

“Ernie,” you call the dog, “quiet. Sit.”

The dog lets out a wispy boof but listens. He flops his butt down and glares at the man. You put your hands up and step forward.

“You’re mean. How can you threaten an innocent dog?”

“He drooled on my Jimmy Choo’s,” he says, “come on,” he grabs you by the back of the neck, “let’s go get the dumbass out.”

Ernie barks as you whimper. You flutter your hand at him as Lloyd’s fingertips pinch into your tendons, “Ern, it’s okay, I’m okay. Stay.”

He must hear the panic. He remains, restlessly shifting his front paws. You march beside the man back to the hallway. You reach to touch his arm and he only squeezes harder.

“Shouldn’t blame you for trying,” he says, “but I will.”

[nanqmies]

Priest!Baizhu | Drabble+ Hc

cw: lowkey manipulative baizhu?? creampie, masturbation, semi-public sex, very religious themes, m!reader, dubcon?? idk, if i forgot anythin please inform me!!

wc: 0.7k

a/n: i do apologize for not postin that much!! i have a lot going on 𖦹 ´ ᯅ ` 𖦹 , writers block is kickin my ass.. i do have fics in the works!! m tryna to make everything more pleasin to the eye, i will try to make a masterlist soon ^^ please enjoy my work.♡

nsfw under the cut~

Priest!Baizhu; who kindly welcomed you to the church with open arms, always inviting you to his sermons to listen to him preach the words of archon. Seeming so kind, a humble smile always on his face while preaching at the stand, welcoming others into the church. Soft voice filling the room as he spoke, sending heat down to the deepest parts of you.. Utterly mesmerizing, the way his soft eyes scanned over the room, pushing up his glasses when the slide down the slope of his nose. His eyes ended up being on you at the end of the day.

Priest!Baizhu; who listens to every single time you avow your deep urges, whispering in shame of the sinful thoughts that constantly flooded your mind when you thought of him. How shameful you are, giving into the hands of sin,, you never notice how his eyes darken as he listens, Priest baizhu is a mysterious man they say..

Priest!Baizhu; who can’t help but laugh at how cute you are, trusting him with all the little things you’ve told him behind the confessional walls. How much you yearned for a certain mans touch against your untouched skin, to ruin the only true form of purity you had.

Priest!Baizhu; who pops a boner whenever you sob and beg archons to forgive you and your misbehaviors. Maybe he should feel bad,, clearly your faith was a big part of living, but god the tears flowing down the apples of your cheeks make him want to ruin you. Wiping your tears with his thumbs, whispering prayers whilst rubbing your back softly,, telling you everything will be okay when he’s there. That he’ll gracefully listen to any of the problems you may have,, hushing your hiccuping sobs. he hopes you don’t notice the tent in his pants

Priest!Baizhu; who ends up touching himself after speaking to you, lightly rubbing his glands with his fingertips, smearing thick beads of pre over his length. Baizhu obviously knows how perverted he is, thinking of ruining you, rutting his hips against his clasped palm. Sticky white covering his thin fingers, he sighs and takes off his glasses. A light layer of sweat over his forehead, you’ve clouded his mind for weeks.

Priest!Baizhu; who (sometimes) when he’s feeling risky will tread his hands down his pants while listening to your voice in the confessional, shallowly stroking his shaft trying to keep in his breathy groans. Nearly coming in his pants when your voice is laced with shame. A small part of him wishes you’d hear him, hear him pleasing himself at the sound of your soft voice.

Priest!Baizhu; who always tells you that ‘Theres nothing wrong with such urges ’ whispering in your ears, his hands brushing against your thighs gently pushing them apart.. just enough for your eyes to meet his, a smile painted against his pretty pink lips

was his smile always this unsettling?

Priest!Baizhu; who ends up fucking you in the the confessional booth, ripping off your modest attire, defiling you in public, shushing you when you get too loud reciting the words from the holy book in his hand. Ripping away the only form of purity you had, taking your virginity as retribution for your sins. Baizhu’s thumbs pressed harder into your hips, he can barely keep in the groans that bless his lips. Committing such sacrilege in the house of the lord above, turned him on in such a way.

‘It’s the only way you’ll be forgiven’

Priest!Baizhu; who comforts you when his cocks aggressively enter and leave your sex, shushing your tears and promising that you’ll be reborn pure after he blows his load into you. His words singing false promises into your ears, its oddly comforting.. the feeling of being so full in his warm embrace,,

Priest!Baizhu; who thinks about making you worship him instead, shouldn’t you be begging him to save you? Maybe he hasn’t fucked the greedful lust out of your system yet.. Every session ends up with you bent over while Baizhu has his way with you, pleading of archon to pardon your transgressions of their word.

‘Oh my love.. you’ll earn your forgiveness soon my dear..’ he kisses the corner of your lips gently.

‘Just keep being a good boy for me..’

Priest!Baizhu; who fills you full with his seed, telling you that the ones above forgive you for your sins,, petting your hair and pressing you against his chest.

Priest!baizhu; who can’t wait for next Sunday to come to redo it all again..

@nanqmies © 2023

please do not translate, steal or repost my work.

reblogs and feedback appreciated!

[adaptacy]

A Found Flame

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3) {Spotify Playlist}

Synopsis: Gale guides you through casting a fire bolt, but in your search to find a warmth to channel, you revisit a late night with him that stirs up an unfamiliar feeling within you.

A/N: Completely SFW! Just cute romantic stuff while I continue crackin' away at this fine ass dork I've been presented with. I might turn this into a much longer story, because the dynamic of Mentor!Gale falling for his apprentice has so much potential, from fluff to angst to sexual tension, etc... but for now, here's this :) and with a side of the ever-lovely Tara!

Song rec.: Witchcraft - Vian Izak (X)

Word Count: 2k

“Now, right foot further… further…” A hand comes to rest on your hip, and you feel a tap against your right ankle, guiding your movements. You glance down, distracted from your target, and your mentor lets out a soft chuckle, his free hand moving under your arm. Two fingers push up on your chin, realigning your head. Doing your best to follow his directions, your right foot shifts forward, inching awkwardly across the ground until you no longer feel his shoe against your calf. 

“Should I aim for the head?”

“The head?” He laughs, his fingers pulling away from your chin, his arm outstretching to be parallel with yours, showing you where to position your own. “No, Tempus, let’s keep it simple,” he teases, pointing a finger at the torso of a hay-stuffed target, elderly chainmail armor lazily draped over its shoulders. “Eyes on the torso. And, please, do refrain from igniting my tower in a fiery blaze. These shelves took far too long to fill.” 

“I know, I know, I’ve got it,” you assure, earning a mewl of disbelief from a tabby Tressym resting a few feet away from the target, her tail and front paws hanging off of an empty space on the aforementioned bookshelves. 

“Mr. Dekarios, are you sure this is the safest we can be?” Tara purrs, her right wing twitching, likely anxious that you were bound to do exactly as he asked you not to and burn the whole tower down.

“I trust them, Tara. After all, books can only get one so far. Hands-on practice is far more valuable!” He encourages, leaning down slightly, enough that you can hear his breathing beside your ear. “Now. Steady. Focus… and picture it. A small flame, mostly harmless. Landing square on the torso, created from your very–”

“Ignis!” You shout, and Tara shoots up from where she was laying, bouncing away from the target and landing on a pile of books. Despite her reaction, there was no flame, though you swore you could’ve spotted a spark from your fingertip.

Gale lowers his arm, giving you a little more space, and he removes his hand from your hip, even taking a step back, perhaps a little too aware of the vicinity between your bodies. “Again. The pronunciation was exquisite, I must avow. Reach into your mind, no matter how far you must travel. Hear her whispers, channel the inferno within. Whether it be rage, passion, optimism – you must grasp the element, and feel the heat,” he explains, earning a small nod from you. Your eyes close, and you seek out the embers he spoke of. 

Your mind wanders– it has to, if you truly want to tame the element, no part of your mind should be off limits. Though it travels to unexpected places. You most certainly find warmth, it just wasn’t the warmth you expected. It wasn’t a burn, yet it was a heat. One that hovered around your body, brought on by closeness to another, breathing figure. You could see books, and the moon, hanging high outside, the room coated with a gentle blue glow. It was strange, like you were inspecting a faded picture rather than experiencing a dream. 

Hardening your focus, you grit your teeth. There was a purring, quiet, under the desk. Yes! You sat at the desk, seated on a small velvet stool, stationed next to a figure cloaked in purple. His arm, carefully positioned to allow you to gaze at and read along with the book he studied, brushing lightly against your shoulder. It couldn’t have been more than two weeks ago, during one of your late-night mentoring sessions, when he’d caught you sneaking around in the library, looking for something to keep your sleepless mind occupied. 

Reminding yourself of the mission at hand, you search for inspiration, and find a lone lit candle towards the back of the desk, the glow encapsulating the two of you and casting light on the material you read. With a deep breath, you do your best to channel that candle. As small as it was, it seemed the most helpful component in finding the blaze Gale directed, and you exhaled. 

“Ignis!” 

Your eyes open, feeling a half-second surge of heat in your fingertips, and much to your surprise, a tiny flame shot out from your index finger, though it fell to the floor and sizzled out before it made it halfway to your target. 

Still, it was enough to earn a chuckle and a series of short claps from your mentor, pleased with your performance even with as amateur as it was. “See, Tara? Hardly a threat to the books!” 

The tressym’s wings stretch, and her body follows, leaning back on her haunches as she yawns. With a flick of her tail, she muses “Hardly a threat to anyone, for that matter! I’m quite sure a crocked kobold could muster up a drink stronger than that.” 

“Oh, be patient, Tara. Everyone must start somewhere.” You spot Gale’s shadow waving his hand dismissively, before that shadow approaches yours, and you feel a hand on each of your shoulders. “I presume you found your root. Return, and study it. Learn it. Conform to it. Again.”

You inhale, and once more close your eyes, returning to the moonlit scene. The candle seemed dimmer, now, and you wonder if you’d somehow extracted the power from a memory. You’ve heard – well, read – about plenty of curious happenings related to the power and influence of the weave, but it was quite a different experience to feel those effects. You knew that you had focused quite closely on the candle, and yet it bore disappointing results. And now, that flame burned weaker.

It may be best to turn to other means of fuel. Your eyes scan the memory, contemplating the moon, before deciding it was far too tame, and far too distant to harness. The temperate coziness you felt in the moment pulses through you again, soothing your nerves, easing the racing of your heart. Warmth. 

It doesn’t take you long to realize just where the heat originates from. Though neither of you were aware in that moment, or perhaps you merely glossed over the fact, you sat close; in order to read the contents of the book, you had to be near to him. And near, you were. 

The time aided you, your fatigue stronger than your dignity, and allowed you to rest your head against his shoulder as you hardly managed to keep up with the lines of text, let alone truly process the material you were attempting to soak up. It was warm, despite the winter that hadn’t yet faded. He was warm. You’d been close with him before, though it was always fleeting. Accidentally bumping into him as you gathered materials around his study, or the second-long contact of your hands when you answered his fetch requests. Occasionally, when he guided your hand to some place in particular, over the ridges of a carved staff or the spines of books on his shelves. Even once, just once, that he’d allowed you to press your palm against his chest, his purple robe displaced just enough to expose the stain of the Netherese orb, which had produced an alarming heat from beneath his skin, and he’d felt inclined to share it with you. 

But here, this memory, this occurrence, was hardly fleeting. He must have been willed by weary exhaustion just as well, because he didn’t shy away from the close contact. Instead, Gale rested his jaw against the top of your head, continuing to idly review the book he’d read countless times. You were sure that, if he had fewer things to concern himself with, he very well could have recited the lectures on dead gods from memory. 

You hear a distant ‘mrrow’ of boredom and you recount your steps, regaining sight of your mission once more. You relax your body, only maintaining enough control to keep yourself standing, and your arm aimed. As you burn this sight, this time with him, and these feelings into your memory – should you ever need to recall the sight again, perhaps in future lessons, you want to be prepared – there is an airiness that wraps your body. Although you are planted firmly on a surface, both in the real world and in this vision, it feels as though you’ve been granted feather falling and have leapt from the balcony, becoming one with the breeze. And yet there is no chill, there is no bite from the rush of air, merely a dazing high. 

His breathing is all you hear. Mellow and stable. You focus on the patterned flow, the delicate and inviting tepidity, the velvety brush of his clothes against your face. 

“Love?”

Your eyes open, head swiveling around to face him, and he seems taken aback by your response. You aren’t sure you heard him right, and he isn’t sure you heard him right either, so he points behind you, head tilting slightly. Following his attention, you find that the target now displays a moderately-sized searing hole in the torso, near the right shoulder. You don’t recall announcing the spell, but it’s quite possible that you were too wrapped up in channeling the fire bolt to realize you’d casted it. 

When your attention clings to the training dummy for too long, Gale steps into your peripherals, and you turn to face him once more. Again, he motions towards your successful delivery. “Flames and Fatalities, volume one, chapter four.”

“Red for rage, orange for survival, white for hope, pink for love,” you recite, easily recalling the information provided in one of the spellbooks Gale had you study several times over.

“Precisely. Your flame contained a pink hue,” he elaborates, and your gaze flicks over to the training dummy, and then back at Gale. 

A familiar warmth brushes against your ankle, and you look down, finding a sassy winged creature at your feet. “At least someone in this tower seeks romantic companionship. Mr. Dekarios may very well have something to learn himself,” Tara purrs, and Gale releases a short sigh at her taunt, running a hand through his loose brown hair. “You used to be such a romantic. Though you seem much more of the hopeless kind these days.”

“Well, Tara, I don’t possess an acropolis of free time, I fear. Romantic pursuits do not fit into my schedule,” Gale attempts to defend, though Tara merely tilts her chin up and turns her head away from him, tail stiffening with antipathy. When you look up from the feline-like familiar, you find Gale eyeing you, splitting his sight away the moment your eyes meet, rendering you incapable of registering whatever strange emotion you thought you caught a glimpse of in his eyes. 

You don’t like the taste of the unforeseen tightness in the air, so you clear your throat, looking around the study. “Hells, I forgot to tend to the garden yesterday. Does that sum up my teachings today?” You ask, looking back at Gale. He stares at the mannequin for a few moments more, and for a second, you fear that you’d damaged it too much, but then he releases a gentle laugh, dipping his head.

“Indeed. You performed marvelously. Go on, I’ve got artifacts to busy myself with. If you’re not back by the time I finish, I’ll put together a meal.” Gale motions for the main doors, and steps past you, approaching a mid-sized woven basket containing a staff, an enchanted dagger, and a pair of leather gloves shining a faint orange hue. You watch him, and he pauses as he lifts the basket, glancing at you from over his shoulder, his smile aged, though it held a certain pride in the catenary of his lips. “May I ask?”

Confused, you narrow your eyes. “Ask what?”

“Where did you find your flame?”

Allowing yourself a moment to think, you made sure to keep your eyes on him, and then you provide a nonchalant shrug. “I thought of my parents.” 

Gale is still, his reaction a delayed one, before he widens his smile in a quick chuckle. “Charming. Hold onto that. It’s a solid base.”

You nod, and then finally turn around as Gale resumes moving the basket from the floor to his desk. You grab an empty basket of your own on the way out, disappearing and leaving him to his artifacts. 

[snugglywugglysocialist]

Please could I request Casey x reader angst/fluff. Your writing is literally mesmerising. Like I can’t get enough! Could it include like a shower/bath scene. Something hot and needy. Thanks. I hope that makes sense

thank you sweetheart! i’m sorry that this took a millennia to follow up on.

You sit in vanquish—your body folded, and your head resting on your knees. The faint ticking of the clock perched on the otherwise barren wall of your kitchen can be heard, and so can the sounds of Casey’s pacing. The noise only serves to burgeon your anger, but you don’t have the energy to throw the clock off the wall or admonish the cowed redhead in the next room. You silently wager that your thoughts in this moment lay in alignment with Casey’s—disbelieving and maligned with scorn. Light footsteps near the door that shrouds your crumpled figure; you hope the older woman will just keep walking, but you know she won’t.

The hinges whine as Casey slowly opens the door, and you lift your head to look at her. Her expression is just as disappointed as you imagine your own to be, and her usually hubristic posture has been replaced by one marking defeat. You shoot her a tight-lipped grimace, and she nods before moving to sit next to you on the small couch. A suffocating tension looms overhead the two of you; Casey runs her pale hands through her cropped hair as a subconscious response to it. The strain this case had levied upon your relationship in the past two days seems inconsequential as you relive the trial in your head with rancor.

“We fucked up.” She says causticly, and you suck in a prolonged, sharp breath.

“I’m aware; we’re going to fix it.” You whisper, your tone condescending; she scoffs.

“There is no resolution. We put the wrong guy in jail and he’ll forever be traumatized.” She replies, turning her head to stare directly at the wall in front of her; you wince at your words.

“I knew this was a mistake.” She avows quietly, and you turn your head sharply towards her shadowed figure.

“What was a mistake?” You ask, and your suddenly defensive tone compels her body into rigidity.

“Working with you despite this relationship.” She says, clenching her jaw; you smile wordlessly at the absurdity of her statement.

“Are you serious?” You ask after a few moments, and you attempt to search her dazed hazel eyes for an answer.

“You cloud my judgement.” She says, and you drag your hands roughly across the surface of your face.

“This case had nothing to do with our relationship, and you know it. You were arrogant.” You say venomously, motioning your hands to punctuate your statement; Casey smiles bitterly.

“It’s not just about this case.” She breathes, her voice scraping; you shake your head in incredulity.

“What are you going to do, then?” You ask, boorishly cutting through the nauseating silence.

“I can’t threaten my reputation like this.” She says, and the faltering hesitation of her voice doesn’t go unheeded by you.

Quietness consumes the space between the both of you once more, and unease crackles through the room. Casey drops her head in rout against the situation she finds herself in, and you’ve never seen her this dejected. You knew the older woman was like this—logically obsessed and driven by pride, but for some naive reason, you never expected it to bite you in the ass. The ringing in your ears swells in volume the longer you sit next to the redhead, and the uncertainty of it all becomes unbearable. You stand in an attempt to maintain any semblance of composure, and as you walk forward, you can feel Casey staring through you.

“What are you going to do, Casey?” You repeat staring at the wall, trying to suppress your indignation at her dodging answer; she groans.

“I don’t know.” The redhead admits, stretching her hands in turmoil; you turn to look at her with an expression of both resentment.

“You never had any intention of entertaining us. You’ve been praying for a fuck-up you could blame on me.” You aver, perching your hands on your hips and laughing slightly.

“Right; like you haven’t?” Casey says flippantly, her voice louder and miles more incensed than before; you hear her stand.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” You shout, slowly stepping closer to her towering body in a cloud of ire.

“Are we seriously pretending you’ve been some bleeding heart, open book around me. You’re more distant than I am, but I’m the problem?” She jeers loudly, and each word spilling from her lips infuriates you further.

“This is over. Fuck off.” You chide, attempting to end this exchange as quickly as possible; she looks at you indifferently.

“You’re not getting out of this by insulting me.” Casey says before curling her lips into a noxious smile that sends a pulse of arousal through your body.

You slide out of the bedroom without responding; she knew that statement would make you run, and you know that nothing you say could make her leave right now. Blood rushes to your head so violently that you feel intoxicated, and the thrill you get from arguing with the older woman terrifies you as much as the thought of her absence. You know this isn’t healthy, and you know something within you is fucked up for enjoying the instability between you two. You can hear Casey distantly following you; ducking into the bathroom, you close the door and peel off your clothes. You pray that the redhead will have left by the time you get done showering in hopes of avoiding this conversation until the next day.

Searingly hot water pummels the top of your head with such vigor that you can barely breathe. The spray of it relieves the tension in your muscles, but you’d failed to consider how such a menial task would embolden your rumination about the older woman. Flashes of Casey—begging and cumming beneath you—are the only thing occupying your thoughts; you can’t even be bothered to dwell on your argument for how distracted you currently are. Your engrossment disallows you to register the sound of the door opening, and the shadow now standing in the bathroom. You blink a few times to ensure that you’re not seeing things before wiping away steam from the glass; the redhead is leaning against the doorframe and looking directly at you.

“Do you need something?” You ask, trying to ignore the adrenaline surging through your body at the mere sight of her.

“Yeah—a shower.” Casey states curtly before pulling her shirt out from beneath her slacks, and unbuttoning it from the top.

“You’re unbelievable. Go shower at your own house.” You say after turning your head away from her to maintain a shaky, aloof facade.

You watch through the glass in absolute dismay as she finishes undressing, throwing her clothes towards the edge of the room. You know she’s pleased with this idea of hers as she glides her panties down her legs gradually, and holds them up for you to see before tossing them to join the rest of her clothes. You step to the back of the shower and convince yourself that your self-control won’t bend, but as she opens the door and steps in front of you, you know you’re fucked. She keeps her back to you as she wets her hair and makes a scene of bending over to grab a bottle of shampoo. You feel as if you’re going to pass out looking at her; you clench your thighs together in a futile bid to quell the aching between them.

Casey turns to face you—her eyes closed and her head angled back towards the shower head—and your ragged willpower shreds fully. You wait for her to straighten her body before pushing her into the tiled shower wall, looking at her wildly. Her hooded eyes fall to look into your crazed ones; she knows she has you at her behest. Casey grins arrogantly before roughly grabbing your face, and slamming her lips into yours. Her tongue traces every inch of your mouth by memory, and you groan as she bites your lower lip without mercy. The redhead releases her grip on your jaw crassly, opting to grope at your chest and hips instead. She eventually tires of her previous actions and slides her hands up to your chest, grabbing at you with fervor.

“It’s always been you who’s ran. You think you can live without this?” She growls in the space between your neck and shoulder; you can’t even form the words to respond.

She has you pinned against the shower wall, panting and writhing under her lips. The older woman’s knee is planted right beneath your cunt as a silent challenge—pathetically get yourself off on her thigh, or endure her torturous endeavors. Casey pulls away from your skin entirely, watching you with a condescending grin as you struggle to keep your core from making contact with the flexed muscle of her thigh. The redhead delicately slides her fingertips across the inflamed skin of your hips, and watches you shutter with great enjoyment. Clearly unsatisfied with your unwillingness, she shoves her leg up into you, pulling a near scream from your throat; however, you stay unmoving, determined to win this vain exchange of will.

“I always run first because I know how easy it’d be for you to leave.” You manage to breathe out between whines, and Casey’s face contorts with surprise at your candor.

“I’ve never thought about leaving.” She says, lowly; you just look at her with desperation.

“What about now?” You pant, trying vehemently to keep from rocking your hips atop the older woman; she straightens her leg and you cry out.

Casey pulls you from the wall by your wrist, planting you in front of her under the battering water. She envelops her lips with yours with the same intensity as before, only this time it’s not fueled by anger. The older woman drags her calloused hands over your body with such care that you can almost ignore the painful throbbing between your legs. As if she could hear your thoughts, Casey drops her hand to graze over you lightly, toying with you still; you sway into her chest and groan. She slips inside you effortlessly, sliding in and out of you slowly as you grip at her waist; she moves her thumb lazily against your clit. You’re nearly silent now—slack jawed and unable to vocalize much more than quiet grunts. Casey entangles her free hand in your hair and pulls your head from her chest, looking at you intently.

“Did you mean what you said, about it being over?” She rasps, stilling her movements to give you a fighting chance at forming a response.

“No, Casey. Fuck.” You choke out, trying to force air into your burning lungs; she resumes her ministrations.

You both know it won’t take much more to send you tumbling over the edge of the precipice. Casey increases the speed of her pumping, and the burning in your lower stomach ignites fully. Your vision blurs and the older woman angles her body to keep your own from collapsing onto the ground. You’re clawing at her back without thought and you know you’re probably hurting her, but you don’t know what else to do. Casey’s repeating a mantra of ‘I know,’ and peppering kisses across your wet body as you cum. The scalding water and the vigor of the older woman’s effect on you strains your body to its threshold of failure. Your mind is nothing but static as Casey shuts off the water and practically drags you out of the shower, sitting you on top of the sink. She drapes your trembling body in a white towel and she’s smirking; you think it a fitting expression to wear after fucking every cogent thought out of someone’s head.

The redhead folds a towel over her own body; you watch as drops of water fall from her shorn hair to her chest, disappearing beneath the white cotton. She turns her attention back to your still heaving body, and helps you to stand on unstable legs. Casey lifts the towel from you and begins to absorb the water dripping from your heated skin; she frowns with determination—the same way she does when chasing a detail through the pages of a case file. She straightens her body out after drying you, and you pull her head down softly to meet her lips. You kiss her idly, and revel in the mindlessness of the action; she cups your jaw with her hands during the duration. She pulls away after landing a final nip to your bottom lip; she lays her hand under your head, forcing you to look at her.

“Stop running from me.” She whispers, running her thumb back and forth across the sensitive skin beneath your jawline.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say, covering her hand with your own to convey the seriousness of your words.

[prettynpete]

firsts - patrick stump

summary: after several nights of cuddles and make out sessions. you are ready to take things to the next level and lose your virginity to your boyfriend.

word count: 1475

warnings/tags: smut, fem!reader, futct!patrick x virgin!reader, established relationship, loss of virginity, praise, fingering, oral (m!receiving), l-bomb

authors note: this is the first fic i’ve written in a hot minute and my first ever fob fic so bear with me :) the idea for this actually stemmed from a genderswapped peterick fic i read on livejournal the other night. i liked how patrick was so protective and careful and i wanted to do my own little x reader spin on the concept of losing your v-card to patrick. please feel free to leave your opinion in the replies. thank you reader!! :)

link to inspiration:

(girl!pete x patrick from 2007)

taggging: @domripley @heelbucks

cuddling up was yours and patrick’s usual end to the day, except tonight felt a smidge different. you and patrick snuggled up in the living room of your apartment as usual and you turned on a cheesy horror movie. you leaned into him, as close as you could and as he watched the screen you couldn’t help but shimmy closer into him and place your lips to his neck. patrick let out a shaky breath and shifted slightly.

“sweetheart. you don’t want to watch the movie? do you?” he cooed, moving his hand that was around your shoulder to caress your scalp.

“nooooo. just wanna play.” you avowed meekly.

“baby. you know all you have to do is say the words. i’m all yours.”

and just like that, patrick had moved you from your cuddled position and you were now facing eachother on the couch. he brushed your hair behind your ear and pressed a soft peck to your lips, hands holding onto your waist. as he pulled away from the kiss you wrapped your arms around him and straddled him. his breath caught in his throat and he attached his mouth to your neck, sucking and peppering kisses as you grinded on his pajama pants clad lap.

you flipped between making out and marking eachothers necks for what felt like just a few moments. times like this always seemed to fly by. you and patrick never let things get much more heated than making out and and sloppy handjobs, but tonight was different. tonight, that wasn’t enough. tonight you wanted to play and this sexual yet tame show of affection wasn’t cutting it. you broke away from his lips and played with the hem of shirt, looking into his eyes, begging for permission. he nodded, his facial expression showing a mix of excitement and fear. you pulled his shirt over his head and leaned down to suckle on his chest. leaving soft purple bruises in your wake as you moved down his chest to his soft stomach. you nibbled less hardly and murmured praising words as you moved to the waistband of his pants.

“how’d i get so lucky to be with such a beautiful man?” you looked up at his face. his eyes were doe like as he stared down at you. willing you to keep going.

“is it okay if i…?”

“yes sweet girl.” he breathed out softly. “yes please.”

and that was all you needed to keep going. you wriggled the waistband off his hips to the middle of his thighs. your jaw dropped and you simply stared at the wonderful sight in front of you. you smiled up at him and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard dick. he let out a quiet whimper as you gently stroked him. he bucked his hips into your hand and you leaned down to lick the tip.you soon wrapped your lips around him and slowly sucked. his hands tangled in your hair, urging you to pick up the pace.

“please darling. you can go faster.” he whimpered and you listened, hollowing your cheeks and moving to slightly faster pace. he didn’t want his first blowjob by you to be too much so he in between focusing on his own pleasure, he also scanned your face and actions for any signs of discomfort. once he made sure you were good, hos hips continued to buck and his hands gripped at your hair, manuevering your head to bob at his desired speed.

“fuck sweetheart, i think i’m close.” patrick moaned. you paused, sliding your lips from his dick with a pop sound. a sound between a whine and a yelp came from his throat as you worked your way up to straddle his waist. his eyes were big and glassy as he looked at you.

“is everything okay love? why’d you stop?”

“patrick. i want you.”

“you got me baby. tell me what you want.”

“i’m ready. i want you to fuck me.”

he instantly sobered up from his pre-orgasm drunken state and looked into your eyes with love and concern.

“are you sure? baby, sex is a huge deal and i don’t want to push anything. are you positive that you’re ready? because we don’t have to if you don’t want…” you cut him off with a kiss.

“i’m ready. no ifs. no buts. i’m one hundred percent sure i’m ready to be fully yours.”

“you’re already fully mine. don’t do this just because you think it’s what i want.”

“i want this.”

and with that he carefully flipped you over on the small cushions. there was just enough room for him to position his legs on either side of you. he couldn’t help but giggle softly at his view, you underneath him, fully available for his taking. he played with the lace at the bottom of your tank top before pulling it up over your head and quickie sliding down to slip off your shorts.

“now baby. i have to warm you up a bit first.” patrick said peeling your underwear down and opting to kneel by the couch due to the lack of room.

“tell me if anything feels off or hurts.” he said in a slightly commanding tone before sliding a finger inside and using his free hand to stroke your shoulder.

now he had fingered you on occasions before but it was always very gentle and soft, focusing more on clit stimulation rather than actually fucking you with his fingers. he watched your face as you gasped in pleasure and inserted another soft digit inside you, scissoring them. the stretch burned sweetly and you hissed, prompting him to pause. you whined and glanced into his eyes begging him to continue. he listened and moved his fingers at a gentle pace. “fuck baby. your so wet for me. such a good girl for me.” he gleamed, voice full of praise.

“think you’re ready for more?”

“yes. patrick please.”

he inserted a third finger and moved them all in a come hither motion for what felt like an eternity, before leaning down to press his kiss-plumped lips to yours. he moved again to his spot on top of you, placing his hips in between your legs and removing his fingers, just to reposition his thumb to your clit. you whined and wrapped your arms around him.

“i’m gonna go slow, okay sweetheart.” he murmured, gripping himself and giving a few tugs before pressing just tip inside and resting for a moment allowing you to adjust to the sweet burning sensation. your eyes screwed shut as you focused on the pain and pleasure of the stretch. his eyes focused on your face and he brought his free hand up to caress your face, whispering soft words of praise as he pushed in slightly.

the pain dissipated into a nice full feeling and you tightened your arms around his back. he enveloped you in a passionate kiss and buried himself in you. the kisses soon moved about your face and down your neck.

“sweet girl… i love you so much… i… love… all of you… you feel incredible.” he whimpered out inbetween pecks. he thrusted in and out of you now, moving slowly as not to get to rough just yet. you opened your eyes and nearly cried out at the sight. his head was buried in your neck, his hair was disheveled, the porcelain skin of his back shimmered with sweat. you tangled your hands in his hair and pulled him to be face-to-face. his face was even more stunning with flushed cheeks and glazed over eyes.

“patrick, i think i’m close.” you breathed and his movements quickened. his eyes bore into yours and you stared back before squeezing your eyes shut and coming done around him, wrapping your legs tightly around his hips in the process. ecstasy ran through your veins as you cried out and your eyes fluttered open to watch his face contort beautifully. a warm feeling filled your belly, followed by the emptiness of him pulling out.

you both layed there for a few minutes, wrapped up in eachother and recuperating from the high of climaxxing. when you moved in an effort to sit up he whined in protest but reluctantly moved off of you to allow you to return to your previous cuddling on the couch. the movie was in it’s credit by this point, so you grabbed the remote and turned the tv off. you both soaked in the feelings of naked snuggles on the couch. a thought soon grabbed your attention and you kissed patrick on the cheek.

“pat.” you said, leaning your head down onto his shoulder.

“yeah baby.”

“i love you too.”

he smiled brightly and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

it was a night of a two very important firsts.

[aghostiewitdahoodie]

A painstaking read I have committed and exhaustive assumptions I will make. The comics laid bare his disquieting past, and oh, how he had suffered…

Simon is the first to agape his slits; slumber is torment itself, ridiculing the disturbed state of his, manifesting the terrors he bore. Hesitance and refusal, he despises the dusk; a forewarning of what is to come. The hours of darkness bring him an unsettling sensation he cannot seem to elude. A man of a few words he is, yet he cannot withstand the silence of the night. To cease remembering the anguish his past self had gone through, the glass of Bourbon in his hand unburdens the hollowness he cannot fill. Quite a companion he has; a vessel created out of pain is all he is and all he will ever be.

Venom seeps out of his organ of speaking when he is in control, a sensation he wallows in and takes pride in. A nuisance to his fellow men the words he speak, an unsought advice he provides- perhaps it is a reminder for himself. “Be careful who you trust, sergeant. People you know can hurt you the most.” Wise to heed until it makes your ears bleed.

Formidable is how he is avowed- a ghost that ambles among us- unseen, unspoken, and unheard. A myth bickered amidst warfare, a shiver on your spine, the very last thing you will descry, then you are to be buried six feet deep. Simon fulfils the name and persona he brought to life; Ghost is what he is called. Ghost is what he is affiliated with. Yet when the doors are shut and the walls are erecting still, he does not recognise himself. The stain he bestrewn on his image is to be laved with a cloth, and the reflection of his is to be shunned.

If the distraction he creates is to fail, hysteria consumes him. Bottle after bottle, and pummel after pummel. Orbs to fret his state, yet none could approach and offer a hand, sensing no words could comfort or relieve him of his ache. Shrink after shrink, Simon prefers to assuage everything with an intoxicant he heavily depends on.

Reluctant of the coquettes that attempt to court him in pubs, spurning them without a word. His dusky irises focused on the distance, impatiently waiting to be left alone. Simon has no interest in a swift shag or a relationship. Sensible of what he cannot give, frantic of what it may bring. He is hesitant to pleasure himself, not wanting the sight of him bare, remembering the incident he desperately yearns to forget. Simon loathes being touched without his permission, catching the heedless arm with ease and an unforgiving grip. “Watch it, luv.” The consent of his is important; do not tempt him.

Despises having his picture taken; he would avoid gatherings and remain in the comfort of his quarters. Simon may not admit the truth he intensely veils, which is that he found contentment in the presence of the Task Force. Daunted by what may repeat, he determines to linger among the shadows.

Finding serenity in Johnny’s companionship, it is a salvage he ought to correct after the passing of his brother. Simon cannot lose another person dear to him, and God forbid what happiness he had. A ghost they call, the Ghost they will meet.

[daintyys]

mroe sirius black pleasee 🤞🤞 bf sirius who likes pda and doing subtly domestic things with reader like her always sitting shotgun in his car, kisses all the time etc

fem!reader x sirius black, 662 words

You knew Sirius would be early to pick you up, but still you waited until the last minute to start getting ready. And just your luck, you heard a honk from outside just as you had finished putting rollers into your damp hair.

"Oh, Siri..." You groaned to yourself, zipping up your boots and grabbing your purse.

As you walked outside, rollers and all, you were greeted with a flashy smile from your boyfriend. "Nice hair, gorgeous." He flattered, opening the passenger-side door for you. You laughed, sitting down in his car, careful not to mess up your hair. "Baby," You sighed. "You really need to start getting here on time. You're supposed to pick me up in 30 minutes!"

Buckling his seatbelt, Sirius looked over at you smirking. "It's fun catching you off guard, Y/N." He said as he placed his hand on your thigh.

Blush creeped up your cheeks, and you quickly connected your lips with his. His chin rubbed against yours, stubble tickling you and forming a smile on your lips. "What's so funny?" Sirius said, making his way down to your neck.

"Shave, please. I'm begging!" You giggled, running your fingers through his hair as he pecked at your collarbone. "I would, but that would get rid of how funny it is to see you all squirmy when I kiss you." Sirius avowed.

Disconnecting his mouth from your skin, he placed his hands on the steering wheel. Sirius drove a shiny red Cadillac Convertible, and it was the light of his life - other than you (of course), and his motorbike. He put the roof down, and started to drive.

You loved driving with Sirius, you loved the feeling of wind rushing past you, and seeing how handsome he looked with his hair flying behind him. He looked especially good with his sunglasses on, and he was wearing them right now.

You put your hands above your head, air rushing through your fingers. It was exhilarating.

You eventually reached your destination; a nice coffee shop next to a park.

You took out your rollers while Sirius admired your every move. "How are you so beautiful, Y/N?" He crooned, taking a strand of your hair in between his fingers and curling it gently.

"How do you manage to be the most romantic person at all times?" You wondered in return.

Sirius took your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles lightly. "It's what I'm best at, belle."

Once you were done fixing your hair, you two headed inside. Sirius had his arm interlocked with yours, and your fingers laced together like you were the last two people on Earth.

You sat down at a table on the far end of the coffee shop, where nobody could bother you two. Sipping your tea, you held Sirius' hand. He rested his chin on the edge of the table, looking up at you longingly.

"You look like a lost puppy, handsome." You teased, giving him a bite of your croissant. "I'm lost and you're saving me!" He declared, leaning across the table to place a kiss on your lips. You beamed. You were so lucky.

"I'm so lucky to have you." You both said at the exact same time. Bursting into laughter, you and Sirius kissed again. "I love you." You whispered, grinning from ear to ear. Sirius went quiet, seeming to be thinking about something. "What's wrong?" You questioned.

"Well," Sirius' face was lighting up right before your eyes. "How would you feel about moving in with me?"

Your eyes widened, and it felt like your heart had stopped. Had you heard him right? "Can you ask that again?" You whispered, at a loss for words.

"Will you. Move in. With me?" Sirius said, speaking to you as if you were an uncomprehending toddler.

Your heartbeat was racing at the speed of lightning as you proclaimed: "I would love that, oh my god I would love that so much."

[aphrodisiac-siren]

Maladroit Penchant-

Lo'ak Sully x Reader

Summary: Lo'ak can be difficult, stubborn; A rebel most of the time and it's something he's aware of. He's based his entire personality around his ability to find trouble and it's one he manages to maintain be it deliberately or by accident; And yet, his tenacious persona comes crumbling down when he's in the presence of his childhood friend who he definitely does not have a crush on.

-Friends to lovers-

Masterlist Part 1

Part 2

[time skip]

It was odd to him, how he found solace at the very spot at which he'd lost a part of him, his other half, his brother; the same place where he had physically felt his heart shatter, at the sight of his brother lying limp as death welcomed him into his embrace while Lo'ak struggled to breath with glossy eyes brimmed with hot tears; hands stained with Neteyam's blood as a cold and cruel reminder that if not for him, his brother wouldn't be torn away from him, his family, their new life that Neteyam was finally easing into.

The waves that crashed against the wet stone snapped him out of his daze in uniform intervals, never allowing him to lose himself to his thoughts, to be lost to the world for even a second. No, it was as if the ocean was living up to its adjective of being 'cold' as it made sure to pull him back to his senses so that the ghost of guilt could haunt him; so that he would never escape that memory for even a moment.

His ears twitched at the sound of waves; a different pattern than what was being followed by the waters for the past hour or so. He didn't need to turn around to inspect, the sound of an ilu was enough for him to figure out who it was who had decided to join him.

A soft 'hey' with a cautious undertone came from his right and the corner of his lip instantly went up ever so slightly to form a gentle smile as he exhaled slowly.

"Hey," he said in response, not saying anything more while he waited for Y/N to sit beside him.

She didn't say anything for a while either, finding the comfortable silence almost too peaceful to be disturbed. She closed her eyes, basking in the feeling of the cool oceanic breeze blowing against her face and gently tussling her hair before she leaned to her left and rested her head against Lo'ak's shoulder.

Six years had passed since they had left the forest. Lo'ak and Y/N had grown closer with the boy's crush getting only more and more intense. You'd think by now he'd have grown a pair and just told her how he felt but old habits die hard. He'd mount a banshee and hunt outside the reef with little to almost no effort but put him in a position that required him to avow even remotely of what he held for her in his heart and all of a sudden he's a little boy again, unable to spit words out and crumble into a blushing mess.

He wasn't a child any longer, so he did suspect that she might have a vague idea of his infatuation with her but he couldn't be sure because if she did know, she was very good at playing oblivious.

"What happened?" he broke the blissful tranquillity, averting his gaze from the waves and toward her arm. He cautiously grazed his finger against her skin, right under a cut that stood out in red against the blue.

Y/N was surprised he even noticed given how he hadn't really looked away from the scenic view of the sky meeting the waters. She looked down at her hand, as if she had only just realised that she was hurt.

"Was fooling around with Rotxo earlier" she told him with a smile, recalling their play fight with their daggers which definitely wasn't going to end up bad for either of them "he accidentally sliced my arm"

Lo'ak winced as he pictured the scenario of the dagger cutting her, blood oozing. It wasn't a really deep cut by the looks of it but it wasn't a wound that you'd mistake for a paper cut either.

"That bitch" he rolled his eyes and Y/N nudged him playfully, a chuckle escaping her lips as her forehead came in contact with his shoulder, that had Lo'ak experiencing that all-too-familiar fluttering in his chest.

He didn't want to move.

He wanted them to stay that way: her head resting against him, his fingers still lingering on her skin in his attempt to prolong the skin-to-skin contact in subtle desperation even though her other hand was now holding his upper arm which would have sent shock waves throughout younger Lo'ak- not that that's not what happened right then anyway, but he won't tell you that.

They had grown to find comfort in each other's shared silences, perpetuating touches and stolen glances that had anyone with half a brain decipher that the two Na'vis were absolutely smitten with each other. Despite what was out in plain sight for everyone to see, the two of them brushed every taunt and comment with a simple "what? we're just friends" yet it was blatantly obvious to their close friends that one of them made a sour face whenever the other said it.

And guesses anyone, on who that might be?

"Payakan?" Y/N asked, now finding the beads in one of Lo'ak's braids interesting as she toyed with them, observing each one like it was the first time she'd seen them.

Another thing the both of them developed over the years, was the ability to ask questions and deliver answers with the use of just one word. Not that the both of them didn't get lost in hours of conversation that definitely consisted of more than one word but for times when they just wanted to enjoy each other’s presence, they resorted to this mode of communication.

"There" he jerked his head to the left to left, telling her of where his tulkun was goofing around. As if by some telepathic connection, Payakan jumped out the water, whirring and clicking noises audible despite the distance of him from the two before he dived back in, disappearing beneath the surface.

"Can I?" Y/N tucked a braid behind his ear, knowing well that Lo'ak would just bring it back to the side of his face.

The boy threw his head back as he groaned, knowing well that she wanted to go play with the tulkun splashing around in the distance.

"Please" she tugged his arm, inching closer as she awaited his answer, knowing damn well that it was a rhetorical question and no matter what'd he'd say, she would drag him with her into the ocean regardless. Her pretty looked up at him, the glow of the sun making them look liquid gold. She was inches away from him, eyes earnestly searching his for approval.

His heart picked up pace again.

If he leaned a few inches forward, he'd be able to taste her lips that he was trying his hardest not to look at. The thought of actually being so close enough to kiss her was making him borderline lightheaded. He'd been in such close proximity to her before, they were close enough to shamelessly invade each other’s personal space but he was sure that between the two, he was probably the only one who took it a step forward to imagine closing that tiny gap to kiss her soft lips.

Just the thought of it made him grin slightly which Y/N took as an agreement to going and playing with Payakan. She was up in an instant, completely failing to see the small pout of disappointment on Lo'ak's face at the sudden termination of the close propinquity as she helped him to his feet, breaking into a run and pulling on a chuckling Lo'ak behind her.

___

He was well aware that he was gawking at her with the goofiest smile plastered on his face and he was glad that she was too busy fooling around with Payakan, doing backflips underwater, to even notice the lovesick blue idiot staring at her.

He'd gotten so obvious to a point where even Tuk had figured out he had a thing for her. His mother teased him on some rare occasions and his dad never failed to make a joke or two about how bad he was at flirting, if he even tried to flirt in the first place. He didn’t really see what could possibly go wrong with a simple 'hey, I dig you’ from Lo'ak.

"I'm gunna do it, I swear I'm gunna" he hyped himself up.

"Oh yea? When we talking about here?" Jake asked with an amused grin.

"Soon, like someday real soon" Lo'ak answered, still bouncing on the heels of his feet in their abode "just not today"

But anytime he tried to, he always seemed to choke on his words and turn into a fumbling mess.

Lo'ak knew it was high time he just manned up and told her how he felt. Heck with the amount of time she voluntarily spent with him, she'd have to like him at least a little bit, right? She even left the forest, granted it was her parents who requested for her to be taken along with them. She was present with the others when Quaritch and his team got ahold of them in the forest and when Jake told the clan the reason behind his decision to leave, her parents begged for her to be taken with them as well. There was no doubt that Quaritch would hit back again and again until he was convinced Jake Sully was truly absent from hte Omatikaya clan and Y/N’s mother and father wanted her to be away from the chaos of gunfire when it happened.

It wasn’t easy for either of them to acclimate to the ways of the Metkayina. Lo’ak had always felt out of place, but here it felt as if he was always reminded that he didn’t belong. It stung a bit despite him never really showing it on the surface but what bothered him even more was how much it affected Y/N. She was always so adamant about being perfect at whatever it was she did, be it something as simple as weaving or as adroit as hunting and when she wasn’t as good as she hoped to be, she'd beat herself up over it. Y/N was like a diminutive Neteyam, always pushing herself to be better and better to the point where the older Sully boy once made a joke about it.

“Ah careful now, I’m starting to think you’re aiming to be the next t’sahik”

It was almost heart-clenching to see her get so upset at her going from being among the best in their clan to being lost and clumsy amidst the reef people

But now, almost six years later, she’d made up for all those times she fumbled by earning herself a place among the most skilled hunters in the clan and Lo’ak couldn’t be prouder.

Which is why it made it even more nerve wrecking to confess. A girl like her could have anyone she wanted. There were a number of boys swooning at the mere sight of her and he didn’t even want to think about the times when some of them went the extra mile to give her small presents like bracelets or pretty shells.

She would smile politely and thank them for it, but also never really gave either of them more attention than necessary, lest it gave any of them an impression that she was interested.

Which is what made Lo’ak feel like he had even less of a chance. If his pretty girl was rejecting all the warriors and hunters left, right and centre, why the fuck would she ever consider courting him.

His extensive train of thought came to a transitory halt due to the lack of oxygen in his lungs. He swam up toward the surface, one hand stretched above him as his legs kicked below to allow his body to move upwards. Once his head was above the water and he steadied his breathing which only came out in gasps and pants for the first few minutes, he ducked his head back, just to look at Y/N, who was now also making her way up to him with her tulkun friend.

“H-hey, you good?” She asked, rubbing her eyes to get the water out “you seemed to be in some sort of daze”

“Oh really?” Lo’ak grinned, his head tilting to one side as he played oblivious.

“Mhm” Y/N continued, sitting on one of Pakayan’s fins “you were staring into nothing”

I was staring at you actually

“I thought I saw an ilu” he lied, also coming to sit next to her.

Payakan clicked, as if it to say ‘you liar’. Lo’ak only side eyed him before he turned toward Y/N. She looked absolutely mesmerising in the glow of the setting sun and bioluminescence of her skin. He gingerly reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, simply an excuse to well, touch her. That made her turn to look at him, her captivating golden eyes looking directly into his.

Lo’ak gulped, his words once again getting all jumbled up.

"Soon, like someday real soon" Lo'ak answered, still bouncing on the heels of his feet in their abode "just not today"

“Son you can’t keep running away from it” Jake sighed “it’s just a simple confession. If you wait around someone else is gonna go do it instead”

“I- I just get so nervous” the boy answered, tugging at his hair “I feel like I’ve got it and then I just shut down. Like I’m about to start, thinking I’ve got it down-”

“Then don’t think” Jake cuts him off, looking almost offended that his own son was absolute shit at picking up women. “Just say it without thinking, you’re pretty good at that huh? Doing stuff without thinking”

“Yea thanks dad” Lo’ak rolled his eyes, the last thing he wanted was for his dad of all people, to roast him “what happens if it doesn’t work. What if she rejects me”

“Then you’re revoked of all rights to calling yourself my son”

Well, here goes nothing. Don’t think.. don’t- shut up

“Hey so I was um” Lo’ak tore his gaze from her’s to allow himself to form at least some coherent sentences “I mean I am.. I do..”

He felt his heart hammering in his chest and with every word that spilled out of his stupid mouth, it only got faster. Maybe his dad’s advice on speaking without thinking wasn’t really working because all he was doing was rambling and Y/N being the angel she was, patiently listened.

“I mean what I’m tryna say is” he cleared his throat, buying himself a few seconds of silence from his god-awful babbling “I have for a while, or slightly more than a while have had- well not exactly, it’s been a few or a lot of years that well..”

“Hey, breathe” Y/N put her hand around his bicep, nudging him as a giggle escaped her lips. Lo’ak knew she’d be smiling at him with that sweet gentle smile but he refused to look at her. He was already doing such a terrible job without the eye contact, imagine the atrocious mess he’d be while looking at her.

“Okay” he nodded, puffing his chest out as if he’d finally mustered himself the courage to say it “what if I told you like- okay so one of the Sullys, like the boys-uh yea duh, had a thing for you since before- like, when we were back home”

“So,” Y/N paused, simply to process what she heard; almost like she was putting together the pieces of a rather complicated puzzle “either you or Neteyam fancied me”

“What makes you suspect me” Lo’ak quickly asked, voice coming out more shrill than he’d intended.

“Because you’re the only other Sully boy?” She stated as a matter-of-factly.

“Right” he nodded, gulping hard “but it’s not me, nah”

“So Neteyam liked me?”

“Fuck no” Lo’ak immediately waved her off, wincing in disapproval. The idea of it making him internally heave.

“Unless you have some other brother I weirdly don’t know about, I’m confused regarding who you’re referring to” Y/N looked at the boy who had yet to meet her gaze.

Lo’ak sighed. She knew at this point, there was absolutely no way she was this naive. No, she was just doing it to antagonise and get him to say it in black and white.

“Lo’ak” she softly called out, voice like honey. Her tone was gentle with an undertone of authority, which made the boy finally give in and turn to look at her with his ears drooping down in defeat “What are you trying to say hm?”

“Nga yawne lu oer” Lo’ak managed, barely a whisper but he was sure she heard it, she had to have considering how she was pressed against him.

“I love you”

Six years later, he'd finally said it. Six years of endless teasing, endless taunts, numerous instances of jealousy, plenty of sweet moments and a whole lot of daydreams of them kissing later, he'd finally said it plain and simple.

Lo'ak saw her eyes go wide and her mouth open to say something so he cut her off before she could even respond.

“Pretend you didn’t hear that” he pleaded, eyes going wide as if he himself couldn’t believe what he'd just said.

“Okay” she raised a brow, a shy grin creeping.

“Like shh.. don’t reply to that at all” his voice cracked, fingers brushing against hers.

“If that’s what you want” she shrugged, leaning a touch closer

“Yes, that is what I want” he dared to look at her lips and back up, fully aware that she’d leaned closer.

I should kiss her

“Okay” she said again, now only looking at his lips as Lo’ak leaned closer too, head slightly tilting to the side.

“Don’t say a word” he softly whispered.

I really should kiss her

“Wasn’t going to-” she whispered back, eyes still fixated on his lips.

“Shh..” Lo’ak cupped her cheek before his hand slid to the back of her neck to pull her close and eliminate the gap between them, his lips capturing her's in a slow kiss.

Lo’ak hadn’t kissed anyone before her, so he was trying to take his time instead of doing something that would only make their first kiss awkward. He was nervous as fuck when their lips first connected, it was like a bomb went off in his brain and barely a few seconds in, he was praying to Ewya that he was doing it right. When Y/N kissed him back, she softly hummed into the kiss as her one hand came to rest on his chest so judging by that, he wasn’t doing too bad.

He was so glad for all those lessons of breath-holding. He couldn’t care less about using that skill for diving or to hunt underwater; he was just stoked that because of that, he didn’t have the break the kiss anytime soon to catch his breath.

As the two of them got more comfortable, their timid, innocent kiss only started to get more and more heated with them getting super handsy- fingers tracing skin and hands running all over each other’s bodies just to be able to pull the other person closer.

Lo’ak’s first kiss was going great in his opinion until all of a sudden he was dropped underwater. The sudden sensation of being engulfed by the cold waves had them both break their kiss to rise up and above the surface.

“Bro!” Lo’ak immediately turned to Payakan, who had lowered his fin into the water to drop them, with a scowl. Clearly, he was not too happy with things getting heated between the both of them right in front of his eyes, literally.

The tulkun whirred in response and Y/N laughed, catching on to the fact that Lo’ak’s spirit brother did not appreciate the extensive display of affection they’d gotten carried away with only moments ago.

“Hey” she wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a gentle peck on the lips that made the boy break into one of his boyish smiles “am I allowed to say something now?”

“Mhm” he leaned in to peck her again, still grinning at her.

“Nga yawne lu oer”

[ramp-it-up]

Knock You Down: III

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Bucky feeds you after the failure of date number 2.

This is a follow up to Part II

Word count: 2.3 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Okay I Lied! I added more words as I edited this and it ended up over 5K. So... there will be four parts to this fic which has posessed my soul. It will be posted Tuesday 10/15. Thank all of you for rocking with me on this one. This was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Slow burn, cursing, mutual pining, idiots in love, playful banter. Bucky and reader talk about sex, without talking about it. Or doing it. This is fluffy, yet angsty and I feel like you might not like it. Let me know if you do.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

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Bucky Barnes was sitting at your table eating Thai food with you and you weren’t mad. He had ordered twice the amount you requested and damn you, you thought it was cute.

He was cute, casual in t-shirt, sweats and a ball cap. He looked as alluring as he did in a suit.

You were doomed.

Bucky didn't try to get into a deep discussion or get close to you. He just kept you company as you ate and poured you some of the best rosé that you’d ever tasted. 

Food was your love language, and having good food did a lot for your mood. It also didn’t hurt that the delicious snack known as James Bucky Barnes was sitting across from you.

You respected his game.

But somehow you didn’t think it was a game. He’d been honest and straightforward with you. As much as a man in his position could be. Then you realized that he’d probably told you too much.

“What is it, Frumoasă? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you here to give me a last meal and then kill me?”

Bucky laughed loudly. He loved that you had the ability to make him do that. He loved…

“That mind of yours, Y/N.” 

He shook his head at you.

“I’m not going to kill you. I want you safe. Even if you are not going to be mine.”

Your ears perked up at that phrase.

You already knew that Nico was parked outside of your place. You realized that he had been hanging around since Monday night. 

But what you were tripping over is that Bucky said that he wanted you to be his. 

You normally weren’t into possessiveness, but on James Barnes it was sexy as fuck.

After eating, it was only polite that you gave him a tour of your brownstone. He didn’t touch you, but the proximity of his body to yours at the door of your bedroom was heady stuff. You wanted him to… 

But you just took a deep breath and led him back down to your front door.

“Before you kick me out, I have something to say.”

Bucky had never felt the need to explain anything to anyone in a very long time. But you weren’t just anyone.

“I apologize for giving you a security detail without your knowledge. And then piling my friends on as well. They wanted to check you out, and I wanted to be sure that you were safe. Those gossip blog posts have heightened the risk for you.”

Your eyes widened.

“What posts?”

“We’ve been papped every time we’ve gone out. You didn’t know? I thought that’s why you asked what you did tonight.”

You groaned. 

“No, my friends must have seen them. What do they say?”

Bucky hesitated. Just a moment, and then responded to the look on your face. He ascertained that he was going to have to be straight with you consistently if he wanted to be in your company.

“Well… Since we’ve been spotted together more than once, one particular site is claiming that we’re already in a relationship. They say you are my girlfriend.”

The softness of his voice when he said ‘girlfriend’ got to you.

Whoo boy.

You groaned, then laughed.

“That’s ridiculous, you’ve never even kissed me.”

Bucky laughed too.

“Ha ha. Yeah. It’s crazyyyyyy.” 

“Isn’t it though…?

You tried to look deep into his eyes, and he let you. You saw something that didn’t really surprise you. So you decided to just ask the question that was on your mind.

“James, what do you want out of this? This…”

You didn’t say what you were thinking, but he knew exactly what you were thinking when you didn’t finish your sentence.

Bucky looked off as if he were seeing something that wasn’t there yet, then back at you.

“I want… you. I don’t want a one night stand. Or a situationship.”

He watched you carefully as he said the next words.

“I want, I need so much more from you.”

He took both of your hands into his as he leaned against the door frame.

“Listen. When you left earlier this evening, it knocked me on my face. You’ve got me thinking about a lot. Things like what our life might be like in the future.”

You were spiraling as he spoke. ‘Our life,’ ‘future.’ But you tried to remain calm.

“This was never supposed to happen to me. Y/N. But ever since you came into my office on Monday, my heart has been racing. I’ve got feelings for you. Strong ones.”

“Wow.”

It was all you could say. But when you thought about it, you felt the same exact way. You smiled at him and his nerves calmed. 

Just a bit.

“I have to admit that every morning when you text me, I get the biggest smile on my face. That wasn’t something I wanted or planned.”

You looked down at your fingers entwined with his. Yes. This could be a thing.

“It’s not exactly convenient to have these kinds of feelings this fast, James. Especially with all has happened.”

You looked up at him, and the hurt on your face destroyed him.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. And I understand if you want to pump the breaks. I-”

“If you want me, then why haven’t you made a move?”

You interrupted him to ask about the next most important topic on your list.

Bucky recognized your insecurity.

“Don’t ever doubt the sexiness of your appeal, Frumoasă. I want to kiss you, and more to be honest. But I haven’t because I am so afraid of you.”

The way he looked at you caused a tingle of fear to unfurl in your belly.

Or was it desire? 

“You are afraid of me. I see. You’re a terrible kisser. That’s why you don’t go on second dates. I get it now.”

Bucky threw back his head and laughed.

“Maybe so.”

He gazed at your smile and the way your entire face was alight. Then he brought one of your hands to his lips.

His mouth on your palm enabled you to feel the salt and pepper whiskers on his face. And when he slid those lips to your wrist you moaned a little and squirmed and his eyelids fluttered closed as he inhaled the scent there.

“The skin here is so soft and fragrant, makes me wonder about…”

He stopped speaking but the silence spoke volumes. This man was having wild thoughts about you. Of that you were sure now. You wanted him everywhere.

Bucky brought your hand down from his face and rubbed your wrist with his thumb. The sensuality of the act made you feel unstable. You must have wobbled because his hand went down to your waist to steady you. But you just felt more dizzy.

He chuckled at your tell and saved you again.

“Can we sit?”

“Yeah.”

The couch was a bit dangerous, but the blood was leaving your head.

“Truth?”

“Always, James.”

“Okay. The truth is I don’t think you could handle it.”

You scoffed at the challenge.

“Come again?”

He smirked at you and you rolled your eyes and then he sobered up.

“If I kiss those lips, Y/N, I’m not going to abandon them in haste. I’m going to take my time. And I’m not being cocky, but I’m pretty sure things will progress rapidly. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself from giving you anything you ask for. Anything.”

The sensual promise was making you wet. You clenched your thighs together, causing Bucky to look down at them and lick his lips. When he looked back up, his eyes were dilated.

You knew that you could have him right now if you wanted. You took a deep breath to clear your head and Bucky’s eyes were on your lips.

This feeling was a drug.

“I’m already falling for you, but I know that I will crash into you. I can get intense about the things and the people that I care about. And you’re not ready for that, Frumoasă. Not at all.”

You pulled your hands away from his even though you wanted to jump his bones. 

“How do you know what I’m ready for, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky smiled at you.

“You just said that your feelings for me aren’t convenient.”

You sucked your teeth at him and crossed your arms, turning your body away from him. Bucky was charmed by your pout, but a little mad at you closing yourself off from him. If you were his, he’d teach you a lesson about that. He’d open you up. 

But damn, he didn’t need to be so hard right now. You had an important day ahead, and he wasn’t going to rush this experience. He tried to calm down, but his voice betrayed him.

“You also haven’t asked me for a kiss. Although you did tell me that you wanted to fuck my voice...”

You dropped your head, embarrassed.

“Let’s not!”

He laughed, on cloud nine at your shyness with him. He’d teach you to be wanton, and have a grand time doing it.

“Frumoasă mea, you could request a kiss at any time. And I will always give you anything you ask of me. If you ask nicely of course.”

You cocked your head and Bucky bit his lip at how adorable you were.

“You want me to beg you for a kiss?”

Bucky took in the fire in your eyes and his own darkened.

“A kiss is not what I want you begging for.”

You coughed to cover a whimper as your mind went where Bucky wanted it to go. You couldn’t believe that your panties were soaked by someone you’d never even kissed.

“I just want you to know what you’re signing up for if we get physical.”

“From a kiss? It’s like that?”

You tried to be incredulous, but you believed every word that he said. You just wanted to verify.

“So let me get this straight. I kiss you, you rock my world, but I’m not ready for it?”

You’d never been so annoyed yet so turned on.

Bucky shrugged.

“Or you could be right. I’m a horrible kisser. A lousy lay. I’m just trying to stretch out the good times with you before you find that out and dump me.”

You shook your head at him, not wanting to laugh, but doing so anyway.

“...But, in order to find that out, I would have to kiss and lay with you.”

“Of course.”

“You know what…”

Bucky teasing you was the best kind of foreplay. You felt comfortable with him. And now you were intrigued.

“I can’t with you.”

“So we agree.”

“I hate you.”

“You don’t, but you’re cute when you’re angry.”

“Fuck you, James.”

“Is that a request?”

This banter was everything.

You got up from the couch and headed into the kitchen.

“I’m going get you something to drink. Do you drink tea? You seem a little thirsty.”

“As long as you drink with me. You seem a little parched yourself.”

Bucky called after you while watching your curves in your sweats as you flipped him off. He rubbed his hand on the ridge of his semi-hard dick. You were so damn hot. He concentrated on calming down while the kettle heated.

“Honey?”

“Yes, dear?”

You laughing was amazing.

You came back with a tray of herbal tea, milk, and honey and sat down again.

“I do want to talk to you about something else.”

He said it as he prepared his cup.

“Yes?” 

“I want to let you know, as much as I can, the plans for me to go legit. Can I have just a little bit of your time tonight? And then I will let you get some rest.”

Your heart melted and you smiled at him.

“Yeah. You got it.”

—-

You woke up at 3 am, Bucky’s steady heartbeat under your ear and his arms wrapped around you. You had fallen asleep after hours of talking about the future. You looked up at him and those lips were right there. 

You could just steal a kiss.

But you didn’t, just tried to ease out of his arms so you could go pee.

Bucky’s arms tightened around you and you couldn’t move. He was awake.

“What time is it?”

“A little after three.”

He let you go and sat up, looking around, then at you.

“I’m sorry, I talked your ear off and bored you to sleep.”

You shook your head. 

“I wasn’t bored. You made me feel safe.”

Bucky grinned.

“I’m glad that you feel safe with me. You are, you know.”

His morning voice was sensual heaven. You never wanted to kiss someone more in your life.

“And for your safety, I probably need to leave now.”

You wanted him; his body felt good against yours. But he was right. You chuckled and then led him to your door.

“Okay.”

At the door, Bucky turned and looked down at you. He was thoughtful.

“Do you have plans for Sunday?”

“No, why?”

“I wanted to ask you on date number three Saturday night.”

You two stared at each other for a beat before he continued.

“How do you feel about a late dinner at my place after the exhibition? Since you don’t have to get up early the next day.”

You took in his meaning, but you didn’t address it.

“Are you trying to feed me, James?”

His gaze got intense. You got wet again, realizing the double meaning. 

“You have no idea, Frumoasă.”

Holy shit. He caught it too. You gulped.

“Okay. Sounds… intriguing.”

Bucky looked like a little boy on Christmas morning.

“I’ll stop by the center around midday, then go shopping for our meal. Nico will bring you by. About 8?”

“It’s a date.”

You two grinned at each other like idiots. Then he opened your door to leave.

“James.”

“Yes, Frumoasă?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

“Yes.”

He pulled you into his arms and kissed you on the forehead. It was perfect, and a little bit like a promise.

Then he left, straight into the early morning fog, waving at Nico as he got into a sleek black sports car, blew a kiss at you, and then pulled away.

That felt like an escape from the inevitable.

To both him and to you.

——

As always, let me knowww! ❤️

Part IV Here

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Ούτοι γυναικός εστιν ιμείρειν μάχης.**

- Aeschylus

Surely it is not for a woman to long for battle.**

Maureen Dunlop flew far faster planes than any of her peers, including Amelia Earhart. She flew Spitfires, Lancasters, Hurricanes and Mosquitos, and proved the dream of Picture Post's photographer when, on emerging from the cockpit of a Fairey Barracuda, the sun on her hair, she made the cover shot of the popular Picture Post that sold thousands of copies in autumn 1944.

Dunlop mastered the controls of 28 different single-engine and 10 multi-engine aircraft types, which also included the Hawker Typhoon, Hawker Tempest, Avro Anson, Mustang, Bristol Blenheim and Vickers Wellington. The ATA did a gruelling day-to-day job, plying the skies under constant threat from inclement weather the length and breadth of Great Britain, at a time when the nature of flying was changing in popular consciousness from having been a pre-war novelty and the subject of record attempts and joyrides, to being a vital part of the war effort.

The women among its members also had to put up with opposition from men who had little faith in their ability – or perhaps misplaced chivalry – such as Air Chief Marshal Sir Trafford Leigh-Mallory, who would not let women pilots cross the Channel, or who were merely rude, such as the RAF men who joked of the first all-women aircraft ferrying pool at Hamble in Hampshire as "the lesbians' pool".

Dunlop, like many of her female colleagues, said she wished she could have flown in combat: "I thought it was the only fair thing. Why should only men be killed?"

The ATA service had been founded on the initiative of Gerard "Pop" d'Erlanger, a director of British Airways and banker, who bent the ear of Sir Francis Shelmerdine, Britain's director-general of Civil Aviation, against opposition from the RAF, which preferred to use its own pilots until shortages forced it to relent. ATA pilots had to make the most of training that was, some avowed after the war, inadequate. Instrument flying was not taught, but the service would have ground to a halt if pilots had not broken rules forbidding them to fly in bad weather. Women had to have a minimum of 500 hours' solo flying before joining the ATA, twice as much as the 250 hours originally laid down in September 1939 for the first members, all men. She was one of the 164 female members of the wartime Air Transport Auxiliary (ATA), of which one in ten pilots died while transporting aeroplanes between factories and military airfields

Maureen Dunlop, the second of three children of Eric Chase Dunlop, an Australian farm manager employed by a British company in Argentina, and his English wife, Jessimin May Williams, began flying at the age of 15, when she joined the Aeroclub Argentino. Two years later she had obtained her pilot's licence. Living with her parents, older sister Joan and younger brother Eric on estancias in Patagonia, she was educated by a governess and briefly attended St Hilda's College, an English school at Hurlingham in Buenos Aires. The example of her father's British military experience as a volunteer with the Royal Field Artillery in the First World War, together with an article in Flight magazine, inspired her to sail to England and offer her flying skills to the ATA.

She came through the war uninjured, but once had to make a forced landing when a faulty engine developed heavy vibration (an incident for which she was absolved of responsibility), and once was flying a Spitfire when a badly fitted cockpit cover blew off. After the war she qualified in England as an instructor and, returning to Argentina, flew for the Argentine Air Force and taught its pilots, as well as flying commercially. In 1973 she and her husband, Serban, a retired Romanian diplomat she met at a British Embassy function in Buenos Aires, returned to England, where for the rest of her life, on a farm in Norfolk, she followed her second love - breeding Arab horses. Dunlop built up an outstanding knowledge of bloodlines. She died in 2012.

[spiritualdirections]

In today's Gospel, Jesus says the kingdom of heaven belongs to those who are like children. He doesn't mean that it belongs to the childish, or to those who have to be told not to put dirt up their noses, or to those who lack potty training. What he does mean is to be humble, as Fr. Hanson argues:

St Therese reintroduced modern people to what it means to be a child of God more than in name only. Her teaching may not come across in the sweeping, apocalyptic tenor of a prophet, nor with the urgency of a private revelation. Yet for those with ears to hear, the muted tones of her “little way” of spiritual childhood resonate with the equally subdued character of daily life. Woven of aspirations, trials, successes and setbacks, our daily experiences spontaneously converge in a cry for God’s help. How often do we find ourselves needing and asking for strength—even courage—to make it through the ordinary duties and pressures of life? St Therese’s little way defuses the distress that our weaknesses might cause by encouraging an open avowal of one’s limitations. She declares: “It is so good to feel that one is weak and little!” This is because Jesus reserves His saving mission for the lost, the sick, and the forsaken. When we recognize our place in one or more of those categories, then we reach the same conclusion as St Paul who not only refused to conceal but preferred to boast of his weaknesses (cf. 2 Cor 11:30; 12:9-10). Therese explains her little way: “It is to recognize our nothingness, to expect everything from God as a little child expects everything from its father … to be disquieted about nothing, and not to be set on gaining our living,” that is, “the eternal life of heaven.” Therefore she resolves: “I never wanted to grow up,” in spirit, so as to avoid taking credit for whatever good she might do. Rather, to remain little means “believing oneself capable of anything,” while never becoming discouraged over failures, “for children fall often, but they are too little to hurt themselves very much.” For those who seek signs and wonders this is not the way. But for all who seek to know “the only true God and Jesus Christ” (cf. Jn 17:3), it is all one needs to know.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 37

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

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

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

Characters: Loki

Note: wowee, it's snowing here a lot.

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Loki… Mr. Laufeyson doesn’t linger. As you lay in a sheen of foggy afterglow, he dresses and mutters to himself. You want to ask him to stay. To tell him it’s okay but you’re scared he might say no. So you prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him button his shirt.

“We both require a good night’s rest to contend with my family,” he says.

You nod and sit up, sliding your legs beneath the blankets. He looks up as you do and a line creases in his forehead. His worry makes you worry. You’re starting to get the feeling that something bad is looming.

“In the morning,” he avows before he turns away. “You will not emerge until I fetch you.”

“Yes, Loki,” you answer.

He stops at the doors and lowers his head, “here, behind these walls, I am Loki, beyond, Mr. Laufeyson. Understand, pet?”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you murmur.

He pulls open the door and steps out swiftly. The mechanism clicks into place and you fall back onto the pillows. You deflate beneath the downy duvet and close your eyes. He confuses you. One moment, he’s all over you, all-consuming and insatiable, the next he’s distant and icy to the touch. 

You hug the top of the blanket and cling to his lingering warmth. Your thighs tingle and your core plucks as you clench, thinking of how his fingers delved deep into you. Why couldn’t he stay? You could have done more. You think you’re ready to.

It’s never what you want. You will await his signal and as always, you will take his lead. That is better. His words ring in your head from that fateful day, ‘obey and serve my every need and you will have all you ever longed for.’

What do you long for? That question follows you into your subconscious. You sink into the void, the knot of anxiety bound around your chest. Visions of rich greenery and fluttering petals fill your head, birds winging and critters chirping all around. The magical garden is a shrine of rosy sunlight.

Your mind builds a paradise and all at once, it falls around you. Your eyes roll open as you float back to the surface. Your lashes stick together as you blink and groan. It’s early, too early. Dawn paints a violet hue across the room. You lift your head and search around. Something must have woken you but there’s nothing but shadows.

You drop your head back down and groan. You turn onto your side and curl up, tucking a hand under the pillow. You squeeze your eyes shut, reaching for the last dregs of drowsiness. Your head swirls as you feel yourself descending again. 

You’re brought back again. This time, you catch the noise. Your ears prick and you lift yourself to look over at the door, a gentle scuffing on the other side.

What’s happening? 

You squint, your vision dulled in the lowlight. You sit up and push back the blankets as you sidle to the end of the bed. You see a black spot beneath the doors, darker than the rest of the slatted shadow. It moves. There’s someone out there.

The bed creaks as you bend your legs over the edge. Who could it be? Mr. Laufeyson?

A tap on the wood makes you flinch. The handle wiggles but doesn’t press down. Your heart thumps in your chest. A whisper comes through, “pet…”

Your spine goes rigid. Pet? It must be Mr. Laufeyson, but why doesn’t he just let himself in? You don’t recall locking the door before you went to sleep. You get up and creep forward.

“Pet, let me in,” the whisper is sandy and low. Is it really him? Who else would it be?

You unzip your bag in the dark and pick out a nightgown from the bottom, jostling the rest of the clothes. You slip it over your head and rub your eyes. You shiver as the air is cooled in the darkness.

You near the door and grab the handle so it stills. There’s tension as you twist it. It releases and unlatches easily. The lock is not in place. You pull it open a crack and squeak at the large, looming silhouette on the other side.

“Ah, pet, you’re awake,” Thor rasps.

“What–” you gulp, “what are you doing?”

“You didn’t come say hello,” he drawls, “so, hello, pet.”

You blink at him and push on the door. He slaps his hand against it, the wood shaking between you. You know he’s much strong, you can’t close him out.

“What is the matter?”

“Nothing, I– I’m trying to sleep,” you eke out. If Laufeyson knew…

“You are funny, pet,” he chuckles.

“Please, go, I’ll see you in the morning–”

“But I am here now,” he jerks the door, just a little, just a statement: he can open it if he wants.

“Why?” 

“Why?” He huffs, “you haven’t very good manners, pet. My brother has trained you poorly–”

“Please leave me alone,” you beg, jittering. Just the mention of his brother has your heart in your throat. He said to avoid Thor but what do you do when he seeks you out.

‘To the right of your door…’ you pluck the words from your memory and shudder.

“I just want to talk,” he edges the door in another inch and you stumble back.

You spin and run to the wall, pounding on it with your fists. You must seem crazy but you don’t care. You hit it over and over, “Mr. Laufeyson! Mr. Laufeyson!”

You’re wrench back as a large hand frames the back of your neck. Thor turns you and claps his other hand over your mouth, hushing you. You whimper as you shrink in his shadow.

“What are you doing? I’ve only come to talk–”

You wriggle and put both your hands around his wrist. It’s so thick, neither hand can fit all the way around. You kick out as he keeps you pinned to the wall.

“Haven’t I been nice to you?” He growls, “so why do you treat me as a villain, little maid…” he leans in, “perhaps because your thoughts have corrupted me, hm? Naughty little maid.”

His voice lightens playfully as he tilts your head up. You squirm as your hand slides down his forearm. Your other swings out to hit his chest.

“What do you think I’d do? If I am so evil, what could I do?” He taunts as he pulls you from the wall. He drags you towards the bed, “what have you done, eh?” He says as he edges towards the bed, “you’ve already made a mess.”

He throws you back onto the rumpled duvet and you squeak. You push yourself up on your elbows and bring your heels onto the mattress. You push yourself back as he looms over you.

“Aren’t you supposed to take care of messes, little maid?” He bends and puts his hands on the bed, snarling through his teeth. He catches your ankle and pulls your leg straight, tugging you down to your back as you yipe. “Let’s make a mess–”

He grunts and suddenly staggers, releasing you as a dark blur crashes into him. He hits the night table and sends the lamp to the floor. He deflects Mr. Laufeyson as he charges again and they tangle each other up in their arms.

“You beast,” Laufeyson hisses, “get out!”

“Ah, brother, lovely to see you here,” Thor chuckles, “we were only just talking about you–”

“Shut up!��� Laufeyson snaps, hooking his leg around his brothers. 

“Don’t be so… dramatic,” Thor heaves as they struggle, pulling back and forth as each tries to overturn the other, “I was only getting to know her–”

“Get out!” Laufeyson repeats, “or I will truly be dramatic. Let mother see the cretin you truly are–”

“Speak for yourself–”

“Get!” You throw out your foot and kick Thor’s shoulder, immediately regretting it as he barely reacts. You scurry back and hug your legs.

“Aye, little maid,” Thor sounds amused, “isn’t that cute?”

“Brother, I tell you one last time–”

Thor cracks his elbow into Laufeyson’s ribs. The slimmer man lets go with a wheeze but doesn’t falter long as he slides between the burly blond and the bed. He coughs out another warning, “go.”

“I’m going,” Thor says lightly, “you always were so serious, brother.”

He waves off Laufeyson and steps away, sending you a look through the rising dim. You cower and watch him stalk away. Mr. Laufeyson follows and swiftly shuts him out, turning the lock with a loud click.

You push yourself to the edge of the bed and lower yourself to the floor. You pick up the lamp and straighten the table. You flip the switch and the light radiates around you. You turn to Mr. Laufeyson as he holds his ribs and scowls, slumping back towards you.

“Are you alright?” You ask as you rush towards him, “Mr. Laufeyson…” you reach to touch him but think better of it, retracting your hands to fold your arms over your chest, “I… Thank you.”

He sniffs and sits on the side of the bed. He pushes back his dark hair and winces. You hover before him nervously, shaking like a hummingbird.

“You did well… calling for me,” he says quietly, “that was very good, pet.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I thought it was you knocking. I didn’t mean to–”

“I said, you did well,” he interjects as he outstretches his arms, beckoning you closer. He touches your upper arms and draws you straight, “are you alright?”

You quiver and nod, “I think…”

“Good, good,” He pulls you closer and leans forward to kiss your forehead, “I will sleep here then. Just until the morning comes.”

✨

Mr. Laufeyson leaves as you dress for the day. He bids you to lock the door behind him. He’s been silent but not in his usual way. Pensive but not dour. You put on a poppy red blouse with a brown skirt. 

You ready out of habit, your mind still trapped in the night's events. First, Laufeyson and the wonderful way he made you feel. Then Thor and the horror he brought into your room. It almost feels like a bad dream.

You go to the door but don’t emerge. What if Thor is waiting? You shudder as you think of what he would’ve done if you hadn’t called for Mr. Laufeyson. If you hadn’t been heard.

The door shakes as a tap rattles you from your trance, “darling,” Frigga calls through, “are you awake?”

You inhale deeply, throat tight, and unlock the door. You pull it open and force a smile, “yes, I was just… about to come out.”

“Wonderful,” she trills, “we are having tea in the garden.”

“Oh?”

“Come,” she takes your hand, “after tea,” she drags you out as you pull the door closed with your other hand, “we will go into town and get a few things for the celebration. Flowers, as I said. And perhaps a new outfit.”

“Okay,” you agree meekly.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks as you get to the stairs, “you are quiet.”

“Fine,” you answer.

“Yes, I do find it difficult to sleep in new places,” she hums, “well, we only want you to feel at home so do let me know if I can do anything.”

You press your lips together and nod. Could you ask her to make Thor leave you alone? Or to make Mr. Laufeyson a little less stormy? No, but you suppose you could ask for some chamomile before bed.

She takes you through the grand foyer and into the next room, winding around to the elaborate dining room and the back entryway that opens onto an equally awe-inspiring veranda. The railings are wrapped in ivy and flowers, marble pots on plinths hold bunches of gardenia and the big square table at the center has four chairs on either side. Much too big for the meagre party at it.

As you approach, you see Mr. Laufeyson’s shoulders, straight and stiff as he grips the armrests. He glares across at Thor who smiles dopily at the sky. As you get closer, his eyes find you and you wilt down. Frigga draws you onward as Odin stands from the table to offer you the chair beside him.

“There she is,” he says, “come, sit.”

You obey, claiming the seat to his right as Frigga skirts around to take his right. Laufeyson sits along the side just to your own right and leans forward as you wiggle in the chair. He gives you a look and you bow your head slightly.

“What do you like? Milk? Sugar? Honey?” Odin offers as he pours a cup and places it on a saucer before you.

“Just milk,” you answer.

Thor puts his arm on the table as you feel him watching you. Laufeyson clears his throat but his brother doesn’t acknowledge him. You look down at the tea as it clouds with dairy.

“Isn’t this nice?” Thor booms, “I apologise, I was errant yesterday and hadn’t a moment to welcome you.”

You flinch and Laufeyson squeezes the armrest tighter, bristling visibly.

“Now,” Odin sits back, “boys, this is a special week for your mother. She’s working hard, you will not ruin this.”

“Wouldn’t dare think of it,” Thor puffs, “I was only being polite and welcoming the little maid.”

Little maid… the words make you recoil.

“Little maid?” Odin echoes, “don’t be so demeaning. She has a name or perhaps she should call you the big oaf.”

Thor tilts his head and snorts, peering between you and his father. “Forgive me, I thought that’s what she was.”

“Regardless, she is a person and a guest. You will remember your manners,” Odin reproaches.

“Yes, father,” Thor utters dryly and receives a sigh in return.

“Oh, let’s not spoil such a lovely day,” Frigga chimes, “isn’t it so nice to be all together ag–”

“Ugh, must the sun shine so goddamn bright,” the silty voice undergirds Frigga’s chirp. You look over as Hela struts in, a large pair of geometric sunglasses over her eyes, “remind me next time not to finish the bottle.”

“Hel,” Odin greets curtly as Frigga blinks in surprise.

“When did you arrive?” Frigga asks, “Hilde didn’t say.”

“I slept in my car,” Hela answers and struts to the table, sitting next to Laufeyson, “well, I woke up there, at least.”

“Oh my,” Frigga mutters.

“I got here early though,” Hela preens, “when’s that ever happened, mother? And all for Walpurgisnacht, though I guess Midsommar is some time off.”

“Yes, very timely,” Frigga agrees softly, “well, you can come along with us to town. You’ve always had a keen eye.”

“Oh, I may,” Hela smirks, “who is us?”

Frigga looks at you and you give a tiny wave. Hela grins and takes off her sunglasses, winking at you, “I almost didn’t notice the little mouse. Well, I think I shall join you.” She squints and shades her face before putting the glasses back in place, “tell me we have some breakfast wine.”

“Have some tea,” Odin insists, “and a bit of decency.”